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Hard Won

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She loves Joe like she loves her Persian bedspread. 

 

"Professionals", psychologists, bullshit intellectuals with their PhDs and their fucked up penchant for prodding about in the minds of children would posit that she doesn't know love. Isn't capable.

 

She disagrees entirely. After all, what is this feeling that she gets in her chest, her toes, as she wiggles her feet in her unbelievably dear bear fur rug? What is it, if not love? The overwhelming something that takes over her when she runs her fingers over her Egyptian silk pillowcases, as she spits mouthwash into her Grohe inset sink and bares her teeth at her $11,000 authentic georgian mirror. Not the country. The era. She won it at auction. Hard won. 

 

She had planned that visit to Florence for months. When there, had spent hours picking out the perfect outfit for the occasion, in a tiny little backstreet boutique- unassuming in appearance yet a regular pilgrimage site for true fashion obsessives. 

How about this, the only attendant had asked once she paid for the dress. Carnelian red. Beautiful. She thought the black hat was a nice touch as well, so she bought that too. She'd probably never wear them again, but she would keep them forever. 

 

Against her usual nature, her heart had begun to pick up as the engine rang. 

 

"Hello?" He had said. 

 

The one that got away. 

 

She loves money. She loves money because you can buy expensive things with it. Having expensive things feels good. Sex and killing people feels good as well, but not as good as Luxury. 

 

She'd like to have Joe. She had him once, and at the time, it was enough. But there was that time when he could have killed her, but he didn't. It was probably then that she'd started to see him as having value in his own right, rather than just in his cock, or that look people have when you know and they know, that they're going to die, and it's because of her. He didn't kill her. He could have chosen, right there and then, to win the game. Strange. Rare.

 

What an idiot. 

 

"Isn't it obvious? You're the one that got away."

 

It wasn't obvious to her until she had said it. 

 

Not at all.

 

Hard won. She hasn't won yet. Money won't be enough, not with him. But she'll win. She'll have him.