Loud Love

|| one ||

Shailene

   His hands. Three years later, and all I can think about is his hands. That's all I can remember. Everything else has faded away ever slowly, to the point where, my imagination makes up the rest of what he looked like.

They were worn, and splinted, scars running across his knuckles. But when he caressed my face, and held me, they were soft. I always felt safe and at home when they touched me.

But eventually those hands were gone, as if never to be mine, never to love me.  Eventually he himself was gone too, and he took my heart with him.

It was a horrible break up, a horrible ending to our extravagant love.
Days after, I still found myself picking up little pieces of glass on the floor, from objects that were thrown and broken. My throat had still been sore from all my screaming.

Profanities I had yelled at him, were seemingly still imprinted in my brain for months after.
Man whore, scumbag. But worst of all, the only true one I had birthed to the world of him was, cheater.

Three years today, I came across a pair of women's white lace panties, and a used condom in the trash.
I didn't own white panties; we had never had sex.

Two weeks in Simi Valley, I had been visiting my mother. Two weeks he was left alone. My original plan was to stay three weeks, but my mother insisted that I must go home, see him.

It would've been a wonderful surprise for him.
It would've been a great evening for us.

But when I was home that night; when he opened the door to me, he looked shocked and wide eyed, not a gleam of happiness in his brown orbs.

Of course, in the moment I didn't realize that. My eyes were astray, looking at his crisp bare abs, and black jogging pants.

So later that night when I found the items that would end our relationship, I pieced everything together.

His startled behaviour, how he wasn't excited to see me . . . The odd aroma that filled our house.
And now the panties and the condom.

Three years today, I kicked him out of our apartment. It's been three years since I new where he was, three since my heart was torn out and stomped on, it's been three years since he fucked Ruth Kearney.

Her name is like venom, slowly working its way under my skin, into my veins, and sending poison until it reaches my heart... And kills it.

Ruth fucking Kearney.

It takes two tango, I told myself
over the years. So both him, and that venomous women, destroyed our five year, seemingly endless relationship.

But what she didn't end, what has yet to end, what I doubt will ever end, was our loud love.

Theo

  "Ah, come on," Ansel shouts over the blaring music. "Loosen up man, have a few drinks, get a little dirty."
I fight the piercing urge to slam his head into the wall, and settle for rolling my eyes. "I'm only here to appease you, mate," I reply lamely.

It is true though. Had I not owed a favour to my dear friend, Ansel, I would not be here with him. Note the sarcasm.

I'd rather be anywhere but here, where the music blasts so hard you believe your eardrums will pop, where everyone's body, is on everybody; where I pushed her up against the club wall, and kissed her so passionately everything thing else faded, the music became a numbing noise, and the bodies filed away from us.