I'm giving you a night call to tell you how I feel // ch. 1

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'There's something inside you

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'There's something inside you. It's hard to explain. Their talking about you boy, but you're still the same.'

Don't get me wrong here, I remember well, these were precisely the exact lyrics playing the moment everything seemed to shift in my life. Every moment of that night is engrained in my mind like a permanent tattoo.

I've tried to forget this night too many times, going to different methods of all kinds to just get rid of this memory that replays every fucking night when I just want rest for my mind; this memory is the loudest and noisiest in my mind at all times, and that's why I believe that somehow getting this all out is what I'm not just going to do, but meant to do.

Everything about my life's been fucked up, but this is the most fucked up portion of my life. This defeats my abusive, fucking family background, struggle with my music career, and time when I lost my best friend. What I can say is that this happened right after all that shit, so maybe that's why it's the most fucked. They always say, 'you're a collection of your experiences' or some shit like that.

Anyways, I was fucked. Fucked outta my mind in all honesty. I was always fucked outta my mind on some sort of shitty party pill with the help of some liquid courage as my refreshing morning coffee, afternoon tea, and evening delight.

Straight tequila and vodka were like water to me, like the current that kept my brain functioning and blood pumping when in reality they were probably depressing and disfunctioning the fuck out of my system. I downed bottles of gin in 5 minutes at least three times a week right outside my local liquor store just so I could puke it up, and get it another to forget everything I couldn't forget.

You know I fucking wish I had a happier way to begin this story and eventually end it, but I must warn you that it's long and it gets bad before it gets better, at least the way I see it.

She cried. She cried all the fucking time to the most mundane of things. You'll see later on. "Sensitive" as she used to call herself. That was the one fucking thing that we just couldn't see eye-to-eye on. Like I was missing a part or screw inside of me that triggered this water-falling mechanism that every other human seemed to have no problem cascading.

It's funny, I'd always forget the word "sensitive" as I said earlier when I said, "Babe, you're too—what's that word you taught me?" She never grew tired of it, and if there's anything that girl had for me, it was patient, and I needed that, I needed that more than I needed anything.

"Sensitive." She'd reply right back with this look that's hard to describe, but I'll try ok? She did it all the time. Like this look of 'you're no higher nor lower than I am. we are equals, but i'd die for you if you asked.' Simply, she could say I love you to the highest degree in my eyes, without words. Too bad I haven't seen that look in years ever since I finally destroyed that twinkle out her fucking eyes.

Haha, maybe I give myself too much credit, but I was the fucking worst. Bipolar as fuck, waves of depression and crazy anxiety that I still get nightmares about. The way I see it is: I fucked her up, but it it's only partially my fault that I'm as fucked up as I am.

She was once this fucking daydream, somehow appearing in my nightmare of a life angelically floating and shit. I swear I saw a white 'aura' of sorts around her when I first saw her. She was glowing, practically, fucking perfect like a present sitting by the Christmas tree just waiting to be opened up and devoured.

I wanted her so bad; just wanted so badly to part her thighs with my bare, left hand and rub just the tip of my fingers up and down her slit, under her glittery skirt. Just get down on my knees with my eyes locked into hers while I taste her in front of the entire party. Fuck, just to grab this random girl by her neck and pull her where I needed her, but something as you can already tell from the way this story centers was different about her.

"Venus in Taurus" she always immediately claimed whenever I told this story to friends during our happier times; when I felt I could face other people and act normal for fucking once. Of course, I told a cleaner version to her parents and our friends, but she knew, she fucking knew what she was doing to me when we first met that night. She always tried to fucking deny it and said she was too "naive" to actually understand whatever the fuck was traveling from my insanely dirty mind to my cock, but the way I see it, it was all too intense and organic to be otherwise. But what do I know, I was always drunk, high, horny or all three.

Her hair really was the most beautiful thing about that night. The way it shined and glistened in the party's neon-shimmering lights messed with and still messes with my brain's functionality. How could anyone look so perfect? How could anyone glow so radiantly?

I know this sounds so weird, but I don't give a fuck this is what this is for. I just wanted to just touch her hair and have her touch mine, and for us to just have this stupid like swan moment or whatever the fuck that you see in those cheesy, romantic movies; I wanted that, and I wanted that bad.

She fucking hated those kind of movies with passion, so did I. But we'd only watch them together, promising eachother that we'd only see them and their shitiness together which was much easier for me than her because her friends always wanted to watch them with her, but when I think about it she always did say she used me as an excuse by saying, "I can't, I promised Yoongi I'd watch it with him" when she didn't even wanna fuckig see it in the first place. Plus, we'd always end up getting all riled up and horny right when the sex scenes came in these shitty, Hollywood, and sad excuses for cinema and end up fucking on the couch which took a while for her to warm-up to.

But let's get back to the fucking point, sorry I drag on when I think about her that night, and just in general. I essentially didn't just see her as fuckable is what I'm trying to say, there was something else in the mix that I didn't understand that night what with all the hardcore bass of the night and tequila and coke in my veins. She was eccentric and I was willing to do whatever the fuck I'd have to do to make her my fucking girl.

nightcall {m.y.} Where stories live. Discover now