Pinky Swears

“Come down from there!”

“No! Jesus!”

“Come on. You’re overreacting.”

“I’m overreacting? Get the fuck out of my life!”

“Why? Baby, we can still make this work.”

“You cut off my finger!”

“Just the little one. You probably don’t even use it.”

“Christ!”

“You sure climbed up that tree just fine without it.”

“Stay down!”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to break up with me over a pinky. We’ve been going out for months. That’s too small a thing to break up over. Baby…”

“Go away! Leave!”

“I promise I won’t cut anything else off. Okay? Are you happy? Now come down and—“

“No I’m not fucking happy! You cut off my—“

“I know, I know, but I already promised I wouldn’t do it again.”

“Bullshit! You shouldn’t have cut my finger off in the first place. God, it’s bleeding like crazy.”

“Well I didn’t promise I wouldn’t cut that one off, did I? Baby get down, you know how I hate heights.”

“No!”

“Okay, look. Howsabout I put your pinky on ice, you climb down, and we try to stitch the little digit right back on? I’ll YouTube it.”

“You’re insane!”

“Actually, do you know where the pinky ended up? I’m sure I saw it around here somewhere…”

“Oh God. Oh God I’m gonna be sick…”

Joe took a few steps back. Cindy heaved, barely missed his shoe.

“Get it all out, baby.” Joe took another step back.

“Did you find my pinky?”

“No. I hope you didn’t bury it.”

“It came off inside!”

“Did it?”

“When you used the scissors!”

“Well I didn’t see it fall.”

“Look for all the motherfucking blood!”

“If I find it, will you come down?”

Cindy heaved again.

“I mean, if I put it on ice?

“Cin?”

“Yes okay fine go.”

Joe went inside. Cindy watched him, then waited a minute to see if he would leave again. He didn’t. She carefully planted a toe on a lower branch, holding herself steady with one hand and one elbow. She had to be fast. She had to be—

“Finally!”

She slipped on her own vomit.

“Ugh, oh god, baby. Oh, oh god. Look at you. Ugh, you got sick all over you. And blood, and—man your hand is just… Listen. Baby, I’m sorry, it’s just. It’s not working out. Maybe we should see other people.”

 


 

Day 245’s three random writing prompt categories were, “A breakup over the smallest thing,” “Up a tree,” and, “Fear of heights.”

She can just say she lost it because she broke a promise.

– H.

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