DAMAGED

KAT

His face, his poor terrified face. The warnings he had heard about me were sinking in, finding anchor in reason. I could be angry that my friends and a manager that was as good as family told anyone who found interest in me to run. I wasn't mad. I was a black hole. Court had not been far off when he asked me if I ate the hearts of men. I didn't enjoy it but maybe I did. I wanted to love and to feel but it wasn't possible for me, I was infatuation, lust, and nothing else. The muscles along my spine burned from being curled into his lap for so long. I had no shame in what I did, using him for that temporary comfort. He fascinated me. I promised Joe that I would do better this time, no scandal whether deserving or undeserving. I was to stay focused on the music and on the tour. It never happened. I believed that chaos fused into my soul when the bus rolled three times, determining the state of my existence. I couldn't survive in silence; the weight of my thoughts would wrap around my throat and pull tight.

I watched his back get smaller and smaller, ignoring the urge to lend chase. I went back into the motel room. The air conditioning and the shower were the highlights of this crap motel. I wanted to enjoy both of them. I showered quickly and peeked out of the bathroom door, every person was still asleep. The sheets were scratchy and cool but crawling into them felt borderline erotic. I stretched and waited with my eyelids fluttering, curious to see if he would crawl in beside me or sleep on the floor or perhaps not at all. I was attracted to the face he wore when he talked about his family, every boring detail that endeared them to me like book characters, make believe representations of what I had always been hungry for. I wanted to sit in their small home and watch CSI until my eyes bled, until every dark and depressing memory was buried under these new ones. I would let his mom paint my nails and explain the importance of using basil and not too much salt. His father would watch the news and grunt while I sat at the foot of his chair, resting my chin on the ottoman that they had gotten from his sister. As I had been falling asleep I had been absorbing every detail and all the amused nuances in his retelling. We were connected now by my need for what he had always had, what I had always wanted.

I held in the sigh when the motel door opened slightly and shut silently. The bed behind me dipped and then went still. It was a temptation to move my body back against him yet I remained immobile. I had used him to feel better the entire night; the morning could be his own. He shook his leg restlessly and twisted in the sheets. He was like an awkward child trying to get comfortable without touching the cootie-ridden girl. His struggles were comical. I waited out his turning towards me and then away and back again. If he didn't stop moving everyone would assume we were doing what he was trying so hard to not do. I held still to the point of my muscles straining, this was more effort than I ever made. His hand shot out hot with calloused fingers and pulled my body towards him. I made a last ditch attempt at grabbing the fitted sheet and slinging myself back to my side of the bed. I acknowledged the uselessness of such an attempt. When my back was against his chest his grip loosened but didn't let go. The sigh I had been holding in deflated me against him.

"I gave you last night, you can give me this. After today we don't owe anything, to each other or anyone else." He punctuated his statement with a hard kiss on the top of my head. I didn't breath. The sound of his breath evening out in sleep was as awkward as the aggressive kiss. This was not something I did with people, sleeping with intention of intimacy and comfort. Last night I had been drunk and such a mixture of drunk and vulnerable that I had sobbed into his chest and slept with my head nuzzled into his collarbones. He was right I did owe him this. It shouldn't have been painful but the tension in my muscles wouldn't ease, to relax would be to give in to the feeling of security. My neurosis exhausted me into slumber not comfort.

"Hey, wake up!" I stretched my arms above my head and tried to ignore his voice breaking through the grogginess. My legs stiffened and there was no stopping the strange sounds that my mouth emitted when I was shaking off sleep. It was a constant annoyance that in every way I was a cat when I woke up. There were more similarities between the shortened version of my name and its animal counterpart. I didn't want affection unless you held it back. I would circle your legs but scratch your eyes out if you came without invitation towards my own. The only real difference was that the animal was spelled with a C and mine with a Dead Kennedys' K. That was my father's doing. My mother didn't want to name me Katastrophe but he did and she wanted him to love everything about me even my name. She didn't call me any of the names that people called me now. She simply called me daughter. She said she liked the regality of it and that no one besides the two of them could have the privilege of referring to me by that name. Now that I am almost older than she was at her oldest I can see the silliness in her ways, she was just a girl raising a girl. I was trapped by them and comforted by them at the same time, not every day of my life but most of the ones I can remember.