DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #56 - no more tears

the only thing that never comes back...
is the fucking lighter!
life is a wheel, and karma is a bitch...
biting right back at ya, Cuntrell.

'Jerry... Tori... please stop'. Bessie speaks, trying to hold me back from jumping at Cuntrell's throat, now that we're yelling at eachother from the opposite ends of the breakfast room, and hating on eachother like we always do, when we are sharing the same air.I've been eating his shit all of this morning, some of yesterday afternoon, and I've kept my chill together like a full fledged soldier the entire time. He's been insulting me all morning long, for no reason at all but his own, evil enjoyment. He's made me feel as underwhelmed as John Oates when he's leaning right next to Daryl Hall, he's messed with my vibe, he's instilled twisted thoughts in my mind, he's called me 'Sean's dog'... and what's worse, is that he's fucking dared to push off my cockatiel, and he's fucking yelled at him.

He's stuck a baby inside of my best friend, he's given her stage four crabs, and she's dying on them. Bessie is pale as hell, looking sick and feeling sick, going through the worst migraine of her life because one of the Gerry crabs in her system is devouring her frontal lobe as we argue. She's dying, and he's out there acting like it's all cool. Like it ain't true that everytime Bessie sleeps with him, she loses ten days of life expectancy. She was glowing, yesterday. Now she looks like she's been turned the inside out, and I don't mean it in a flattering way. She must've fucked Gerry all night, because her prognosis is going critically downhill. And, being the reasonable, good friend, I'm scared as fuck.

I can take this no more. I am saturated. Saturated, ready and willing to yell at Cuntrell's face and electroshock his slicked back, bleach blonde mane of hair that makes him look like a Geri from behind. This guy has been trying to pick up a fight with me for absolutely no reason, for the last entire hour ...why can't I get the score even, and attempt to murder him to pay him back for what he's done to my one of two best friends? FUCK CUNTRELL. BUT NOT LITERALLY. HE'S DANGEROUS !

Help. I need gloves before I dare to touch him. How do I know that a crab ain't gonna pop out of his hair, as I proceed to strangle him?

'No, Bessie! You don't understand!' I squirm, standing up on my feet, dusting off my shorts and patting my knees like I'm ready to go serve my war duties. And I bloody am. She's still tugging me by the arm, but I'm doing the resilient and I'm somehow finding the physical strength to bill myself free from her hold. It's nice of Bessie to think that I don't have to take care of business for her, but if I don't stand up and fight for her... would I be a good friend ? No. I would be a shit friend and a shit person like Gerry. I gotta do my thing. I gotta burn the ground around Gerry. And I gotta make him fucking explode and die as a result for it.

'You, fiery little trooper. I love you'. Sean speaks, playfully spanking my ass as I walk my first, heavy step closer to Cuntrell. His tone going lower as he... professes his feelings for me? For only the two of us to hear? With a smile on his lips? What? I... I don't know what the hell's going on there. I don't have a clue. I don't even know if he wanted to be heard from... me. Pitch too low, tone too suspicious. Smile too wide. I am... confused as hell. He's never really told me that he loves me, prior to right fucking now. So it hits in a way I wouldn't be able to describe. It makes me feel all dizzy and high and wasted, but without actual drugs in my system. This makes me trip harder than all the fine cocaine in the world. Jesus, I can feel my essence quitting my body and spinning around the breakfast room like I'm high and dissociated. But I'm sober, perhaps just a little bit in love. What the hell?

But hey, what does he even mean when he says ... that? Jesus fuck. I can't even rep what he's just said without near damn collapsing inside. I ain't a native English speaker, I do my best to understand stuff and dodge the inevitable hurdles that come with living my whole life in a language that ain't mine. I understand a solid ninety percent of what people say, I am pretty fluent, but I always get fucking confused when people tell me they love me. I've learned that, unlike in my native language, 'I love you' has a double meaning, in English. One meaning is 'I cherish your affection as a friend, I think you're an amazing person and an amazing buddy'. The other one is 'I love you more than I'd love a friend or my favourite dish. I have romantic feelings for you, dumb fucker'. And not knowing what Sean means, when he says he loves me, totally out of the blue, literally sends me to oblivion. Why can't we speak ... the same mother language? Why do I have to wonder if he loves me as a friend or as a girlfriend, while I'm on the brink of yet another anti Cuntrell Crusade?