Hermosa

April 1, 2013

April 1, 2013

Journal,

"I love the banter!" he laughed after a few flirtatious quips we'd exchanged. "How are you not married by now?"

I spoke to The Weatherman for the first time in almost 3 years. Somehow, he still had my number, and I didn't believe him when he said, "I miss you," but it was still nice to hear. There aren't many people I care to keep in touch with, but this guy? I couldn't even be mad. Forever one of my favorite people, if only for popping my cherry and taking me on a few adventures, I was secretly very happy to hear from him.

He was nineteen when I knew him; just a crazy college kid. He joined the army, as it turns out, in order to "gain some discipline." Now twenty-two, his voice has gotten deeper. I guess we're all growing up.

"I have this frozen mug. When I pour water into it, I like to watch the water freeze near the edges of the glass."

"Thank you for letting me know what you were doing. I heard the water and thought you were peeing. I don't mind if you do – just give me a warning first."

His laughter brought on flashbacks of the few months at the beginning of 2010 that we were fooling around. I could see him putting my hands against the wall, fingering me in the shower, banging me on the sink. I could sense where the large bruises had been on my neck, bruises that he had nearly chewed my head off to mark.

Sex is all I think about when I speak to this guy.

What else does a woman need, really?

My phone rang as soon as I had hung up. It was Diego. The conversation started simple and unraveled into why I should leave my boyfriend to be with him. I tried explaining why it wouldn't work out – us as a couple.

Then, before bed, the elastic holding my bracelet together broke and several stones scattered across the carpet. I still haven't found the wooden connector.