Brute

And what I'd really like to do is answer the phone, tell him he's not wanted, tell him to go to hell and to fuck off while doing it. That if he really cared he would, I don't know, show it. And I'd like to reach through and break his face and strangle him with the cord, if there is one, and if there isn't I'd find something else. Because sometimes brutes only respond to brutish things, so if that's what it takes then that's what it takes. I'd look good in an orange jumpsuit.

But I don't do these things, and I don't say these words. I pass versions of them onto you, I claim I'm no psychiatrist. You know what's best for you and I can only choose support, it ain't my life and it ain't my love. But what I know of it is, well, I know enough. That a man can say a lot of empty letters in a lot of pleasing ways, and it's a whole lotta nothing until he starts acting them out.