I suggest you listen to this song while reading:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bpzxf_flm8M
Is anybody else paranoid, like, all the time? Being
paranoid was a bad habit of mine, and I had to get rid of it. I slowly draw my
knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, putting more weight on the
bed. It was obvious that the past ten or so hours had been extremely traumatizing.
I still couldn’t find that wretched bottle of alcohol, so I still didn’t know
what had happened last night. I remember yesterday though, being with Grace,
possibly seeing Emilie (it could’ve been some sort of a doppelganger, you never
know) and then after writing in that journal, everything became blurry, to both
my eyes, and my memory. Sure enough, Grace comes barging into the apartment,
barreling towards me. Then she stops, and sniffs the air. Her eyes basically
tear through me. Yes, I’d called her, but I guess I forgot that if I drank last
night, as bad as I thought, I would reek.
“Alcohol Eff? Really? I
thought you had yourself under control,” she scowls. Grace was not happy. I was
in trouble. I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out, and I wait for my
younger cousin to punish me like a little kid. “I mean, I understand that life
is hard and all that shit, but you had yourself under control, how did you let
go so… So easily?” I knew the answer to that one. I slowly let my hand move up
to point to my journal on the ground. Her head turns, and she sighs. “More
poetry,” she mumbles.
“I’m getting back into it?” I say, realizing it came out as a question.
I lift my eyebrows and plaster an innocent smile on my face in defense to her
on-going scowl. Grace shook her head.
“Where’s that thing you wanted me to see?”
“In the bathroom,” I say, as a mental picture of the carved words flash
before my eyes. Then, I feel someone’s breath on the back of my neck, whip
around, and find nothing.
“Holy shit,” I hear Grace yell from the
bathroom. She peeks her head out, “Why would you to that to the mirror?”
Me? She couldn’t possibly believe it was me who had
taken something and scratched the word “DEAD” into my mirror. Even if I were
drunk, why the hell would I do that? The rest of the afternoon included
arguing, coffee and the “Ever After” ending, where everything comes out okay.
Although I still have an insecure feeling that has settled into the pit of my
stomach, I tell Grace that everything is fine, I was just overreacting, and
that I could control myself. Grace offers to stay, but I shrug the offer away.
“Please, stay in control for me,” she whispers into my ear as
we hug. As soon as the door shuts, I break down. Tears flow as if a dam had
broken, my heart aches, and I slump to the floor, back against the door. I cry,
and cry, until there’s nothing left. Numbness has taken over my entire body and
mind. I contemplate reaching over for my journal, but forget the idea
completely in a matter of seconds. I bury my face into my hands and try to
think, but both numbness, and thoughts of my trip, invade my mind.
“I’m
Effenie, and you are” I asked. She was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. She
had shiny black hair and smoldering blue eyes. Her and I were sitting across
from each other in the cruise ship’s library. I wasn’t much of a reader, so I
decided to spark up a conversation. I wasn’t the best conversationalist.
“Emilie,” she smiled, closing her book
and putting it on her lap. Emilie, what a beautiful name. She relaxed into the
back of her chair.
“So, what brings you to the ship’s
library?” At that moment, I slapped myself mentally. Why else would anybody be
at the library? Could I get any stupider? Hopefully, I hadn’t just challenged
myself.
She laughed, “Well, you see, I came to
the library to read. I don’t know if that’s what you’re supposed to do, but I
like to call myself a rebel.” Emilie had the biggest smile on her face, and I
could tell she knew I was embarrassed by my mortifyingly stupid question. I
shift my weight in the chair, and try to focus the conversation on something
else. The conversation shifts between cookie dough, old cartoons, and then our
pasts, a topic I’m extremely cautious in. I found out how hard she’d had it,
her parents abandoned her at the age of fifteen, where she was left alone to
raise her and her sister, who died the year after of cancer. I had felt guilty,
and I remember silently mourning her sister.
“If I ever see my parents again, I’ll
kill them,” she said at the end, and by the look on her face, I knew she was
dead serious.
I heard a knock from behind me, and then remembered
I was against the front door. I stand up, wipe my eyes, turn around and open
the door. My jaw drops and my heart sinks. There stands Erik Sanders, my ex
boyfriend. We would still be together, if he wasn’t a drunkard who liked to
gamble. Hating him for being just a drunkard would be hypocritical. I begin to
shut the door when he stops it with his foot and looks at me.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispers. He had the most
seductive voice I had ever heard. It was that sleepy guy voice, and he was
lucky enough to have it all the time. I’m sure there were tons of girls who
could’ve been turned on by his voice. Then, there were his looks. Blonde hair
that he always spiked, his built body that sometimes made me quiver with
anticipation to what he could do to me and his nose. Now, I was obsessed with
noses, and he just had the perfect, most heavenly nose I’d ever seen. Male
models didn’t have a better nose than him. Entranced, I pull the door open and
let him in. As soon as I close the door, I’m pinned to it. He starts kissing my
neck and holds my wrists above my head. Did I mention he was tall? I moan as he
takes both wrists in one hand and his other hand travels my body, familiar
territory. He pulls my shirt over my head and starts to unbutton my jeans, when
I realize what’s going on. I try to push away, but he’s too strong, and maybe
it was because I wanted it too and didn’t try hard enough. My jeans come off,
and resist the urge to blush. I usually didn’t mind him seeing my in my
underwear, but we weren’t together. I felt exposed. He pulls me up and I wrap
my legs around his waist. He was still clothed. Why was he still clothed? I
grab at his shirt. When his shirt comes off, and we blindly find our way to the
tiny bedroom, he kisses me forcefully. His mouth travels lower, stops at my
breasts, and then travels lower again, until he’s found my panties. He starts
biting at them. Then, the rest falls into place, I realize how much I’ve missed
him, and let him in.
No comments:
Post a Comment