As I sit in solitude, something I haven’t done in months, I think of you while I stare at the wine glass that is stained with my red lipstick. Swallowing down the room temperature garnacha that is slowly chilling in the crisp autumn air while I sulk in my seat in the garage that has become a dingy oasis where I escape my realities and down my sorrows. My back hurts, this chair is horrid, but it’s better than facing the empty bed that awaits me. I pop a pill, drink, smoke a hit or two, drink… lather, rinse, repeat. The neighbors dog won’t stop barking in my otherwise eerily quiet neighborhood. It’s annoying now, but I suspect that much won’t bother me soon enough. I don’t know why I keep thinking about you. I’m saddened by the silence that was imminent to follow after our last interaction. I don’t understand why I feel this absolute need to keep in contact and obtain approval from someone whom mostly, has made me feel like I’m unworthy and like a nuisance. Nobody that I know personally, can wrap their heads around this infatuation I have with you…and frankly, nor can I. I know I am easy on the eyes. I know I have creative talents, but I also know I’m crazy. I’m insecure. I’m damaged. I’m spiteful, vengeful, quick tempered, and at times, emotionless. If you hurt me, bet your sweet ass I’ll cut you twice as deep and leave you drowning in a puddle of your own blood…metaphorically speaking of course. The people whom fall in love with me, are the ones that I won’t ever truly love them back. Only the unobtainable catch my interest. Shouldn’t surprise me…I’ve always been very competitive. But I know how you got in. Narcissism. Manipulation disguised as trust. You great at it. Finding my weakness, at first, pointing them out as being beautiful, unique and amazing. And later using them to hurt me. I’m well aware that I didn’t handle myself or you in a rational manner through the course of the fucked up disaster we created that turned into an affair that shouldn’t have existed. That summer afternoon you messaged me and said you were in the area, said you wanted to see me, I didn’t bother combing my hair, putting actual clothes on and making myself look presentable. I was expecting a grown up version of the scrawny, dorky, hyper spaz that I used to protect from bullies in high school which eventually led me to being kicked out. But that is not who showed up. A beat up Malibu pulls up, and out pops out a long haired, bearded, tattooed guy that looks like he either rolled out of a dumpster or off a tour bus. It didn’t matter to me…you looked sexy. Not at all like the goofball kid that followed me everywhere in high school. I run into your arms and the testosterone pumped through your veins as you swept me off my bare, dirty feet and spun me around. Then I caught a glimpse of your eyes. Amazing green hazel
eyes that later would tell me everything before you could even opened your mouth.
How bizarre it is that everything turned around. Although you were still visible anxious in my presence just as you were at times back then, I wasn’t sure what the reason was. In the beginning of our affair, You said you were intimidated by my beauty and presence. I was the hot girl at school. I was the cool girl. The one who didn’t give a shit what her parents thought about her green hair, or whatever color was chosen that week. I was the girl that smoked pot, cigarettes, drank and did drugs on the weekends. But you didn’t know I did those things because of the things I had been through. At 15, I had been through more than most have been through in the course of their lives. You said you would stare at me during class while I held a gaze that was unbreakable at the wall, window, table or whatever… off somewhere. You said it was intriguing and beautiful. You wondered what I was thinking about. You didn’t know that I was thinking about how my mother’s husband tried to fuck me the night prior or about how I was beaten by my mother’s second husband while she was either at work or off somewhere drunk. She was always M.I. A. Never there to protect me. No more than a year later I would be abandoned by her after I told her that her husband was after me. He was trying to fuck me. A young girl that never had a stable father figure. Whom didn’t even know her own until she was 8 years old. And his wife was an abusive psycho bitch. Surrounded by instability and was made to believe I was the problem. I told you everything. Gave you the key to my closet and let all the skeletons tumble out at your feet.
You seemed to empathize…which I think you really did. I’m no girl next door, easy going, carefree beauty that someone is graced with. No. I will blow through your entire being like a category 5 hurricane. Like hurricane Andrew. (See what I did there?) Just as you did mine.
….to be continued