Four Months

14. Vodka and Crash

I picked up my phone for the 44th time today, debating to call him. Or let myself suffer more. I haven't moved from bed except to leave for classes. No more hockey games for me, or unnecessary outings unless I needed food or was dying. Maybe not even the dying part. I felt like I was already dead because well it was certain I was already killed. He stabbed a dagger laced with his own blood of deep shit and stabbed me repeatedly. I know his father was happy. How? He told me on the way to class four mornings ago. Stopped me outside of my car coming from the same building across the park where he does his sprints. He walked over to my car door greeting me, then telling me of how his son informed him of my locker confession. I only nodded and kept my head low, avoiding all eye contact. What could I tell him? That he won and it seems his son is somehow back on his side also, when only four weeks before that he was telling me how much he hated his guts.

I also have about 44 missed calls from Kaiden and Leona each. Followed by Kaiden attempting to knock on my door for the past four days to let him in. I drowned out his attempts in tears and sad breakup R&B songs. What made it worse is that I didn't even have the energy to sing along to these classics. I just listened liked a girl with no voice. But maybe I never had one, explaining why he won't listen to me or consider my feelings.

I laughed and cried harder reminiscing every time Leona told me he was falling in love with me, remembering how stupid I was to actually believe her or hope a small part of it was true. He never cared about me. He wanted easy attention and he knew he'd get it right from me, a young naive freshie. I've told myself silly reasons as to why he killed me, such as, you're a virgin, you cry too much, his father didn't like you, and you confessed your undying love to him which he never wanted to begin with.

I've attempted for days now to remove myself from the bed, from this room, these clothes. But I'm ashamed to show my face in public, scared of who's eyes lurk. Scared to run into his father again or him.

But the worst part of it all, is that I still miss him. I think I'm more sad that I can't see him and be under his presence than I am mad that he killed me brutally. I cry because the only skinship I've encountered in days is my bed sheets. The only soothing voice I've been spoken to by, came from the Bluetooth speaker. As much as I was annoyed by his ever-lasting presence; I also realized that I truly haven't been alone since I've moved in. And I think that is where the deepest of the sadness comes from. The loneliness, that had been disguised for so long I didn't recognized it until it was abandoned with me. I didn't realize how sound proof the walls of my single dorm were until I slept alone for the first time and could hearing the humming of the heater and insulation vents. I never understood how a love hate relationship could thrive so passionately until I met him.

Part four, and the last of my sunken depression, is the reality, that I do hate him. I cry out for the anger bottled in me. The feeling of dishonor that run through me every time I think of his name. How the phrase babygirl once existed and has now ceased. I hated that I ever became attached to it and the way it rolled off his tongue. I hated how he chose himself over me and his father. That final word... "myself"... classic one. How he knew not to choose me, not because it meant he had to comply with our original promise, but because it acknowledged he still cared for me. I hated how good at his act he was. I wanted him to be a sucker for every word I had spilled and to go against self-will and adjourn me in lies and sin. I hated his self-control. How I was never kissed before our parting, which left my lips throbbing because she never got a taste and it was too late now.

I hated how I couldn't be like Leona and let loose... loose all my sorrows in another man or woman's bed. How I could only submit to my own salt drenched covers and mattress crying to the empty space next to me. I hated how effected I was and how torn my heart really was. I hated how I couldn't contact the only other arms I've wanted to be held in, which were my parents. I hated how I knew how much control his father had on me. How the hair on my arms stood up detecting his presence before my eyes ever could. And most of all I hated how my first heartbreak took place by a man who didn't hold a title as my man other than from in the place of my heart and head.