breakup

Part 06: No longer your addiction

RICHARD'S POV

Finally alone. Smoking. Far away from that stupid crowd that was driving me crazy. As if we always needed to smile, to be happy and cheerfully babble with fans all the time. As if we didn't have our personal problems... FUCK!

Clenching my teeth, I had just pressed my cigarette on my forearm until I extinguished it. The third one in the last ten minutes. The third wound on my skin tonight. Last week fans for the first time noticed my cigarette burns. Damn, I was hoping nobody would notice it ever. Long sleeves offstage and long gloves onstage were hiding them all the time. But I got drunk and took my shirt off so few of them noticed, saying I would start looking like Till if I continue that way. Fortunately, except them nobody else did. Not even my bandmates. Neither did Paul. No way he could notice. I wasn't spending very much time naked in his presence. And even when I was naked with him, he didn't have possibility to see me very well in all this rush. In all my roughness. In all my damned...

Sudden voices startled me from my thoughts. A couple of fangirls got out from nightclub where the after-party was, laughing and chatting cheerfully. Luckily none of them realized I was nearby, sitting on the stairs in the darkness, covered by shadow of the wall. I threw the butt away and drew new cigarette from the box, lighting it.

Although I had drunk too much, I was able to think more or less clearly. As soon as I left that crowded, fuggy club and got out to cold soothing night air, my mind cleared up a lot. And the more I was coming round, the less I liked it. I was thinking about Paul. About myself. About our relationship, whatever it was. All the time I was thinking about it. And hated it. Hated it all. Especially myself.

I didn't know exactly how I had got at this disgusting state of mind. I know only that I felt so painfully abandoned and undesirable that I desperately wanted to have my boyfriend back, even by force. But luckily, when I finally took the initiative for the first time after we had broken up, Paul willingly accepted having an intercourse with me and I thought he actually did want me around him after all. But I was damn wrong. Immediately after everything was done I figured out it was only due to sex, nothing more than that. As much as I was trying to make an eye contact with Paul that much he was trying to avoid my glance, as if he was fearing I would ask him again to start over, begging him the same old thing as I had done so many times before. And then, he quickly took his clothes and left, looking like someone who suddenly realized he had made a terrible mistake. I didn't know what to think, I felt so confused, so lost, I sank even deeper into depression... And frustration as well. And soon, when such casual sex slowly started to become our common routine, my desperate need to compensate it somehow and run away from bad reality became so intense that I finally went one step further, making the easiest thing I could do in these moments - getting back to my fantasies while doing it with him. I knew I shouldn't have given in to these morbid fantasies, but once when I did, it completely obsessed me and very soon I simply couldn't imagine anybody else but myself. I tried, I really tried hard to fight it off, but it was too late. I thought it would get boring to me, let me go when I please myself enough. But it didn't. It fucking didn't!

I was deeply ashamed of it. I really was. It all made me treating Paul like an object, an object transformed into my own narcissistic fantasy, at the same time helplessly floating in continuous guilt between our every intercourse. But as the time was passing by and the feeling of guilt became no longer bearable, my entire feelings completely turned into anger towards myself, until the rage took me all over. I desperately had to wreak this rage on something, and of course, the easiest target was Paul exactly. And the more I was wreaking my rage on him, the more I was becoming furious at myself. Of course, therefore the feeling of my own guilt was even stronger than before, and so I found myself stuck in the darkest part of my mind, captured in a vicious circle of continuous, unstoppable rage. And then I started doing this shit with cigarettes, finally wreaking my rage on my own skin.