Whirlwind

49 - Part I

[Riley]

Love - Expiration: 06/6/2008

You see, before this particular night I tolerated Quentin's lack of and screw ups pretty well. I accepted and managed them in a way where my sanity was still intact and I could still find a piece of me deep inside that would then overlook his faults, pick him up and push him to be better. I wanted that for him so he could be it for me. Every day for seven months, I tried my best to be a pillar of hope, to be the faith he needed to live again and find life after his mom's passing. I tried to be strong, though I was hurt myself, and do everything in my power to provide relief. But things between Quentin and I progressively got worse, even with my efforts of selflessness.

It started off as him mourning, then placing blame on himself, depression, skipping class, losing his job, arguments that led to forgiving, deeper depression, flunking out of school, then finally he was awakened with the help of a drink. Then weed, then coke, then every substance and piece of ass on Earth that numbed him. That's when the shift occurred, when he had crossed over to the dark side and I could no longer save him.

But I still tried. I purposely played with fire when I should've just let it burn, and I tried so much that I forgot that I was human myself; that I was not God and that I had no clout to fix him in the ways he needed to be fixed. I was absentminded to the fact that even in my strongest I just could not defeat the person Quentin had become. I got pushed further and further away, but closer and closer to a breaking point. The being used and abused theme had finally gotten old, and her name flashing across his home screen, whoever the hell she was, set me off. It ignited a flame within me that could not be put out.

"'I'm going to kill his ungrateful ass.'

That was the thought running on a loop in my head and was my only goal this evening. It needed to come to light, he needed to leave this apartment more than just heartbroken. He needed to really feel this, and physically was the only suitable way. My mind blanked out and oddly enough the hateful words we began to spat at each other, after I asked who this Gia bitch was flashing across his home screen, aroused me. I was excited, a jolt of energy had me grabbing picture frames and snatching the photographs of a dead couple out. Dishes were flying from cabinets, past Quentin's head and crashing onto the floor. Furniture was being flipped over and holes were being embedded deep into the walls by lamps and other obscure items.

And all by me.

My rage was exhibiting itself like art. Picasso type shit was being fashioned before his eyes as Quentin dodged but still got struck a few times and struggled to restrain me on other occasions. That only made me fight back more. Feeling his dirty hands on me, hands that I couldn't trust, hands that betrayed, played then fucked me over made me shove him away. They made me tighten my own fists to strike his face, to slap him, to inflict all my pain, regret and resentment bottled up in my body onto his.

Scratches, bruises, and scars were a part of my piece of work too, just as the shattered pieces of our already fragmented hearts. Our yelling, the typical symphony orchestra that staged itself as background music, sounded even better to my ears meshed with the boisterous sirens resounding blocks away and the banging from behind the front door. It could've been the neighbors knocking or even Leslie, but I honestly didn't give a care which. I was in ecstasy now, grinning as I found myself sitting by the window like a psycho; simply admiring the aftermath surrounding me and the red and blue lights flashing on the boulevard.

I guess no one warned him not to hurt himself, but next time someone should. Warn him that treating the one person who loves him so wicked will put him in a big misunderstanding. It would put him in handcuffs, both of us in the back seat of cop cars with spectators witnessing us both fall apart. The only thing I can remember as everything after the actual fight became a haze is him calling my name, hoping just one last time I'd save him.