He leaned back, his eyes clouded over as he thought about the past month. He'd been dumped, his job had ended, he'd been kicked out of school, he'd gotten a tattoo, and he'd met a girl. It wasn't the best month he'd had, but it was decent enough to not hate all of it. He smiled as he thought of how pissed he'd been at being dumped. Not like he hadn't seen it coming, he just wished it would hurt less.
He dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of Newports and his lighter. He carefully removed one of three remaining smokes, the body all bent and twisted yet still unbroken. He grinned, knowing that he was killing himself slowly by doing this, and placed it between his lips, opening and igniting the Zippo with practiced ease and a flick of his wrist. He inhaled deeply and opened his mouth, letting the smoke drift out slowly while it created patterns as it curled and wound its way to the ceiling. He grabbed the small pad and pen on the table next to him and made a small list for the next venture out to the store, Newports and lighter fluid on the top of the list.
30 August 2010
11 August 2010
He sighed and slouched deeper into his chair, his legs splayed wide, doing nothing to cover his growing erection as she sauntered up to him, covered in little more than a flimsy old t-shirt that was so old it was almost see-thru. He grabbed his coffee and took a long sip, relaxing as the warmth ran through his body. She stopped right in front of him, and stood with arms akimbo, her hip cocked to the left and her eyes glued firmly to the rather impressive tent pitched in his pajama pants. Sal smiled cockily, and with mock indifference said, "What is it you want at," he paused and looked at his watch. "What is it you want at six in the morning Sam?"
04 August 2010
As he walked home, the depression hit him like a semi and he understood why he was so torn open by this; even though they had shared a good long time together, she had just suddenly realized that she wasn't ready for any kind of relationship, whereas he was ready for the long haul. And having that emotion suddenly cut out from under him hurt worse than anything he had ever felt in his life thus far.
He closed the gate and doors, locked up and turned out all the lights, and retired to his bedroom, looking sadly at the frozen A/C and wishing he had the cash to buy a new one already. He sighed, pulled off his Linkin Park shirt, an old gift from her, and pulled on another one, this one yellow, from the softball spring training she did in Florida this past year, another gift to him. He felt like curling up and crying right there on the floor, but managed to crawl into bed and fall into a fitful slumber.
He dreamt of her, as he had every night for the past month. This time, it wasn't a simple retelling of a previous time they had been together, but an instance of "what-if" from the future that would no longer be.
He closed the gate and doors, locked up and turned out all the lights, and retired to his bedroom, looking sadly at the frozen A/C and wishing he had the cash to buy a new one already. He sighed, pulled off his Linkin Park shirt, an old gift from her, and pulled on another one, this one yellow, from the softball spring training she did in Florida this past year, another gift to him. He felt like curling up and crying right there on the floor, but managed to crawl into bed and fall into a fitful slumber.
He dreamt of her, as he had every night for the past month. This time, it wasn't a simple retelling of a previous time they had been together, but an instance of "what-if" from the future that would no longer be.
01 August 2010
He wanted her. Bad. And all the time. Its all he could think about these days, having her, holding her, kissing her, loving her, touching her, smelling her, playing around with her, everything he could think of somehow led to her in his mind. It was driving him slowly mad, wearing down his control over himself, making him slip up in conversation, throwing his patience out the window. He wanted to see her, just her, no one else, just the two of them, alone, for the first time in a while. He was willing to do anything to get that if he could.
The Morning After
He understood why. He honestly completely did. If he had been that fucked up, he would have wanted her to leave like she had wanted him to. But that still didn't make him happy about it. He had worried the whole night, even his dreams and sleep had been restless and full of anxiety. Even waking up to her text hadn't made him feel better. In fact, he felt worse, because he really thought he should have been the one to help her home, not his new friends who had helped her instead. He was deeply upset by all this, but he wouldn't tell her ever, unless she got him drunk again, and he almost didn't want to do that either.
He sighed and grabbed a bottle of water from the floor, staring at the mess of his table and the boxes and bags scattered round the room. His hand clenched in a fist and he winced, looking down at it and wondering if he could pass it off as walking into a tree because it had been to dark to see when he had gotten home. His dad would be suspicious the next week, he was sure of it.
He growled softly and grabbed a napkin, dampened it with the water bottle and started cleaning his knuckles, careful not to utter a sound. It was seven in the morning and he was pretty much certain he was the only one awake in the house, as usual. He sighed again, and walked into his back room, which he had converted into an office for most purposes, as well as his storage for things not well received by his parents. He flipped up the light switch and headed towards the closet door in the corner, careful not to step on any of the objects tossed haphazardly everywhere. He made a mental note to pick up and clean his floor as soon as he could, and opened the closet door.
Three bottle of whiskey sat on the top shelf, each one about half empty, shot glasses upside down on the caps. He grabbed the largest bottle, stared at it for a moment and nodded to himself. He closed the closet door and walked back out to his bedroom, placed the bottle next to his bed and grabbed a towel, the sudden need to scrub off all of last night washing over him like a wave.
He no longer wanted to remember it, the joint, the beer, the fear, the pain, the crying and vomiting and worst of all the anger. All the anger and rage he had felt half the night, at himself, at his friends, at his girl, at everyone and everything until everything had gone red and he had punched a tree so he didn't do something else he would regret later, and he had bled and she had found out, her hands rubbing his and her voice hurt and he was on the ground staring at the stars, and then he was face to face with her and he just wanted to break down and cry and hold her forever, but he couldn't because she didn't want him to see her like this and he didn't want her to see him like this and the anger welled up again, this time tasting like acid and beer, and he swallowed it back down, not wanting her to be upset or grossed out or anything. He pulled his hand out from under hers and played with her hair as they lay back and talked and she became more and more beautiful as she talked and he found himself wishing this never had to end.
And then she had to talk to people, more people, people he did and didn't know, and people he did and didn't like, and he was walking with her oldest friend and her friend was praising him and saying how he thought they were amazing together and how he had talked to her and that he thought he should stay because she needed him right now, even if she said leave. And she did, many times, after first telling him to stay and he had told her it would be alright and he would stay for now, and then explaining how she really never wanted him to see her like this ever, and he was hurt. Hurt because she wanted to hide from him this side of her, but...he kind of liked this side, it was crazy and wild, like she usually was, but on a more extreme level of it, and he really liked that.
But she kept telling him to leave, that she didn't want him to see her like this, like a broken record, and then she had her friends escort him home, god knows why, he was actually sober at this point, not even a drop of wooziness and tipsyness left in him, and he was upset. Why should HE leave? He was the only one not messed up in the slightest right now, and her making him leave pissed him off. It pissed him off a lot. And it worried him, making him anxious, jittery, his mind going even faster now than it had before when he raged out, thousands of miles a second, all focused on her and how he wasn't sure what would happen, and he was scared, so very scared, terrified even, but all of this fear lay under so much anger right now, and he wasn't sure what to do anymore, so he called home to leave the door unlocked, and he walked home with his new friends, talking about the night and their emotions, and they put him at momentary ease. He went inside, locked the door and made sure they went the right way back to the girls, his anxiety back in full swing once they were gone.
He sighed and grabbed a bottle of water from the floor, staring at the mess of his table and the boxes and bags scattered round the room. His hand clenched in a fist and he winced, looking down at it and wondering if he could pass it off as walking into a tree because it had been to dark to see when he had gotten home. His dad would be suspicious the next week, he was sure of it.
He growled softly and grabbed a napkin, dampened it with the water bottle and started cleaning his knuckles, careful not to utter a sound. It was seven in the morning and he was pretty much certain he was the only one awake in the house, as usual. He sighed again, and walked into his back room, which he had converted into an office for most purposes, as well as his storage for things not well received by his parents. He flipped up the light switch and headed towards the closet door in the corner, careful not to step on any of the objects tossed haphazardly everywhere. He made a mental note to pick up and clean his floor as soon as he could, and opened the closet door.
Three bottle of whiskey sat on the top shelf, each one about half empty, shot glasses upside down on the caps. He grabbed the largest bottle, stared at it for a moment and nodded to himself. He closed the closet door and walked back out to his bedroom, placed the bottle next to his bed and grabbed a towel, the sudden need to scrub off all of last night washing over him like a wave.
He no longer wanted to remember it, the joint, the beer, the fear, the pain, the crying and vomiting and worst of all the anger. All the anger and rage he had felt half the night, at himself, at his friends, at his girl, at everyone and everything until everything had gone red and he had punched a tree so he didn't do something else he would regret later, and he had bled and she had found out, her hands rubbing his and her voice hurt and he was on the ground staring at the stars, and then he was face to face with her and he just wanted to break down and cry and hold her forever, but he couldn't because she didn't want him to see her like this and he didn't want her to see him like this and the anger welled up again, this time tasting like acid and beer, and he swallowed it back down, not wanting her to be upset or grossed out or anything. He pulled his hand out from under hers and played with her hair as they lay back and talked and she became more and more beautiful as she talked and he found himself wishing this never had to end.
And then she had to talk to people, more people, people he did and didn't know, and people he did and didn't like, and he was walking with her oldest friend and her friend was praising him and saying how he thought they were amazing together and how he had talked to her and that he thought he should stay because she needed him right now, even if she said leave. And she did, many times, after first telling him to stay and he had told her it would be alright and he would stay for now, and then explaining how she really never wanted him to see her like this ever, and he was hurt. Hurt because she wanted to hide from him this side of her, but...he kind of liked this side, it was crazy and wild, like she usually was, but on a more extreme level of it, and he really liked that.
But she kept telling him to leave, that she didn't want him to see her like this, like a broken record, and then she had her friends escort him home, god knows why, he was actually sober at this point, not even a drop of wooziness and tipsyness left in him, and he was upset. Why should HE leave? He was the only one not messed up in the slightest right now, and her making him leave pissed him off. It pissed him off a lot. And it worried him, making him anxious, jittery, his mind going even faster now than it had before when he raged out, thousands of miles a second, all focused on her and how he wasn't sure what would happen, and he was scared, so very scared, terrified even, but all of this fear lay under so much anger right now, and he wasn't sure what to do anymore, so he called home to leave the door unlocked, and he walked home with his new friends, talking about the night and their emotions, and they put him at momentary ease. He went inside, locked the door and made sure they went the right way back to the girls, his anxiety back in full swing once they were gone.
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