Paula Bomer - Inside Madeleine

You look away when you talk.

It just isn’t working out.

Why not? What’s wrong? What don’t you like about me?

It’s not that I don’t like you.

Why do you want to give up?

Madeleine …

I grow my hair because you want me to. I don’t wear red lipstick because you don’t want me to.

It’s not those things.

I am so dedicated to you.

I can’t handle it.

Handle what?

Handle you.

What’s that supposed to mean?

You’re sick.

You’ve made me that way. You don’t give me enough. Of course I’m sick. You don’t call. You’re always out with Nathan.

See. You’re not happy either. We don’t make each other happy.

You don’t try.

I do try.

Try harder.

I tried as hard as I can.

That’s a fucking lie.

No it’s not.

Bullshit. If you cared you’d make this work. If you gave a shit about me, you’d try harder.

I do care about you.

How? How do you care about me? What do you do to care about me?

I love you, Maddy.

It can’t just be a feeling in your head, Mark. You have to act. You have to show me.

I’ve tried Maddy and it hasn’t worked. We deserve better than this. We deserve to be happy.

Why can’t we be happy together?

I don’t know. You’re never happy with me. I’m always doing something wrong. I’m tired of being the bad guy.

Then treat me better.

I did the best I could, it didn’t work.

Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re a piece of shit.

Don’t cry, Maddy.

Fuck you. You’re giving up on me.

Don’t cry.

You’re sick of me, that’s it.

I’m not sick of you. I’m tired of failing you.

You’re sick of fucking me.

No.

Yes you are.

I still love being inside of you.

Not enough to make this work.

I can’t handle this.

Fuck me.

No, Maddy. That’s not the answer to our problems.

You can’t fuck me, can you?

We can’t be together just for that.

You can’t get it up for me. You’re sick of my pussy.

Stop it Maddy. Jesus Christ, I won’t put up with this. You wonder why I’m leaving you.

What?

You fucking wonder why we’re not working out. You’re so fucking hostile. That’s what’s wrong with you. You are so angry and so sick.

I’m upset, Mark. I’m sorry. I’m just upset. Please, please. I’ll be easier on you. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me.

I’m not mad at you. I just can’t do this anymore.

Please Mark. I’m hurting. I’m not always like this.

I can’t handle it anymore.

I’m upset. Deal with it. You can’t handle anything. That’s the whole problem. You just run away when things get rough.

It’s not that simple.

It’s not that complicated either, Mark. Either you’re in it or you’re not. Either you make it work or you don’t.

I tried, Maddy. I tried as much as I can and I can’t give you what you need.

I cooked dinner all the time. I bought your favorite beer.

Stop it.

Why after all this time are you leaving me? Why? I’ll be better. You’re killing me.

Listen I’m sorry. Nothing’s wrong with you. We don’t belong together.

Goddamn you. You think I can’t take the truth.

You want the truth?

Yeah.

You’re too weak. And you’re killing yourself.

I’m weak? Because I love you and want to make this work, I’m weak?

Not because of that.

Why then? Why am I weak?

I don’t know. You just are. Jesus, I can’t talk about this anymore.

Look at me. Look at me. You call me weak and you can’t even look at me when you say it. Fucking pussy.

I’m moving out tomorrow. I’ll pay half the rent until you find a cheaper place.

Fuck you. I don’t need your help.

I’m sorry Maddy.

Don’t apologize to me. I don’t want your pity.

I love you.

Fuck you. Get out of my house. Get out now. Get out of here.

17

She ran and ran until there was nowhere to go. Through the fridge, through her childhood, through her adolescence, lickety-split, running through the cookbooks, up and down the alley behind their house, round and round the block with her mother, swinging the jump rope over her head again and again, her feet moving, skipping. One two three. One two three. Put it here Mark, put it here, make me come again and again, I’ll show you, look at me, my fist in me, my arm in me, fuck me again and again and then what? Good God she’s tired and scared and where to next? Stuck in this hospital, in an anorexic ward, some asshole lady shrink wanting to talk about self esteem and image and draw a picture of yourself how you imagine yourself, what does she think, that I’m some stupid kid and playing with crayons will make me feel better. Maddy draws a picture of a starlet-type girl, voluptuous, but not fat, with sunglasses and lipstick. Is this how you see yourself, the shrink asks, looking at Maddy with eyes so widely open it looks like it hurts, looking at her so sincerely, leaning forward in her chair, what do you think about this picture, Madeleine. I think I want big tits again, you moron cunt, Maddy thinks, all the while smiling and saying, I don’t know, that’s how I used to look I guess.

Big floppy breasts, big fleshy thighs he grabbed onto, round rolling stomach he kissed and bit and now what does she have to give him or anyone? Running to work, her uniform so clean and straight, not one stain, how can that be, after work, leaning over the sink at midnight in the bathroom, scrubbing out the spots of ketchup and gravy with a laundry brush and detergent, her back hurting, but do it now, she thinks rather than put it off until later. Slipping into bed with him so quietly, he doesn’t wake, getting up an hour before him in the morning and showering, wash hair then body, then face, then shave legs and then off to work the breakfast shift for Jane. Get there half an hour early and drink three cups of coffee and smoke three cigarettes while organizing the waitress station, clean ketchup bottles, no gook around the edges, fill salt and pepper shakers, wipe down all the menus, clean the coffee machines with a wire scrub brush, and then what? Then what? Work lunch and dinner shifts if possible, which it almost always is because so many lazy shits who don’t care if their bills are late, who don’t care if their phone gets shut off for a few days.

Men she waits on looking at her like she’s not much of anything, not the way they used to look at her and it’s not because she’s waitressing, she knows, no, it’s because she looks like shit. No more of that. I want my tits back, you stupid moron cunt shrink, she thinks. I’ll get them back, they haven’t gone away forever. The shrink says, Maddy, are you listening to me? You look very far off. Maddy? Where are you? What are you thinking about? Do you like it when your mother visits you here, or does it upset you?

When my mother visits. Maddy thinks, bringing her Tupperware sweating with lukewarm food, sitting in the common room, nervous and watching the clock because she always visits for one hour, no more no less, miserable and talking about things Maddy couldn’t care less about, her sister, her cousins, a new item of furniture in the house. Do I like it when she visits, Maddy says, I don’t know. I don’t feel one way or the other about her visits. I can tell you though, she says to the shrink, she doesn’t like it. But who would. This place is pretty depressing. You probably don’t like it. But they pay you to be here. The shrink says, I didn’t ask whether your mom or I liked visiting with you, I asked if you liked it when your mom visits. There is an edge of impatience in the shrink’s voice and Maddy thinks, poor cow eyes, she hates her job. Understandably.