"...unrequited love does not die; it's only beaten down to a secret place where it hides, curled and wounded. For some unfortunates, it turns bitter and mean, and those who come after pay the price for the hurt done by the one who came before."
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January
I didn't like to compare Naomi to Samantha. That would be a battle Naomi couldn't win; I know I shouldn't even be thinking about Naomi. She's like a pimple you just can't stop picking at. Now, after all, that picking, it left a scar.
I still had feelings for the both of them I don't think I could ever completely rid myself of. Naomi was lacking the parts that I loved Samantha the most for, the deep intellectual, emotional, mental connection. All I really had with Naomi was a physical relationship. Samantha had my mind.
She understood me so well; she could emit what I was going to say before I even said it. She can tell when I'm mad, sad, even when I'm hungry. She knew me like the back of her hand and I knew her equally as well. I wanted all of that with Naomi; I wanted her to look at me and be like 'Babe, let's talk about it' and then she actually gets it and she understands and she makes it all better like Samantha always did.
Samantha always put me first and would do absolutely anything just to make me smile, she would spoil me, and she would compliment me every day, and say she loves me every night. She honestly made me feel like a queen. If I asked her why she loved me she could quickly run out a list. Naomi would run me in circles until I piss her off. That's when she'll yell her feelings out and even then there either poorly stated or just vague.
My phone lit up my dark room almost on cue- it was on silence. I rub my face, I take a deep breath and reluctantly reach out to snatch it off my night stand. I observe the 31 missed calls from Naomi. Without a second thought, I erase all the calls and all the messages. I really wanted to block her but something in my soul just wouldn't allow me to do it. "Lailaaaah!" I exaggerate masking my eyes from the beam of my light blazing down on my face. "I'm gone kick your ass!" I pull the sheets over my face.
"I let you take a long ass nap." she laughs pulling the covers back. I cover my face from the rays trying to put use to all of my persuasive skills to convince her to turn off the lights. "Get your ass up!" we wrestle over the cover for a minute before I eventually lose. "Lailah" I desperately beg her to give the covers back but she says no. I sit up "Fine, bitch! I'm up." I say rubbing my face removing all of my possible eye boogers and going to the bathroom. She trails behind me. I turn on the sink and grab my toothbrush knocking the toothpaste on the floor accidentally "Pick that up for me" I say because my shirt was way too short to be bending over.
She grabs it and hands it to me "Hurry up and get dress" she demands "Why?" I say squirting toothpaste on my brush. "It's 5 and the performance starts at 7. Come on!" she rushes out telling me to come to the living room when I was done. I open my medicine cabinet granting a pair of scissors to jump out almost killing me. I pick them up staring at them peculiarly and before I knew it, wads of hair was covering the bathroom floor.
I look up at my butchered pixie cut satisfied. I had all the emotion of wet concrete, it seems. My face felt like melting plastic under the scrutiny of my own eyes. There was no anger, no sadness, no joy or resentment. People keep telling me they are worried about my wellbeing.
