Between Bruises & Blooms

That is
my favorite kind
of fictional stupidity.

The plan
was perfect.

Revenge.

Seduction.

Manipulation.

Get close.

Take what
you came for.

Destroy her.

Leave.

Very dramatic.

Very efficient.

Then she laughed.

Or fought back.

Or looked at you
like she could see
the ugly thing
beneath your expensive suit.

And suddenly
the carefully constructed
revenge plot

developed
one tiny problem.

You loved her.

Roman looked
at Emberly
and watched vengeance
rot beneath obsession.

Cesare caught
Rosalind
trying to kill him

and somehow
the assassin
became the woman
he could not release.

Benito built
an entire nightmare
around Ginevra,

only to discover

that ruining
the woman you love

does not actually
make losing her
hurt less.

Amazing.

Men will construct
elaborate schemes
involving murder,
revenge,
captivity,
and generational grudges

instead of
going to therapy.

And I—

apparently lacking
all sense
when a book
is involved—

will sit there
at three in the morning

watching another
morally bankrupt man
realize

oh no,

I accidentally
have feelings

and whisper

you absolute
fucking idiot

before immediately
turning
the page.