I could hear his heart beating against my fingernails- I don't care it said- life goes on it said.   My nails pressed further and further into his skin, he didn't flinch- it drummed on.   I could see her in his dreams.   Standing before him with her childlike smile, fluttering her eyelashes to highlight her innocent eyes, hiding the men beneath her gaze.    You will be number five these eyes say.   And when he sees past the lashes and the blue tinted innocent contacts and discover this, he will come back without remorse- thinking I do not know.   And he will sleep like a lamb- with his heart beating against my finger nails- not knowing each beat brings his flesh closer to being torn from his bones.   I hear his breath, inhaling and exhaling oxygen with an ease that says "you stupid fool"- but the jokes on him -stupid fool.   He does that know that I- the fool- the lamb- the follower can smother him in his sleep- can tear away the flesh- gouge eyes and make soup of wandering organs.  

An eye for an eye-

he heart beats against my finger tips and I withdraw my nails slowly one by one- quietly threading my lacy corset -

his heart drums and I slip into a figure hugging pink dress, pull up the fishnet stockings and rub lip gloss on my lips in a way that says- I'm sweet, and can't help being this sexy.  
His heart beats as I walk down the street, listening to kitten heels clicking on the pavement in a uniform tap tap tap,
it beats as I pause at the doorway,
it beats as I raise my recently manicured hand and lift the brass knocker,
it beats as I smile toying with my hair walking shyly through the door,
it beats as I remove my jacket and lie curled up on the couch running my finger around the rim of the wine glass-
it beats on til the next morning when I wake up with the feeling of fulfilled revenge, running my fingers over temples and staring into eyes in a way that says I care, it's strange how easy it is to fill a roll, stare lovingly and feel nothing.

He woke as I got out of the shower, yawned as I curled up beside him and kissed his chest placing my hand on the side of my head and gazing lovingly.   Nothing.   My revenge tore at his insides and he lay there, smiling, his heart beating regularly.   I could see myself crawling back into his thoughts, the confidence that he loves pressing my breath against his, wearing the clothes he likes, and the revenge of nothingness that could live forever as he struggles to find what was missing- he could have children- nothing, a beautiful home- nothing, he could live til he was eighty and think he had it all and as he breathed his last breath I would whisper nothing in his ear and it would mean everything- and he would look at me and know it was nothing.

The phone call came at eleven am, "baby" she whispered into the answering machine, "I miss you" she whispered.   His eyes widened and remembered the blue tinted innocence and frowned- "baby" she sighed, "are you there" and he clicked the machine off, more disgruntled than shamed.   "Well anyway" he laughed and ran his fingers through my hair and smiled, lovingly.

There were three more calls that day, five the next and with each one he grew more quiet, distant and thoughtful, annoyed and pleased as his vanity grew and he considered his options.   "baby" she whispered each time, and he gazed lovingly at the answering machine, and grew more and more distant.    She cared about him, it would be different.   Each pause in our conversations said 'it's over but I need to find the words that say it isn't my fault' each pause screamed 'I don't want the guilt of this'.    And she whispered "baby" and the pauses grew more urgent- and his eyes more thoughtful and my revenge grew stronger as he tried to let me down gently.   But it couldn't hurt.   He'd been dead for quite sometime.   With no one to verify his existence he moved as a shadow, existing only for my amusement- my toy- my shadow puppet to pull the strings and dance across a stage.   A corpse animated by paint and string.  The colourful mask of my theatrics never realizing- his romantic drama was a tragedy of the bloodiest kind- behind the props a villain narrated the fate of the fool as he twirled about in his animated costume- fretting about breaking poor ladies hearts, who love him so- stupid fool.   And the puppet master laughs and plays her little masquerade pulling the nymph and her men closer and closer to the centre of the plot.  

And the fool pauses and wonders how to end his current romance without breaking too many hearts.

It was a twelve o'clock on a Saturday night- the calls grew urgent "baby" she cried, "I know I hurt you".    She sobbed vodka tears into the phone- "it's always been you, just you.   I'm sorry".  

-The pause grew louder

-the puppets drew to centre stage,

-the nymph in the wings as the fool too centre stage,

his heart beat as my nails tore unnoticed through his flesh.  

"I think we both know this isn't working" he paused---- "baby" she whispered as his heart beat---"I want this to be mutual," he continued---"I need to hold you," she cried--- his heart skipped, beat, pounded.   I gazed back, heart broken desperation in my eyes, I would play the tragic role, the lady scorned.   "I was just something to pass the time" I accused 

---His heart skipped, he frowned annoyed at my refusal to use his script--- "I need to feel your skin against my skin" she begged.  

A single tear rolled down my cheek and with the moral high ground I walked into the bedroom, locked the door and packed my suitcase.  

"baby" he whispered into the phone.   As my kitten heels tapped across the floorboards, out the door, his heart continued to beat, my puppets danced and twirl in preperation for the last act.  

-His heart beat as I raised the brass knocker,
-his beat as I placed my suitcase on the floor,
-his heart beat as I pressed my breath against her breath.  

"Baby" she whisper,
"it was always you"
and I felt, nothing.  

The puppets fell into their final position, dangling midair as I froze them in the climax of their tragedy--- and suspend them there for everything- for nothing.  

His heartbeats---
"baby" she whispers---

his breath echoes in our answering machine 
flesh rips from the bone as my fingernails press down.  
I smile adoringly and she suspects,
nothing.