Disconnected

"I love you."

"Do you?" she asked, idly stirring her coffee, still staring intently at the T.V.

"Yes," he said dispassionately. "More than anything."

He stifled a yawn and casually picked a fingernail. He then proceeded to gaze absentmindedly around the room. Since this is just about the most exciting thing Jack will do, a description of the room is warranted.

it was tastefully modern, which is to say it was soulless - the exact replica of a model living room in a catalogue. A black leather couch sagged lazily into the floor. A simple coffee table in light wood rested on the darker wood floor. Tiny recess lights lit strategic parts of the room, while the flat-screen T.V. bathed the room in a paler glow. In the corner, a tall, sleek vase containing a taller, sleeker ornamental lily, like a delicate dancing figurine - solitary, silent and sterilized. Spartan and stylish, angular and precise, characterless and blunt, it was a room with no mystery, a room one could not possibly be captivated by or lose oneself in.

Jack-the-living-room-personified quite suddenly and unexpectedly began feeling strange. He began to suspect that something was off, something was not right. It was a half formed idea niggling at the back of his mind, some slight yet noticable dissatisfaction. For a moment he thought the lighting in the room was at fault, or that some piece of carefully aranged furniture was facing the wrong wall. But the faint yet feverish buzzing of an elusive and profound observation still lingered in his ears. He frowned.

For the first time Jack was close to becoming conscious of the long stifled cries or his own diminished and life-starved soul.

But a promise is a promise, therefore no, Jack will not be making fascinating remarks on the futility and emptiness of his life. He will be missing this chance to have an epiphany today, because as it turns out, he has a rather important dentist's appointment at four.

Dentist's at four. The memory effectively drove the shadow of a meaningful thought from his mind, a bit like a hand waving away a mildly annoying fly.

He took a crack at his relationship again.

"Kiss me."

"In a minute."

A pause.

"That's horrible."

"Really? It's not that bad. I've always enjoyed it. Haven't you?"

"Hmm?" She looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about these murders. A whole family in one night. Five people. Three of them children. Their bodies were mutilated. They just showed pictures. It was awful."

"Yes, I can imagine."

He couldn't.

Another short silence. A cartoon danced on screen advertising cereal.

"Well? It's been a minute," said Jack.

An inquiring glance.

"You said you'd kiss me. After a minute."

"Oh," she smiled.

She kissed him. The news came back on.

Silence. The buzzing again. He was uncomfortable. He looked at her. He wasn't comforted.

"I think wwe should break up."

She turned towards him, eyebrows raised.

"I thought you said you loved me."

"Probably imagined it," he shrugged. "And anyway, did you ever care?"

She looked at him for a few seconds with hollow intensity, mildly troubled.

"Of course. I've always cared."

She turned back to the T.V., frowning slightly.

Jack gave a satisfied nod. Neither, really, had he.