Poor Josephine

I was inspired tonight. This story was conceived in the morning, as a mere thought dictated in my mind, and it was birthed in the evening. Twas a quick, day-long pregnancy. I  had to get it down on paper/ in writing asap. New characters are involved, two complex people who I plan on developing further. I picture this particular scene, and generally their whole relationship, like a Tim Burton cartoon - dark, spindly, empty, black and white, and sketched. Viktor and Josephine resemble one another. They are long and lengthy and pale almost to the point of transparency. Both have stringy black hair, Josephine's is long, Viktor's is wild. Josephine wears all black clothing and has dark rings around her eyes from unwashed make-up and fatigue. The same goes for Viktor. While you read - imagine a minimalist room - with a big bed, a small girl, and an oversized television. Feel the warmth of candlelight, sense the stillness, and listen to the faint tinkering of organ music. Just do it. 

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Poor Josephine. Poor, sad, Josephine. She looked like a crumpled spider, sitting at the corner of the bed. Her back was hunched, her body was curled and contorted, and she held her legs tightly to her chest. Her eyes, staring from behind her knees, were blank. Emotionless. To others, Josephine did not appear to be an actual, human-sized insect, alla Gregor Samsa -but, in her mind, she was the perfect embodiment of a dying black widow. 

Josephine was sick and tired. Sick and tired of having to explain herself. Sick and tired of over-thinking. Josephine, like many others in this world, just wanted to exist...or co-exist for that matter...with someone who understood her. For some reason, this objective was proving rather difficult and lying in Viktor's king size bed was beginning to feel a lot less comfortable. The feather quilt turned into wool, the pillows felt like slates of stone, and Viktor's arm which draped itself around Josephine's cold shoulder transformed into a dead weight. 

Josephine rolled her lifeless eyes and sighed. She looked over at Viktor, whose scraggly, unkempt hair resembled a mop and whose pale extremeties were home to many blue, risen veins. Viktor was an egoist. He loved to ramble on and on about himself, mostly childhood stories of chivalry or heroism, which Josephine always found entirely unfounded and rather boring. She could not decide if Viktor simply enjoyed the melodic sound of his own voice or if he was merely and quite subconsciously trying to take time away from focusing on his own insecurities. Viktor was so, deeply...oh, what's the word? rickety? yes, rickety...that it was painful. And I mean this in every sense of the word - his decisions were rickety, his self-assurance was rickety, his feelings were rickety, but mostly Viktor's thoughts were rickety especially when he would sit on his shaky, wobbly, and need I say RICKETY rocking chair and ponder deeply about god knows what.  

Viktor's instability was most certainly his downfall, at least in the eyes of Josephine, whose own volatility was worth noting. But at this point, Josephine had had enough...enough of the bickering, the unwanted silences, and generally feeling undesired and inconsequential in Viktor's Dali-like world, where time dissolved and things appeared upside down and unclear. Well, Josephine was no longer in the mood for melting clocks and felt it was time for a change. Aware of being duped by hedonism, Josephine was not going to overlook what she needed, or be blind-sighted by pleasure anymore. It was time to take a stand. 

Josephine: (Deep inhale)

Viktor: (aggravated)...What, now?

Josephine: (with melancholy mixed with apathy and disdain) Nothing. 

Viktor: (disgruntled) Oh, don't do that. 

Josephine: (innocently) Do what?

Viktor: (sarcastic) Oh, now we are being coy aren't we? Ha.

Josephine: (something muttered under breath)

Silence. Mundane sounds are heard coming from the television. The light from the screen illuminates the faces of Josephine and Viktor. Viktor is obviously engaged..in the tv show, that is. Josephine is not. Josephine sits at the corner of the bed, looking as though she has been shoved and placed there. Viktor is sprawled out across the entirety of the mattress, legs flailed, trying to appear unassuming and unfazed by the palpable tension in the room.  

Josephine: (Deep exhale)

Viktor: (irritated) For Christ's sake! What now?

Josephine: (worn out) Nothing.

...(time elapses)

Josephine: (resigned) I'm just breathing. Is that alright with you, Viktor? (the "r" rolls of the tongue harshly, as if mocking his name)

Viktor: (not listening, eyes fixed on television) Sure. That's alright.

...(time elapses)

Josephine: (realization) I can't stand you.

Viktor: (startled) What?

Josephine: (challenging) You heard me. 

Viktor: (confused) Yes...I did. 

Josephine: (shrugs)

Viktor: (furrows brow as if to say "go on...")

Josephine: (continues shrug, this time with mocking)

Viktor: You did that funny thing with your mouth again. It's really quite peculiar. I wish you could see it.

Josephine: Well, I'm sick of hearing about it. I don't get upset with myself and then peer into the mirror, now do I?

Viktor: I am sensing some hostility, Josephine. Care to explain?

Josephine: (rolls eyes and shakes head) It's pointless. 

Viktor: Well if it's so fucking pointless, what are you still doing here?

Josephine: You're right.

Silence. Josephine is obviously deep in thought, wondering what her next move should be. Viktor still appears unfazed, as if he knows what is about to happen, as if this is routine. 

Josephine: Do you find me attractive?

Viktor: Don't be ridiculous! What are you going on about?

Josephine: You didn't answer the question. 

Viktor: (patronizing, as if to a child who has lost her temper) Josephine, of course I find you attractive. 

Josephine: You don't have to talk to me in that tone.

Viktor: Oh, what tone, Josephine? You always say I talk in a "tone". It's irritating. If I have to think about how I am going to say things, what's the point of saying them at all?

Josephine: Fine. What do you find attractive about me?

Viktor: (robotic) You are beautiful. Robust. Like a woman from an old painting. (this is either sarcastic or strange because Josephine is so thin she looks emaciated)

Josephine: (offended) A woman from an old painting? Is that your moronic attempt at complimenting me?

Viktor: (indignant) I'm saying you are a classic beauty!

Josephine: Please...

...(time elapses)

Josephine: I feel so stupid. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have to put up with this. 

Viktor:(genuinely confused and exasperated) Put up with what?

Josephine: Feeling undesired...feeling unecessary...feeling...lifeless.

...(time elapses...both continue to look at the screen, not at eachother)

Viktor: I don't know what to tell you.

Josephine: Exactly. (gets up to leave)

Viktor: Where are you going?

Josephine: (looks)

Viktor: I guess I didn't really need to ask. 

Josephine. No...you didn't. 

As soon as Josephine collected herself and quietly closed the door behind her, she began to sob. She understood the mindset of women in abusive relationships - she understood why they continued, despite the violence and maltreatment, to return to their "loved ones". She was being abused in some way. Tortured, mostly. Every time she left Viktor's home and every time she entered again she knew she had made a mistake. Every time he mentioned something inappropriate or made a hurtful comment that stung for hours after, she knew she had to quit, resign from this...whatever "this" was. But she couldn't. She was like a moth to a flame. She couldn't help but go back. She was under Viktor's spell. She was captivated under his trance. Josephine had an addiction. But to what? Was she simply addicted to Viktor? Or was she addicted to the instability he represented? Did she secretly like the insecurity, the sickness she felt in her stomach, the nervousness whenever she thought about him? Or was she merely bored and attached? Was she trapped in routine? Or was she actually involved? 

Poor, Josephine. Poor, sad, and now lonely Josephine - muddled in thoughts, unsure of where to go and what turn to take. She was a recently revived crumpled spider...crawling along the cracks in the wooden floor, getting tangled up in the web she had spun herself, caught in the silky threads which stemmed from her own withered, aching body.