Fool for Love
Disclaimers: These characters were created entirely by me. Please do not use them or repost this story
without permission. This story features dark themes,
mildly naughty language and a loving and sexual
relationship between women.
Fools Rush In
I hate happy people. Why do new lovers think it's
acceptable to coo and make googly eyes at each other?
I donít shove my misery down their throats, so why
should they force their joy down mine? I used to want
to slap those insipid grins right off their faces.
Lately, I'm afraid to look in the mirror. More often
than not, I find that same silly, starry-eyed grin
staring back at me. It's disgusting, I know, but it
hurts to slap the hell out of myself --- so I live
It's been nearly seven months since Faith and I met on
that dark, lonely beach. She doesn't like me to say
it, but she saved my miserable life that night.
Tomorrow we will have been living together for one
month exactly. I think we're starting to get used to
each other, starting to find our rhythm. We donít
bump into each other every time we turn around
anymore. Those first two weeks required some serious
For two days, we were blissfully happy. Like a couple
of lovestruck fools, we christened every room in the
small, two-bedroom house that we were renting. Relax.
We wiped the kitchen table down afterwards. Then on
the morning of the third day, I decided that I was
getting tired of living out of cardboard boxes. I
started to unpack, and that was when the first signs
of trouble appeared.
Everything I owned in this world fit into either a box
or a suitcase. Faith and I had bought all of our
bedroom furniture together, but everything else in the
house belonged to her. I was happy with the
arrangement since I didn't have any furniture to
contribute anyway. Well, there was the worn, lumpy,
bright orange beanbag chair that sat in the corner of
my bedroom, but Faith said that if I brought that with
me, the whole deal was off. I didn't mind. I never
really liked the thing in the first place. Faith was
doing all the decorating too. Again, that suited me
perfectly. My idea of interior decorating revolves
around throwing stuff into the air. Wherever it lands
is where it stays.
That morning, I was in our bedroom, rearranging
Faith's scary-looking porcelain clowns when she walked
in. She stopped in the doorway and stared at me as if
I had suddenly grown a second head.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
A bit confused by the question, I stared down at the
maniacally grinning clown in my hand. I looked back
up at Faith. She was impatiently tapping her
fingernails against the doorframe, and the expression
on her face told me that no matter what I said, it was
going to be the wrong answer.
I set the clown back on the dresser and the damned
thing immediately fell over with a loud thump. I
winced and hoped that it wasn't broken. Faith's
grandmother had given her most of those dolls, and I
knew how much they meant to her. Personally, I had
been scared to death of clowns ever since the day that
my older brother took me to see 'Poltergeist', but I
tried to keep my various neuroses to myself --- for
"Kara?" She sounded like my mother just then. You
know that voice that mothers get when you've done
something really wrong? That was the way she was
speaking to me. I half-expected her to break out with
my full name at any second. 'Kara Marie Pavlovich,
what exactly do you think you're doing?'
"Kara?" She asked again. I could tell she was getting
"What?" I asked, acting as if I had no idea she had
been calling my name.
"What are you doing?" Faith repeated her question.
"Why are you moving my clowns?"
Uh-oh. I recognized a dangerous question when I heard
one. "What" questions are easy. You can usually get
away with stating the obvious. It's those tricky
"why" questions that get me into trouble every time.
"I'm just clearing a little space on the dresser." I
flashed her my toothiest, most charming grin. She
"Space for what?"
I gestured towards the open box at my feet. Her gaze
followed the wave of my hand until it fell upon the
box and its contents. She let out a short,
disbelieving laugh and looked up at me, incredulity
written across her face.
"You've got to be kidding," she said.
I was baffled by her reaction. Before we moved in
together, she had been in my apartment plenty of
times, and she was well aware of my toy collection.
No, not those kinds of toys. I'm not enough of an
exhibitionist to display those in plain sight. This
was my collection of six-inch action figures from
various movies and TV shows. Faith had always seemed
amused by them before. In fact, she fondly referred
to me as her "Toys R Us kid." I guess my hobby was
less endearing when it started encroaching upon hers.
Looking back now, I realize that we were experiencing
normal growing pains. Moving in together was a big
step, and we needed to be patient with each other and
learn to compromise. Sure, I know that now. Back
then it was a different story. It's funny how the
stupidest little things can escalate into a full-scale
war. I should have calmly and rationally discussed
the issue with her until we reached some sort of
middle ground. That would have been the mature, adult
thing to do and it could have saved us a lot of grief.
Instead, I did what I always do. I blurted out the
first idiotic thing that popped into my head. Rarely
a good move.
"That dresser is half mine, and I can put whatever I
want on my half of it."
I must have felt like I wasn't in enough trouble yet,
because I emphasized my point by dumping a handful of
my toys on top of the dresser --- right in the middle
of Faith's perfectly symmetrical arc of clowns.
Action figures lay tangled with arms and legs askew
while the giant, grinning dolls loomed over them
evilly. It looked like a scene from a bad B-movie.
'Killer Klowns Invade the Earth,' or some nonsense
like that. Faith just kept staring at me with that
same, have-you-completely-lost-your-mind look. It
wasn't the first time I had seen it, and it certainly
would not be the last.
"I never said you couldn't, Kara." She spoke slowly,
enunciating each syllable. It was as if she was
talking to a small child. Or a mental patient.
Either way, it irked me.
"Maybe not directly, but I know that's what you were
thinking." If you ever want to make your girlfriend
really mad during an argument, tell her you know what
she's thinking. Trust me. Works every time.
Faith's gentle brown eyes darkened. "So now you can
read my mind?"
"I don't have to be a mind-reader, Faith. Look at
this place! Everything in it is yours! Are we
sharing our lives, or am I just sharing your bed?"
I really don't know where all that came from. It was
like some evil force had possessed me and forced me to
say hurtful things that I didn't mean. Like I said,
it's not like I even wanted to help with the
decorating and stuff. I didn't. But I've always had
this twisted need to destroy everything good in my
life. I had hoped that it would be different this
I knew I had gone too far. I knew it as soon as the
words had tumbled out of my treacherous mouth. Faith
took a step backwards, as if I had hit her. Her eyes
filled with tears. My heart sank. Stammering an
incoherent apology, I reached out to her, but she
shook her head and backed away from me again.
Agonizing silence hung between us for several long
seconds. Then Faith uttered the words that I had been
dreading since the day we met.
"Maybe this was a mistake."
With those words, I felt the light draining out of me.
I couldn't breathe. It was like a heavyweight boxer
had driven a fist into my solar plexus and forced all
the oxygen from my lungs. Deep down, I had always
known that this moment would come. Every morning
since the day we met, I woke up expecting to find that
it had all been a dream. Good things just don't
happen to me, and someone as beautiful and kind as
Faith could not possibly love someone as dark and
damaged as me. I wasn't worthy of her love, of
anyone's love, and I had always known that it was only
a matter of time before she saw me as I truly am. And
once that happened, I knew she would run as far away
from me as she could get.
My lips felt numb, and I had to force them to form a
single word. "What?"
Faith wouldn't even look at me. She stared at the
floor, at the wall behind my head, anywhere but at me.
When she spoke, her voice trembled and I could barely
"Maybe this was a mistake," she said again, plunging
the knife deeper into my heart. "Maybe we rushed
this. Maybe we weren't ready."
Each word pierced my heart and left me bleeding
inside. I screamed inside my head. 'Say something!
Say anything, you fool!' I wanted to tell her that I
was sorry, that I loved her, that she had saved me
from a bottomless pit of loneliness and despair. I
wanted her to know that no one had ever made me feel
as safe or loved as she did. I wanted to get down on
my knees and beg for the forgiveness that I didn't
deserve, and then spend the rest of my life making it
up to her. I wanted to say all those things.
Instead, my tongue betrayed me.
"Maybe you're right." I scarcely recognized my own
She nodded once. Without another word to me, she
turned and walked out of the bedroom. I heard the
harsh metallic jingle as she grabbed her keys from the
kitchen table. Then I heard the front door open and
close. I wanted to run after her, but like always, I
held myself back. My knees buckled and I sank down to
the floor. I was stunned. What had I done? She was
the best thing that had ever happened to me, and still
I was compelled to screw it all up. And now she was
gone. Faith had left me.
I don't remember much else from that day. I know that
once I could move, I made my way into the kitchen and
found the big bottle of tequila in the cabinet. I
didn't even bother with a glass. All I wanted was to
be drunk out of my mind, and I achieved that goal
rather quickly. I have a fuzzy memory of being
violently sick in the bathroom sink and of crying
myself to sleep. Alone.
The next morning, I woke up with the worst hangover of
my life. Groaning, I burrowed deep beneath the
covers, trying to escape from the cheerfully bright
sunlight that was threatening to invade the cocoon of
pain I had wrapped myself in. I didn't want to feel
better. I didn't want to feel anything at all. Faith
was gone, and my miserable life was over.
Then I heard it. Someone was moving around in the
kitchen. I almost dared to hope as I dragged myself
out of bed and staggered into the living room.
Sometime during the night, Faith had come home and she
was busily making a pot of coffee. I don't remember
saying anything, but I must have made some kind of
sound. She turned, and her eyes met mine. Just like
that, my heart started beating again.
"Kara." Faith smiled at me and held her hand out.
I didn't trust myself to speak. Instead, I flung
myself into her outstretched arms and nearly knocked
her off her feet. We kissed and cried in each other's
arms --- and kissed a bit more. I never asked her
where she went when she left that night. It didn't
matter. All that mattered was that we were both
I saw this saying on a greeting card once. It said,
"If you love something, set it free. If it comes
back, it's yours to keep. If not, then it was never
meant to be." At the time, I thought it was a stupid
thing to put on a greeting card. Now, I understand it
better. Faith came back to me. I guess that means I
get to keep her.