1988
Seattle, Washington
Chris
"How could you do this to me? To us? After everything we've been through. You need to answer my calls, Chris. We're not over yet. Call me."
The beep on my answering machine went off yet again; Jamie called for the fifth time today. She needs to get a grip. The third time I find her in bed with the cashier from the shop down the street and she expects me to take her back, claiming that we're "not over yet" and that she's oh so sorry. Her apologies are meaningless. Don't mean shit to me. She's fucking insane.
I don't even know how we ended up together. I don't even know what started it. I don't know why. There had to have been a reason. I know I loved her, but why? How? It seems impossible now to think it was possible then. Two years wasted. Gone. The only thing I feel now is regret, and irritability from being so fucking annoyed at the ringing of the telephone.
I have to get out of this apartment. I've been cooped up in these four beat down walls for a week now, and Jamie isn't the only one filling up the answering machine as the guys are getting slightly worried over my absence. I have to ring up Kim, maybe we could jam and get some fries at the diner near the record shop if he's not pissed at me for being such a stagnant human being.
The pages of my journals are filled, back to front. My mind is written all over them. My being soaking into each and every page, along with the various coffee and liquor stains caused by clumsiness and lack of sleep. Time for a new one.
Luckily, Kim answered the phone. Agreed to seeing my face, while calling me an asshole as well. He said we have to talk. Talk about this stunt I pulled over this past week and how it isn't cool. I said I know. Because I do. I know good and well. I can't postpone life because of failed romance. I can't lock myself away and out of the light of day. What do I do with myself?
I need to shave. I need to wash my hair. I need to sleep. I need to eat. I need myself again. My movements are so fucking lazy, I just need to put on decent clothes to make it seem like I'm okay. Like I've been okay. I need to clear my mind. I need to erase her. The picture of her with her fake fucking beautiful smile and her arms wrapped around me isn't helping. Lies. In the garbage it goes.
I'm a few minutes late because I think too much. I need to stop. Here I am, thinking about how I need to stop thinking. Unbelievable. Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Shut up for a minute.
Beep.
"Baby, please. I need you. I love you. We can do this. We can get through anyt-"
Time to get a new answering machine now too. Destroyed. Forget Jamie. I won't let myself fall again. Drown again.
