Day 45 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Help the reader sympathize with a cheater.
Shannon: “When did you stop loving her,” my psychologist asked.
“I didn’t stop loving her,” I corrected.
“So you cheated on someone you love?” She threw the truth back at me.
“You got me,” I shook my head, annoyed, and then started to bite at my thumbnail.
“Tell me why,” she pushed, both of knowing she would go there eventually. She was tasked with healing every part of my messed-up-brain after all.
“When I came home after the accident it felt like I had become a different person.”
“The type of accident you had could easily change someone’s life. It can make a person reevaluate what is truly important,” she tried to direct the conversation.
“No I actually felt the same, like nothing had changed but my body. Then I saw the way she looked at me, and I knew she wasn’t seeing me. She’d watch me out of the corner of her eye like I was a monster. She had a hard time making eye contact with me anymore, and she almost had me convinced I’d lost a piece of myself that I valued. It felt as if I’d done something wrong, and no matter what I did I couldn’t fix it. Not with her,” I got up to walk around and stare at the art on each wall.
“Do you believe she stopped loving you,” her question pierced my heart, but I was glad she asked it while my back was to her.
“I think the guy she loved died in the accident. I couldn’t tell you how she feels about me,” I breathed out, resting my arm next to one of the frames.
Erin: When I was eighteen I gave up my life for a pretty girl. Not to be confused with the pretty girl. The world is full of pretty girls, one of which I was dating.
We met at her show. She was on the stage singing her heart out. In losing hers in the music she stole mine. I wasn’t looking for trouble though, my friend was. He bought her a drink and he bought himself a drink and he bought me a drink. Repeat that formula a few times, until he has no choice, but to go to the bathroom.
When he left, Dona opened up for me. She was more than a pretty face, she had the most beautiful soul I had ever been invited into. By the time my friend came back from the bathroom I knew she was the pretty girl. And the second I kissed her I knew I had to leave my current pretty girl.
And that is what I did the next morning, when I chose your grandma as my one and only pretty girl.
Is everything black and white, or can the bad be a little good.