You ask me about the woman's body. Is it still there? Undiscovered? Hasn't the wind blown away the leaves by now?
"No", I tell you, "it's not happening now. It happened a long time ago, Time is relative. She can be there for a very long time."
We are sitting near the window of our appartment and you are looking out to the patch of trees in the public garden.
"She's wearing a poncho, so I guess it happenend in the eighties. Nobody wears a poncho anymore these days."
You look worried. We've been having some fights lately. About time. Spending more time together. You want more time to yourself. I feel I'm acting like a whimp compared to your decision making. But I don't know what to do to win you back. You are already leaving me behind.
"She was pregnant." I blurt out. "She was 6 months pregnant when she died."
Your eyes become dark and shiny you are angry.
"You don't dare", you whisper. I know I have hurt you, but it's the only way.
You are going to take a bath. I suppose you will contemplate your counterstrike there and maybe cry a bit.
She was probably killed inside a house. Either drowned or killed while taking a shower or bath. Water in the lungs with remnants of soap.
I can't know all this because she hasn't even been discovered.
The house is quiet. I don't hear you making any sounds in the bathroom. I can hear the traffic outside and the wind against the windows.
Then the bathroom door swings open and you come in, angry, yelling :"When are you finally going to stop the fucking melodrama? Why can't you just play a normal game. Like other couples do. Create a fantasy and that's it. Why do you have to draw in dead bodies, unborn children and MY BLOODY FEELINGS all the time."
She leans against the kitchen door. Breath thick with anger and frustration.
"Games? I never saw it as a game." I reply, quietly. "So, what you want to say is that we don't connect very well together. We're not at the same level? You don't like the stories I make up? Do you like to play games?"
She sighs. "Darling, you know I don't want to make this difficult, but I like a very simple life, very clear. You know that."
"I don't trust you." I reply. She's a soft, beautiful intelligent, sensitive woman but I can't trust her fully. I've been trying for so long now. I can't get the idea out of my mind that if I give her everything, she will take it all and leave me. The way she left all the others before me.
"That's why I've been making up stories. To test you."