TantrumFin Laughing Man

[Part 1 · The Drowned Dog]

Night fell. You sat beside Jenny's bed, watching the hair dryer slowly dry your clothes.

You were in a hurry to leave, never wanting to disturb Jenny's life again—

—this was the end. This was how the story ended.

Even though she kept asking you to stay, kept hinting that maybe this story could have a new beginning?

An outlaw and a whore—what kind of story could they possibly have left to tell? Who would want to keep listening to a story like that?

You couldn't remember how it all happened. You left in a hurry.

You blamed her, accused her of not keeping herself decent.

She cursed you out, too. Like a yapping dog whose tail had been stepped on, she called you a coward, accused you of being impotent—

—she said you'd lost your job long ago, maybe just like her.

You'd also shared a post on Twitter, one she'd liked.

It was an old photo of you, taken after you'd successfully kicked drugs and started facing life again.

Jenny seemed to know everything. She just hadn't wanted to call you out.

There was nothing left to talk about. Nothing at all. You were like an old married couple who knew each other but had become strangers, unleashing an unimaginable fury years after their divorce—like two monkeys fighting over territory.

You silently put on your wet, clammy clothes. Seeing the torrential rain outside, you walked away without looking back.

Jenny cried and shouted after you!

"Ben!"

You didn't want to answer. Her voice was louder than thunder.

"Ben! Ben Rickert!"

"Can you kiss me?!"

You were thirty-three already. More than half your life was behind you.

Maybe in that fake world, on that fake internet, amid those fake neurotoxins—Jenny had woken up