Lost Soul

"We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year..." Pink Floyd echoed in the cold dark room. The walls seemed to be pulsating with every electric guitar note. Roger Water's haunting voice began again, "wish you were here..." The burning in Jane's throat and chest was unbearable. She had been sobbing, these animalistic, gut-wrenching cries of despair for over an hour. She didn't think she would ever be able to stop, or even want to stop. Every time she took a shaky breath and lifted her head up, she took in the desolate emptiness of the room and started crying all over again. Jeremy was gone. He had finally left her.

She'd been praying for this moment for the last few months; why did she feel so empty inside? It didn't help that he had taken all her stuff. Instead of slinking away like the sleazy rat he had become, he had made a grand exit by stealing all her clothes, furniture, books, even the wedding picture of her parents. All he'd left her, like some not-so-subtle message, was this Bose IPod dock with her IPod. Unfortunately, he'd even taken the time to erase her entire music library, with the exception of this one song.

Jane thought back to the day they had moved in to this Chelsea studio. They were so happy that day, bickering over whose sofa to keep. They'd ended up making room for both couches and had eaten Chinese food reclining Roman-style on their respective couch. They had even baptized both couches that night by making love on one then the other to test out which one was the most comfortable. She had thought she would be telling a G-rated version of their moving in story to their children one day.

Things went downhill fast from that idyllic day. Living with Jeremy was very different than dating him. He was extremely moody, due to a nasty little cocaine habit he'd kept hidden until now. Once she found out and voiced her displeasure, he promised to quit, but he'd just found better playmates. He didn't even try to hide them, often bringing them to the apartment, and introducing her to them. Every once in a while, they would have a nice day together: a picnic in the park or a movie night on the couch, and she would be reminded of why she had moved in with him. Then the phone would ring and she would hear Candy or Randy's voice on the machine telling Jeremy about a great party, and he would rush out of the apartment. Towards the end, she didn't even have the energy to get angry anymore.

Now she was left with nothing more than the wrinkles of disappointment edged at the corners of her mouth. Slowly the power of Pink Floyd's lyrics started to penetrate her self-indulgent sorrow. What kind of message was he trying to send her? Was he telling her that he still loved her after all that? Or was it some sort of threat? A result of some terrible coke-induced delusion? Should she be scared? Her sobs slowed, she started breathing deep, and shivering. She picked her the phone and called 411. "Hello? I need the number of a 24 hour locksmith." It was time to get herself together.

This post was in response to the prompt, use the lyrics of this Pink Floyd song in a fictional piece from Fiction Friday.