The Vituperator (NaNoWriMo 2015)

eleven \\ alona

May 1, 2014 // Thursday

Today was a day of almosts. Almost broke up - almost kissed - almost went back to normal.

Despite it being Labor Day, I checked out early tonight. It was a fun, albeit awkward, night. Nick was having Labor Day party at his house and it was packed. Oh, I'm not exaggerating. Nick told us he was feeling charitable that week, and went off inviting all the public school kids too. So yeah. Fucking packed. It went insanely from the start - see, nobody knows any real public school kids. We hardly ever interact with them. I'm not lying, the only public school kids us Irisburgh Academy (it really does make us sound pretentious, doesn't it?) kids know are the ones who deal to us. Well, not me, but like, Pavel and his goony friends. I don't even know the names of the public school kids we see around campus - but I guess that's a good thing, that means I don't do drugs, ha.

But anyway, it went fucking crazy. Nick told them to bring whatever they got, and he would pay them quite a pile up. Naturally, half the people in the party went completely fucked-up-out-of-their-minds crazy within the first hour. I don't even want to know what people took. Sasha took something though, I'm not sure what, but I know Nick gave something to her and she was acting pretty funny. Like, drunker than usual.

Is it weird though, that I didn't feel the craziness, the hype, the horniness, of everyone there? I don't know, it was like I just wasn't in the mood (now I know I'm crazy, because I'm always in the mood). It might easily just be the fact that my boyfriend was there, and you know, I haven't been having that much fun with my boyfriend lately. After every encounter with him I just end up thinking about what it would be like if I were Uma Thurman and Kill Bill. Odd, I know. My boyfriend did not try to kill me on my wedding day, nope. Instead he just shouts at me all the time and hits me on a weekly basis. How fun.

But at least I know there's a rift between Bryson and I. Now I just need to figure out what the rift between the rest of the gang is. We were all there at the party, sure it was a little fun even though I left early, but if my eyes weren't deceiving me, we hardly spoke to each other.

I don't know if it's the gang or if it's just me, but something's changed in us. We're still close, but I feel like we've all just been so busy lately caught up in our own things that we don't realize we hardly spend time together as a group anymore. Pretty depressing. I really hope it's just me. I hope I'm just too wrapped up in my own shit, honestly.

I was on the second floor, walking to Nick's room (it's where he let Sasha and I keep our bags) because I needed to retouch my make up. Yeah, fuck you Carmen Höleman, just because you hate your braces and disgusting hair do, does not give you the right to single out girls and tell us that our mascara has smudged. Not cool. (And honestly who dyes their hair red and green, zebra style anyway? Do you want people to think you were birthed from a christmas reef and candy cane?) Bryson walks out of the hallway bathroom just as I'm about to turn left into the bedroom, and he just jumps to conclusions.

Being the better, mature person, I told him to calm down and that I was going to fix up my makeup. At least, that's what I would have said, if I were being a good little girlfriend. You see, the way I see things is like this: Bryson won't let me break up with him - well, Bryson and everyone else. If I dump him, he freaks the fuck out; this will only end painfully (with bruises) and our entire group dynamic will be wrecked beyond repair. I don't want to be responsible for tearing us all apart - I can't be responsible. So the plan I devised to make Bryson end things with me, is just to tell him exactly what he doesn't want to hear, until he can't take it anymore.

I'm not talking about shit that'll anger him, I'm talking about shit that'll just annoy until he can't even fathom the idea of ever having feelings for me in the first place. At first I thought I should become a total slob and only wear crocs for the rest of our relationship - but I think at the end of that plan I would die (by my own hand) (after looking in the mirror). Thus began the plan of making myself an awful girlfriend. I would argue with him, I would tell him that I think his expensive shit is a waste of space, I would talk condescendingly about him when he's in the same room.