Why Don't You Like Me? // BlueBird

Chapter 3

Morning light comes through the open curtains and I stare at it from my point on the floor, legs in front of me, back against the bed. I swirl the beer around the bottom of the bottle absentmindedly, music playing loudly to try and drown my thoughts. My thoughts.

My alarm goes off on the desk and I stare at my phone for a minute, unable to even register that I need to get ready for work. I get to my feet, staggering, picking it up and turning it off. I have to go to work. Fuck.

I jump in the shower, singing softly as the cold water tries to soothe the ache in my head.

"I'm waiting for the calm as the storm is getting under my skin, I'm trying to fix the hole in my head where the rain gets in,"

Getting dressed is a task, I blink and my make up is done, blink again and I'm in my car and I'm just about to turn the engine on when I stop, hitting the steering wheel. I can't fucking drive. I order an uber, standing outside, the waves crashing in the background, my jacket soaking in the rain as I smoke a cigarette.

"Let the storm rage, I'd die on the waves, but I will not rest while love lies dead in the water..."

* * * * * *

"Andie? Andie what in the name of God?"

"Sorry! Sorry! Clumsy me," I giggle, picking up the stack of books and she gives me a stern look and I shrug.

"What?"

"You're drunk,"

"I made it in though,"

"Go home Andie,"

"No, Annie, I'm sorry please, let me work,"

"I can't have you here drunk Andie!"

"I'm sorry, please, please don't send me home, I'm sorry please," I can feel tears pricking my eyes, ready to run down my cheeks and she gives me the most piteous look.

"Home Andie," I hang my head, sniffing before gathering my things and ordering another uber.

* * * * * *

Back to beer. Smoking a cigarette on the widows walk, staring out at the raging sea, my hoodie already soaked from the rain.

It's just my thoughts and me.

I've only ever been good for sex. It's what I'm for. That's it. I've read a million things on why I am the way I am. 'Hyper sexuality'.

Hyper sexuality as a result of trauma can happens because you start believing you're not good for anything but sex. Because you believe you can't expect love without it. Because you believe sex is the only way anyone could possibly connect to others. Because sex is the only kind of intamicy you're "any good at". Because you don't know how else to get attention. Because its easier to get sex than love. Because cuddling after sex is the only way you know how to get nonsexual physical touch. Because you're high/drunk all the time. Because you have no libido/desire/attraction anymore and keep hoping that having sex will kick start it. Because you're good at sex and it's the only way to get recognition and respect. Because you were told "you're bad at sex". Because you have flashbacks if you abstain from sex. Because you feel wordlessly desperate/scared/anxious if you don't have sex for a certain period of time. Because you associate sex with danger and you don't believe you're allowed to be safe. Because you feel so bad so much of the time that sex/orgasm is the only way to calm down or feel good anymore. Because you've been re-targeted by other abusers/perpetrators who can tell you don't know how to say no. Because you're still with your abuser/rapist/perpetrator and the only way to prevent "worse" violence is to initiate sex. Because sex is physically or emotionally painful for you and you're using it to self harm.

So when someone forces me to be more, to attempt to force open that door, I pick up the bottle because I tick so many of those boxes. Intimacy hurts me more than sex but I can't do without sex.

And now I have to find some kind of solace, some kind of peace of mind, at the bottom of a bottle because I'm sick of feeling, because I'm sick of thinking. I just don't want to feel anything. And I self harm with cigarettes because I hate the way I am and it's the only way I can cope.

I twist the top off another bottle of beer and drink thirstily, feeling the icy fizz burn my throat and hum to myself.

Life it seems to fade away... Drifting further every day. Getting lost within myself, nothing matters no one else. I have lost the will to live, simply nothing more to give. There is nothing more for me! Need the end to set me free...

* * * * * *

I close the bedroom door. Please leave me alone. Please.

"You want to see crazy?! I'll show you fucking crazy!" The door cracks from top to bottom with the kick he gives and I flinch, cowering away until he yanks the door open.

"Is this what you wanted?! You wanted me like this?!" I cry softly as he screams at me, shaking, and I back away, terrified, scared out of my wits into the corner of the room as he screams at me, throwing things, breaking things, pulling down the chest of drawers.

I don't dare ask him to stop.

My phone is loud. I blink slowly, shivering and wet. Fuck I fell asleep out here. I sniff, slowly pushing myself up into the sitting position. I'm lucky I'm not dead, but I'm alive. I get up, sober, sore and take myself inside to get ready for work.

* * * ** *

The atmosphere is tense between Annie and I, it makes my heart break. She doesn't want to talk to me and I don't blame her. How stupid was I to turn up to work drunk?

"Annie? Can I talk to you? Please?" I ask softly and she gives me a hard look before nodding and flipping the sign on the door to closed. I follow her into the back and in our break room she stands before me, arms crossed, angry, so angry.

"Annie... I'm so sorry. I... I'm sorry and I promise it will never happen again," She sighs heavily as she looks at my tear filled eyes.

"Dammit Andie what in the hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking it all Annie, I was reckless and stupid and I'm sorry. Please, I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am," I bite my lip to stop it quivering and she visibly softens before crossing the room and folding me into her arms.

"What is going on with you baby," She murmurs and I sniff, holding her tightly.

"I don't know," I whisper and she just nods, letting me cry.

* * * * * *