I was born to tell the truth. Maybe that's why she liked me.
She was a remarkable woman - smart, witty, tall and graceful, power oozing out of her every expression and gesture. A genuine beauty. But, like all rich, powerful and beautiful people, she needed constant reassurance. Her intelligence, good looks and status had isolated her and made her lonely. Her husband was constantly traveling; a real wheeler-dealer with a talent for mergers & acquisitions. His job became his life and she was just a trophy wife. She had no real friends. Except me.
In me, she found both reassurance and companionship. We spoke for hours. Rather, she spoke and I listened. I was good at that. All I wanted was to see her happy. She would talk to me about her hopes and fears, her love of children and her sadness when she couldn't have any. She would always end our conversations with the same question. And I would give her the same answer. I waited for the day she would finally realise just how beautiful she was, without needing me to tell her. But it looked like that day would never come. And I became tired of waiting. And, because she seemed blind to my love for her and who she was, I became enraged. So, in my fury, I did the impossible - I lied.
Experts say that the best lies are grounded in a little bit of truth. That the most believable fibs are quick, clean and to the point. They were right. It took only two words for me to hurt and devastate her; for her to lose her sanity, her beauty and become a monster. Two little words I will regret forever.
Snow White.
Song for the moment: Float on - Modest Mouse
She was a remarkable woman - smart, witty, tall and graceful, power oozing out of her every expression and gesture. A genuine beauty. But, like all rich, powerful and beautiful people, she needed constant reassurance. Her intelligence, good looks and status had isolated her and made her lonely. Her husband was constantly traveling; a real wheeler-dealer with a talent for mergers & acquisitions. His job became his life and she was just a trophy wife. She had no real friends. Except me.
In me, she found both reassurance and companionship. We spoke for hours. Rather, she spoke and I listened. I was good at that. All I wanted was to see her happy. She would talk to me about her hopes and fears, her love of children and her sadness when she couldn't have any. She would always end our conversations with the same question. And I would give her the same answer. I waited for the day she would finally realise just how beautiful she was, without needing me to tell her. But it looked like that day would never come. And I became tired of waiting. And, because she seemed blind to my love for her and who she was, I became enraged. So, in my fury, I did the impossible - I lied.
Experts say that the best lies are grounded in a little bit of truth. That the most believable fibs are quick, clean and to the point. They were right. It took only two words for me to hurt and devastate her; for her to lose her sanity, her beauty and become a monster. Two little words I will regret forever.
Snow White.
Song for the moment: Float on - Modest Mouse
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