The Alliances We Make (Twisted Thoughts)

Life in Plastic, It's Fantastic

It was a warm day, the sun was a heated blaze upon my skin. Maintaining the approach of summer. The vivid colours came alive with every stroke I pressed onto the canvas. Searching the campus surroundings for inspiration, but frustratingly getting caught on one person. A quiet boy. On a day as hot as this, everyone was showing as much skin as they could. Yet, this boy was covering up as much as possible. Hoodie pulled up to cloud his face, sleeves pulled over his hands, he sat in a tight ball under the staircase by the library. I think I shared a class or two with him, but he never sat next to anyone, never spoke much. Just listened, observed. Like a colour contrasting the palette, he stood out, yet very much so was hidden away. It fascinated me. When the bell rung, and called for the next class, I made an effort to sit next to him. – M x

Alchemy

Pink. The first thing I noticed when I entered the bedroom. It didn't stir any emotions, it hasn't for a long while. I used to get this bizarre bubbly feeling inside. Some stupid, left field joy, due to the fact that my boyfriend of almost five years had picked out something for me to wear. It used to be cute, and sweet, and endearing, and... just not total bullshit like it is now. Have you ever reached a point in a relationship where you just freeze and start to realize things? Like when your super drunk and hyped up at a club but then there's this eerie calm where you suddenly become hyper aware of everything around you? I felt that before last Christmas. Only the epiphany I finally grasped was that my identity had become that of the outer shell of a doll. It took me so long to notice that my usual whatever-the-hell-I-want style was being washed out and replaced by.... 'pink'. Girly things. Expensive things. Silky, short, indisputably feminine. Things that would show me off. Put me on display.

Things that weren't me, but were more us.

Michael had picked out my outfit. Again. As per usual now. I let out a deep sigh. This was certainly becoming a more of a regular thing in the past seven months, in particular. Although it had gone on for as long as I could remember in our relationship. Pink; a slinky, pale slip dress that reached my ankles. It was the whore Madonna complex in one dress; the fabric will cling to my body like water, and Michael knew I never wear a bra with dresses like these, but it covered me almost head to toe. With lacey inserts here and there. Modest as a good girl, but as seductive as a bad one. I pried the thought from my head before I got too wrapped up in being cynical. Although my person style was more ...androgenous, I could say. Usually, my day-to-day pieces were high waisted trousers, a loose top or a corset, a blazer or a trench or a cropped jacket, or just an oversized knit. I tried not to take Michael's dressing selections as a direct shot against me, what did he say once? Dressing like I had a dick? Like a lesbian? Some shit like that. That me wearing pants is some sort of shot to emasculate him by denying him 'easy access' like a skirt or dress would. Maybe I was just overthinking it? I looked out at the evening view once more. The house was empty and pristine. Not wanting to taint the house with my unladylike habits, I smoked casually with the windows open. A cool breeze taking the smell out with it, entwining it with the floral French air.

'.... Breaking news coming out of the courtrooms earlier this morning, as the Leopard Vauclain case grows, new information indicating an early release has been published....A split debate after the multi-million dollar mogul was charge over 8 years ago in the Parisian court system for drug trafficking, illegal trades and manslaughter.... Now a twenty-five year sentence will be cut down, Vauclain could be released in the coming weeks according Vauclain's defence attorneys...'

Click.

I turned the TV off. It was just white noise I barely paid attention to these days. There was so much legal talk it reminded me of the days my parents were still married and my dad would go on and on about his big cases. Although, it wasn't Jacob Oliver's overbearing narcissism and love for his own voice that made my mother leave him. No, he had a lot of other flaws that just grew tiresome the longer they were together, but looking back now I'm surprised they lasted as long as they did. Almost 20 years.