Thursday, January 21, 2010

DO NOT READ
The first thing I heard when the blood pounding in my head quieted down enough to let me notice anything besides D being as close to me as he was, was the song playing on the radio. Cruelly and coincidentally enough, it was the same song that, when I first heard it a mere seven weeks ago, made me swear I would never let him do this to me again.
“Just talk yourself up and tear yourself down.”
With his hands still entwined in mine, his body still pressed to mine, still smothering me, still holding me up and keeping me down, I would have burst into tears right then and there.
“You‘ve hit your one wall.”
I would have, but then he would have pulled away out of concern and stayed away long enough to ask me what was wrong. When I wouldn’t answer because he already knew perfectly well that it was him, deep down, that was the problem, he would leave left me here, in this cold, harsh, fluorescent lit room all alone.
“Now find a way around.”
Being in this cold, harsh, fluorescent lit room alone would kill me far more slowly and painfully than it is killing me to be in this room with D, as he slowly, tantalizingly takes everything that I am and makes it dependent on him.
“What‘s the problem?”
I used to abhor this kind of thing with every fiber of my being.
“You‘ve got a lot of nerve.”
I used to think I was so much stronger, so much more sensible, so much better than those girls who’s entire existence depended on that one solitary guy, whether he cared at all about her or not.
“So, what did you think I would say?”
Now, though, that I’m only one more encounter with D away from becoming one of those girls, I merely pity them. I only ever feel this pathetic and obsequious every other week. I can’t imagine having to feel like this 24/7.
“No.”
Because the truth of the matter is, D and I are just not meant to last. We never were. No amount of effort or heartache or lust or infatuation would ever make us “meant to be” or “the real thing” or whatever cliché works best, and it’s simply no use forcing something if it’s just not right.
“You can‘t run away.”
The wise thing to do, therefore, would be to severe all connections with each other and simply get on with our lives, no matter how painful and gut-wrenchingly difficult it is to do so.
“You can‘t run away.”
Unfortunately, this option, I’ve just discovered, is far too painful and gut-wrenchingly difficult for either of us to carry out.
“You wouldn‘t.”
So, I guess instead, we’re just going to have to be wrong and be together until it kills us.
“So, what did you think I would say?”
The lust and infatuation keeping us together is more of a drug than a feeling. The more we experience it, the more our brains disintegrate and the more impossibly agonizing it is to quit cold-turkey.
“No, you can’t run away.”
The thing is there’s a part of me that likes it that way.
“You can’t run away.”
I know it’s really selfish of me to think this, but even though I’m so much more considerate and smarter and overall better without him, at moments like these, when everything just comes so easy with us, I’d sooner shoot myself in the face than go back to living in the cruel reality that is life without D.
“You wouldn’t.”
Judging by the fact he’s all over me right now, I’d say he feels about the same. Then again, I never know. Sometimes I think he’ll finally come to his senses one day and realize that there’s nothing special about all these little trysts, and that I’m just a whore for keeping up this little symbiotic charade and he’s just a monster for letting me.
“I never wanted to say this.”
But that would never happen. D believes in himself way too much to even consider the possibility of something like that happening without him noticing. He’s one of those guys who think he knows everything about anything girl-related.
“You never wanted to stay.”
Unfortunately for him, he never stopped to consider the possibility that all girls are not the same, and that maybe--just maybe--I might be different from all his other little conquests.
“I put my faith in you.”
Honestly, the only reason we even became involved with each other in the first place was because he lost a bet and had to ask me out, and I lost my mind and said yes. I thought, “What the hell. I’ve got nothing left to lose at this point and I’m not attracted to him in the least, so there’s no way he could take anything from me even if he wanted to.”
“So much faith…”
But then things started happening. He began to give me those looks that said I was special and those embraces that said he never wanted to let go, and before I could even sense it, I did not just feel like a worthless, crumpled up piece of debris on the floor when he looked at me, but a hidden diamond. All I needed was a good light, like D, to shine and my value was beyond any measure.
“And then you…”
Unfortunately, it soon became evident that I was not the only diamond he’d been illuminating. With this discovery plaguing me, I spent what felt like years avoiding him, not wanting him to see that I his betrayal had reduced me to mere cubic zirconium—just barely better than a piece of plastic.
“Just….”
Finally, though, he tracked me down and confronted me. The look in his eyes shattering every wall I’d ever built, he demanded to know where had I been, why hadn’t I been returning his calls, and why was I looking at him like that?
“Threw it…”
I wanted to be brave. I wanted to tell D I was looking at him like I was because I knew where he had been, who he had been talking to, and who he had been looking at. When I opened my mouth, though, all that came out was the sound of my voice breaking and my tear-ducts exploding. The next thing I knew, I was in his arms, bawling like a newly widowed widow.
“Away.”
Oh, how I hated myself at that instant. I wasn’t supposed to be like that. That was not me. I was supposed to be the poster girl for strong, independent, self-sufficient, sensible women, and all I had to do in that instant to make everything right was tell D I knew he’d been cheating on me and that it was over, but I simply could not do it, and what’s worse, could not stop crying.
“I’m not so naïve.”
For awhile, I struggled with my feelings and tried over and over again to detach myself from D, but it was like trying to rip my own lungs out using nothing but my bare hands—possible, but extremely difficult and excruciatingly painful. Because of this, I gave up and succumbed to my impossible, treacherous emotions. For a few months, I was even able to forget what D was doing to me and what I was doing to myself by letting him.
“My sorry eyes can see…”
It wasn’t until I heard this song that I was reminded why I had fought so hard against this addiction. It wasn’t so much the words as much as it was the tone of the singers voice—she sounded so angry, so confrontational, so confident, and so much like I used to be.
“The way…”
See, this song isn’t so much a portrayal of mine and D’s situation as much as it is a portrayal of what the situation was supposed to be.
“You fight shy…”
This was the song I was supposed to sing to him that day I gave in. The lyrics were exactly what I was supposed to say to him. They perfectly illustrated the balance between the psychotic, vengeful, victimized ex-girlfriend and the optimistic, hopeful, recovered, strong women I wanted to be. I didn’t just want to shrug it off my shoulders like it was okay because it wasn’t, but I also didn’t want to spend the rest of my life obsessing over D.
“Of almost everything.”
I wanted to be an optimistic pessimist too.
“Well, if you give up…”
“Cori,” D abruptly says. I open my eyes. He’s looking at me like I just sprouted a tail and fangs.
“You’ll get what you deserve.”
I’m about to ask why he’s staring at me so strangely, but then I feel it—the warm moisture on my face. Tears. When did I start crying?
“So what did you think I would say? No, you can’t run away.”
He frowned.
“You know, don’t you? About the other girl?”
Oh, God, no. Please don’t me think about this now.
“You can’t run away. You wouldn’t”
Oh, but I would. I would.
“Okay,” D sighs. “Look, that was before I knew you, like really knew you. I know that’s the lamest excuse ever, but I’m really sorry, and—”
“I never wanted to say this.”
“D,” I say, somehow managing to feign a casual tone. “Please be quiet. I don’t care about her.”
“What?”
“You never wanted to stay.”
“The other girl—I don’t care about her. She doesn’t matter.”
“Of course she does!” he says, almost angrily. “Don’t you get it? I cheated on you! Don’t just act like everything’s okay.”
“I put my faith in you.”
Ah. So it’s drama he wants.
I sigh. I can’t help but smile a bit at how I’m the one crying, but he’s the one who sounds hysterical.
“Sorry, D,” I murmur. “I can’t really get worked up about that right now. I’m too tired.” And I am—it really is exhausting being this addicted and this hopeless.
“So much faith.”
Brown eyes wide, he looks at me and shakes his head.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks. “I thought we were… I thought you…”
Oh, good God. He thought I loved him. Poor kid.
With a sigh, I tell him not to worry. I just haven’t been getting enough sleep and am therefore just tired.
“And then you just threw it away.”
He says okay, and believes me, because just like me he can’t bring himself to accept the truth yet. He’s not ready. Neither of us is.
“You were gone long before…”
Then again, we were never ready for each other in the first place.
“We had even seen the start.”
If we were older, if I wasn’t so jaded and he wasn’t so naïve, we would be perfect.
“Why don’t you stand up big?”
I can’t


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