Well, here we are again.
Although this time, the wine doesn’t taste so good. I want that release, I don’t want to feel anymore. I don’t want to remember.
But the memories keep coming back.
The boy coming up behind me and squeezing my throat so tight I can’t breathe in year 4. The stalker buy getting on one knee after my “friends” decided it would be funny to make his dreams and my worst nightmares come true in year 10. My ex-bestfriend’s bed when I was 15 and him sliding his hands up my leg and the Jack Daniels smelling breath hot in my mouth, forcing me to say a little “ok” as he kept going higher. The dark stairway in Vietnam two years later as the strange man pushed up my dress. The conference I went to with one of my best friends that turned out not so great on the last night after another year.
These things haunt me, every day.
I hope you understand why I do what I do.
But in the last week, the memories of you holding me, running your fingers through my hair, pulling me closer just won’t leave me alone. I’ve never felt like that before, I’ve been wondering what it would feel like. I tried to imagine it, but I couldn’t. No one could imagine the feeling. Such a wonderful feeling.
When you asked me up to your room and I refused and told you how I felt, I was upset. Of course I should have known that you didn’t like me. How could I have expected something so silly. I only like me on some good days.
I appreciate you not forcing me to do anything and letting me go. But I wish you didn’t, and I still like you. Hell.. It could be way more than that. It is way more than that. But how could I ever admit that. You’d think I’m crazy. I feel like I’m crazy. This is real life, not some story. Not some fairy tale, however much I wish it were.
I don’t know whether to feel sorry for questioning you in your involvement of the certain person coming to my room and forcing himself on me. I don’t even know why I still feel comfortable being in my own bed after that betrayal on Tuesday night, just three nights after the most amazing, and one of the lesser terrible nights of my life. I wonder if you knew that this person wanted to come to my room to “hook-up” with me. At least after all this, I’ve managed to say “no” in some sort of form. To you, and to this creep.
I even went so far as to tell him to never talk to me again.
What a feat.
Not so much a feat when the best friend mentioned above (yes, I still talk to him so that it is not awkward at a certain workplace) says that I am an easy hook up.
You can understand why I do what I do.
So, because this wine doesn’t taste so good in my room, by myself, I’ll take it into the shower with me tonight with my broken razor and temporarily tattoo myself again.
Perhaps I will come up with some other phrase other than “kindness is a curse.”
I don’t even think this is everything I wanted to say.