dreamland

eleven

It was hard, to say in the least—no surprise there.

I couldn't talk to him now because all the other times that I would, I would have something equally rude and distasteful to say to him. Now, all I could think was that he would be able to read it on my face and in my words. He would read the expression of liking and maybe infatuation—I wasn't sure yet— somewhere in my face. Because every time he fired back, the words always hit home, I guess my facial expressions just made it all that easy for an attack. I was sure he would take just a glance at me and bam, it would be written in bold letters on my cheeks and forehead.

The night was cool and all around me the few leaves on the trees rustled and blew to the ground.

I was so stoned, which made no sense to me because I was never the kind to go out when I was. I was an unpredictable handful when I was stoned and so it was better for me to keep that home than to act on it outside. Yet I couldn't stop talking about how I wanted, needed, to stop thinking of him, that night, with my best friend. I'd passed by her house again, seen him at her house yet again. This time he didn't even turn to look at me, he was too busy talking to her.

She was laughing and nodding her head with her dark hair pinned back neatly.

So it was four nights later that I smoked two spliffs and felt my ears get muffled and my eyes get smaller to forget about that image that was tormenting my mind.

We went to the party and all I did was laugh too loudly and stare at my hand until I saw him in the kitchen. I bumped right into him and said sorry before I realized who the sorry was for.

I backed up and grabbed the half full bottle of gin on the counter, beside the sunglasses and a broken pencil, while looking down at my shoes. I was feeling loopy and afraid that anything that I was thinking right then, would just show.

Is this what paranoia was like?

He made some comment, that I can't remember now because I was too intoxicated and busy trying to block him out.

My friend had said she would find out, but she had taken too long already, I had needed to know before I saw him again.
But she said that he was too hard to figure things about, everyone just knew his name and then it was a blank room after that.

I rubbed my eyes and heard him laugh, I looked up finally and he asked me if I was high. I shook my head and made a face, no, I'm not, I have to go, I said breathlessly. He stood in front of me, swiftly and blocked my path. I smelt him and everything about him just seemed sharper, like if someone had come out and highlighted what I already had noticed.

His eyes, his ears, his mouth, God his mouth and then his Cupid's bow.... You look like a mess, he said watching me with the bottle of Bombay Sapphire dangling out my left hand.

Are you alone, he asked looking around.
I blinked my lashes, I actually couldn't remember where my friends were but I hoped that they'd find me soon. I had the unsettling sensation that I was about to do something stupid. I grimaced at his comment of my appearance, then ran a hand over my hair, trying to smooth it down. He laughed some more, just let me go through, I said.
I put my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat and it slowed me down, I closed my eyes, thinking that I wanted to kiss him really badly. His lips brushing and stroking and feeling against mine. I could just see the swirls and sparks if I just took the one step, the first step.

I opened my eyes and he looked down at my hand on his chest. I reacted suddenly and pushed him back but he didn't move. What did you take, really, you look like shit, he pointed out again with something like concern or curiosity.

I wondered again if it was my hair or my makeup that was smeared or maybe something stuck on my teeth.
God, what a fucking nightmare.

I wet my lips and said, go compliment your girlfriend, will you.