30th May
It didn’t matter that we got caught, in the end. My whole life, it seemed like I was waiting, and then this boy, with his shaggy brown hair and deep sea blue eyes, he kissed me awake and for a few weeks, I really felt alive, you know. My food tasted better, colours seemed brighter, and I never wanted to sleep. I didn’t want to waste my hours with him. I was gripped by a madness that took me whole, swallowed me up and I was lost in a dream I never wanted to wake up from. When you go about your daily lives, you can’t imagine what such a feeling might mean. For several weeks, I felt like I was sitting on top of the world, not in it, not a part of the constant atrocities we do to each other. But I was part of a gang, led by the two of us, completed by the two of us. After years of being afraid, and biting my tongue, feeling like I didn’t belong, and always searching, and lost amongst the crowds, it felt like a home coming. I soared with my laughter, and I had no idea where my heart was, but I was sure it was with his, somewhere. Even the nights we spent sleeping on the hood of his car, or under a tree to shelter from the rain, I wouldn’t have wished to be anywhere else.
Even the hard times never changed that. I’d cry and shake, and he would shout and punch the walls. But he’d always come back and hold my face in his hands. He’d kiss me on the forehead, look me in the eyes and say ‘It’ll be OK. You have to trust me.’ before pulling me close into his chest and holding me tightly.
I don’t regret running away, or stealing anything. I feel bad for the people who lost their lives, but we never set out to hurt anyone. They should have listened and everything would have been fine. He told them what to do, they should have just listened. I remember the night after I heard the shots, I was scared and glued to the seat of the car. I couldn’t move. When he came running and jumped into the car, all I could think to do was speed off. I didn’t ask what happened inside. All i cared about was that he was here.
We spent that night in a motel, on a bed spread with money. I could feel it crinkling beneath me whenever I moved, and some bills were sticking to my back. He traced a hundred from my neck down past my breastbone, towards my belly button, and then he’d kiss where the money stopped. Whenever he got close to me, I couldn’t think. I was so in love, he made my head spin. The room around us, and the world outside, everything fell away and all I knew was his body, and mine. The sounds of his breathing, and his voice when he whispered to me.
When they found us, they shot him. They said I hadn’t done anything, I’d probably get off on the charges, and they let me stay with him. I sat next to his hospital bed, and I laid my head on his chest and looked up at him. We talked, or rather - I did. He had an oxygen mask over his face, he was having some trouble breathing. We were going to get married, you know. He said that he’d always known, something inside him just knew. He always said “When I first saw you I thought, damn, she’s the one. that’s the girl I’m going to marry”. So as he laid there in that hospital bed, we talked about where we’d get married, who we’d invite, and laughed about who we’d avoid. We talked about a little house in the country, and we’d have a little girl, with a beautiful name. He’d wrap his fingers around my hand, and squeeze gently. “You’re the one” he’d say. And I believed him, the way I always did.
I guess I shouldn’t complain, I knew the angels would come and take him. They wanted him as much as I did, and who could blame them. The last time I kissed him goodbye, I didn’t want to, but I cried. And my tears didn’t roll down my cheeks, but his. And I promised him, “I will never love anyone again, it’s only you. Always you.”
I haven’t broken my promise.
+I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so I would not break.
Marya Hornbacher, Wasted +
What have you done
He opened the door, silently stood aside and I walked in. I dropped my bag on the small table in the hall. I was clenching my jaw, refusing to look up. i unzipped my jacket, and put it on top of my bag. I was staring at the ground. His feet, in white cotton socks. The dark grey cotton of his trousers reached to the back of his heels. He closed the door. The wood floor was a dark, glossy brown. He slid his hands in his pockets, and stood straight. I knew he was looking at me, but I wouldn’t look back. his white T-shirt strained across his shoulders, and he walked past me down the hall, and turned off into the kitchen. I stayed where I was. he opened some cupboards. A drawer. Got out a spoon maybe, then I heard cups sliding on counters. Water boiling. Spoons again. I put my hand on my jacket, and brushed my thumb over the fabric. It was bobbling at the elbows. I wanted to put it back on, zip it back up and bury my hands in the pocket. I wanted to grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder and run back. but where would I go? I had no home. I knew no one. I took my hand away and walked the same way he’d gone, and I stayed stood in the doorway to the small but modern kitchen. The floor tiles were black, with little squares of pearlescent white sparkling up at me. The rest was all white and stainless steel, some glass. there was nothing to make the place feel warm. I didn’t lean against the door frame, I just stood there, even as he brushed past me, leaving one cup on the counter. I left it there. I went into the livingroom the TV was quietly playing in the corner. He was standing by the window looking out to the street, and across to the park. I wanted to say something, but I had no idea what. I’d said I wouldn’t come back here, i didn’t want to do this anymore. Yet here I was. He had one hand in his pocket, the other was holding his drink. He took a sip, and then lowered his head, and set his drink down. He turned around and looked at me again. I took a step back, and felt the edge of a table just behind me. I put my hand on it, to steady myself. I was thinking of what I could say, but there was nothing. I didn’t know how I felt. I didn’t know what to do. he took his hand out of his pocket and walked over, he stopped right in front of me. I pressed the palms of my hands onto my sides and slid them down. I stopped below my pockets, and caught my nails on the side seams of my denim skirt. He took in a breath, and his body was no longer so rigid. the shirt he was wearing creased when he drew his arms forward, and one arm slid around my waist, and one hand form my cheek into my hair. He pulled me close to him, tilted my head up and kissed me. Not tenderly, with love or kindness. It was hostile, and I wanted to draw back but his grip was too tight, as my back bent, and he pushed me against the table, my head towards the wall. I pushed against the table with my hands, to stop myself from sliding on the floor. Just as I thought my arms were about to give way he ran his hand from my back, down to my thigh and lifted me up onto the table. In one swift move, he’d come and stood between my legs, and his hand now rested against my throat, still pushing me back against the wall. His lips were pushing hard against mine, and it was becoming harder to breathe. With his free hand, he was starting to unbutton my blouse, then pushing up my skirt. By now I was kissing him back, and he never moved his hand from my neck, but only pushed harder if I tried to move. Pinned to the wall, I just breathed as his lips and hands went everywhere. My hands gripped onto the edges of the table when he yanked my hips forward, and I gasped. There was a second of clarity, and then everything went numb again. I saw the ceiling. The little round lights. The pictures on the wall. The windows outside. My skin felt hot but I knew it was cold. I lifted my arms and gripped onto his shoulder. The lights. They kept moving. Light streaks, like the water to the shore, they came in, and washed back out. Maybe the room was shaking, or swaying, back and forth. Maybe it was the table. I pressed my eyes shut, and I didn’t want to be there. My shoulders and the top of my spine were rubbing against the wall, I could feel the rough pattern of the wallpaper behind me. This isn’t what it was meant for. It was for your eyes only. Not to scratch your skin sore. And my breathing. I felt like. Like maybe I’d stop breathing. My head felt hot, my shoulders burned, I wanted to move, squirm away, something was building in the pit of my stomach. I dug my nails into his shoulder, and he bit mine. I let go. And the feeling in my stomach dropped, and rose, and for a moment, I held my breath and arched my back. Everything stopped, I opened my eyes and the lights were so bright, I think it was the first time I’d ever seen them. I was grabbing at the table, pressing my fingers hard against the polished wood. I shut my eyes again, let out a deep breath. the world had stopped, there was no more movement. The blood flooded out of my head, and the lights dimmed down. He took his hands off me, and stepped back. He looked directly at me, sweat was beading on his forehead. I sat up straight, slid off the table and pulled my skirt back down. I turned around and did up the buttons of my shirt. I shook my head, as if to clear it, ran my fingers into my hair and dropped my hands back down again. I turned around and looked at him. He wasn’t a boy. He was a man by all of society’s standards. His chest was lifting up and down, and I could see the outline of his torso against the fabric. I don’t know what he was to me. He terrified me, and yet I kept coming back here. Something inside me wanted to go up to him, and fall into his arms. I know he’d shown no tenderness, but he just looked at me as if he knew. As if he was watching a shy forest creature, not moving in hopes of not scaring it away. I looked up at him, and for a moment I met his gaze. There was pity in it, and in a second I knew that everything I’d feared was true. This wasn’t easy, this wasn’t meaningless. He saw me, and yet he still loved me. This was why I always came back. I hated myself, and him for loving me, and for knowing how scared I was, but never backing down. But at the same time, I felt safer when I was here than I did anywhere else. I stepped backwards, and the back of my arm was touching the door frame. My heart started to race again, and the room suddenly seemed a lot smaller. I had to leave now, I was scared he’d come and put his arms around me, and I would no longer have the strength to go. He was still looking at me, and I remembered how the first time he met me, he’d been so sweet. How I wished that that had been enough. But he soon figured out that I didn’t want that. I didn’t know what to do with sweet. I didn’t know how to laugh, or fall asleep next to someone. I didn’t know how to show affection, or how to let my guard down. Not with sweetness. And now he knew. He knew I’d always come back, and he cocked his head to the side, as if asking me. I fumbled with the door way, and took another step back. It was still too soon, and I knew it was time to go.
+5th March 2012
We were sitting outside the front of the house, on a little white stone bench. I was holding a stick I’d found on the ground, poking at the petals of some flowers growing next to where I was.
‘So have you heard from him lately?’
‘Yeah’
‘Anything exciting?’
‘No, not really’
Candice looked at me. Her eyes always looked suspicious. It didn’t suit her. She had a beautiful heartshaped face, a straight nose, and long lashes framed her dark blue eyes.
‘So you won’t tell me about it?’
‘There’s nothing to tell. It’s just the same old shit.’
‘You mean the same old shit that throws you back about two miles every time you hear it?’
‘Yup’
I carried on poking at petals, leaves, the earth. Anything.
I took a breath, and dropped the stick. Pulling my sleeves down over my hands I shrugged
‘I don’t really care anymore’
‘You don’t, huh?’
‘Nope.’
I leaned back against the wall of the house and looked over at her. She was looking at me hard, like she was trying to search me for the truth. I was sick of this conversation, the same one everyone seemed to feel they had to have with me. I gave her a pressed, tight lipped smile and looked back down at my sleeves, the ends of them bunched up in my fists, so my fingers wouldn’t get cold.
I hated how people had now somehow decided that I was like the walking wounded, and you had to inquire about my well being all the time. I thought it was fine to not want to talk. I didn’t want to talk. To anyone. I knew that my friends were just concerned, but I didn’t want their concern. Everyone was worried and sweet, and always so sorry and sincere. Always so apologetic for what had happened, it shouldn’t have happened to me. But it did and I wasn’t sure why they couldn’t just let it die. I had decided a long time ago that things weren’t going to change, and we all have our cross to bear. This would just be mine. It was OK. I think everyone has this one person they’ll be forever fucked up about. You know the one that you can never decide if you love them or hate them. And even years down the line you will still argue about how it all went wrong, and you will still always blame each other. And every time you speak, or see each other, you’ll tear your hearts out and throw them on the ground, swearing you don’t care and this isn’t what you want.
I don’t know. I guess no one ever knows how things truly end until you die. Most likely, you’ll lay there on your deathbed, and your life will flash before you. And there will be that one face, that your forgetful mind will linger on just a few seconds too long, and you’ll feel that pain again, and remember why you chose to forget that same face so many, many years ago.
+
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+11.37am
I was back at the Pier with him, laying quietly side by side, our faces burning in the sun. We had our feet dangling in the water, legs bent at the knee. I moved my fingers, and let them gently graze his, to wake them into motion. He turned his hand so it lay open, and I traced the creases in the palm of his hand with my index finger. ‘You know, sometimes I still think of how strange this is’. ‘What’s strange?’. ‘Me and you’. I looked to the side, with one eye shut, the other squinting to keep out the sun. He didn’t move, and I looked at the side of his face for a minute, and his hair now pooled on the ground under his head. I loved his hair. ‘It’s not strange at all’. ‘But it is a little bit’. ‘Not at all’. ‘Well, i think it is’. ‘Why is it strange? I’m devilishly handsome and a great conversationalist. It would have been strange if you’d resisted my charms’. He sounded serious, but I could see the corner of his mouth lift, and the side of his eye creased. ‘You forgot to add mentally unstable’ I laughed. ‘Unimportant details my darling, no one bothers with those. Completely unneccessary’. He grabbed my hand suddenly, and pushed his fingers through mine, and squeezed. ‘If anything about this seems strange, it’s that someone like you would even give me the time of day. I’m just a blabbering idiot with too much free time’. ‘You forget that you are also devilishly handsome and have big hands. And you know what that means’. ‘Yeah, means that you’re in for a fucking disappointment tonight’. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. I loved the way he joked about himself so mercilessly, always. He never took himself too seriously, or anything, yet I never felt like I wasn’t important. Sometimes, I just looked at him, and into his near black eyes and just felt so lucky. Somewhere inbetween running away from old ghosts and trying to hide from a future that wouldn’t stop coming at me, I stumbled into him. As someone who shyed away from people, especially strangers, I found myself craving his company. I wanted to tell him everything, and have no more secrets. Even the ones I was scared to tell. And I told him everything, and he did the same. We stayed up for so many hours at night just talking, and laughing. At first, I didn’t think this could be real. To meet someone I instantly felt at home with. When we were together, and we’d talk, I missed the world and it just slipped away around us. There were countless times that we’d been in Cafe’s and our food had come, and gotten cold, and we never even noticed just locked into eachothers eyes and talking, laughing and with each time that he made me laugh, I felt little pieces chip off the walls I’d built. And I knew it, I knew it right from the start that he was something different. I knew because the first time we held eachother, it should have been short, polite, and as always with me - awkward. But it wasn’t. It just felt like his arms were made perfectly to slide around my waist, and my shoulders just high enough to lay against his chest as I wrapped my arms around his neck and we pressed against eachother. I’ll never forget that first night. I was so lost, and in such a short space of time, he set everything right. Not with anything he did, but just the way he looked at me. Back then, we stopped in the street, surrounded by a huge crowd of people rushing past us. Someone said something at the same time as he smiled, and I couldn’t hear a single sound, or see any faces apart from his. I didn’t worry when he was standing next to me.
I turned to the side, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’m luckier than I could ever have hoped to be.
