I wanted him to tell me he hated me... I wanted to hear the words "fuck off" come from his mouth.
I wanted to kill him when I looked at him, when he took my hand, when he touched me.
"Don't touch me!"
"Get OFF me!"
That was all I could say.
And he'd look at me, and let go.
And he'd compliment me slightly...
Was I meant to be flattered? It didn't make me feel that way. It made me angry.
Sitting in that little park behind the hotel, just the two of us, alone... only centimeters apart... my whole body was aching and burning to touch him... just run my hand through his hair, or my palm down his face and kiss him.
But I had to behave.
I felt little bursts of pain pain pain as I fought my arm back, away from him. I was meant to hate him. And for seconds I did. I hated him and wanted him hurt... but the energy to hate always fails me.
It's so much easier to remember the past... those secret moments that we shared together. But even then I hated him!! I hated the little lies, the little things he'd say, out of some twisted obligation.
Did he feel I needed them? The little compliments that made me cringe... that made me want to kiss him just to keep him quiet.
The best moments weren't even the ones when something was actually happening, but the little butterfly
vai-nao-vai movements, the implicit attraction... just the simple flirtation, the anticipation that something better will come...!!
But being alone with him again, away from anyone else's eyes... instead of being liberating, made me feel like I was in a cage.
There was nowhere to go... and then his patronizing stare... his glare, his eyes open as if expecting something from you that you simply cannot give - especially because you don't know what it is.
The torture comes from his acting like he wants to go on as before...
And you want to go on as before.... because you're human. You feel intense emotions and despite not being one of the most attractive creatures on the planet you have sexual desires and impulses too.
He acts like he wants to go on, but what he says doesn't indicate that.
He tells you to get a grip. You remember that apparently actions speak louder than words - but your brain speaks louder than your heart and tells you to stop being an idiot and to refain from doing things you will undoubtably regret.
You look at him again.
His eyes are looking back at you.
You feel suddenly taken by a wave of self-conciousness and attempt pathetically to fill the silence with a forced laughter that convinces no one. Wanting to hide, like a small frightened creature you fail to find an appropriate hole in which to do so. Your hair covers your face. You feel like retard but you can't bare to look in his eyes. Judging, piercing, murdering eyes.
You cannot answer his questions, you cannot hear his voice... you smile and nod and want to die. die. cry. run away.
As he speaks the only thing you hear is your mind interrogating you: why did you chose to do this? why did you subject yourself to this?
But you answer with a question: why the hell did he say yes to meeting you?
And all the while you look at him and smile... and note his features. Features that turn you on and disgust you with the same intensity. That you love and hate. That you cherish and despise.
And it's flashing before you!
Little
Still
Frames
Flickering
Flick
Flick
Flick
Like a movie reel left to spin alone.
You feel one thing and as soon as you feel it there's another! The opposing feeling once more! And flick! Flick! Flick!
Fuck!
Why can you not make up your mind?
You know that, if you give into the admiration, the lust, the loving of him and then you are rejected --- you are destroyed, and nothing inside you will live again for a long while.
You know that if you give into the hate, the disgust, the despising... then you are filled with your own poision and looked down upon. And the slim chance that you're actually throwing away the chance to build on something will for ever and always prick the back of your neck, make you tense up, and lay awake at night.
You lay awake at night. You lay awake and you hope to God he's not sleeping either... that it's killing him too. You think of what he said in the past and for a tenth of a second you could believe it. You're so desperate for confort that you run it all in your head and you cling onto anything that could sound credible in the right light.
You don't want him to love you.
You don't need him to even care.
But you need him to be there by your side.
You're like Marie Antoinette.... you want to take refuge in pleasure.
You're at the end of your road, mentally, and you want to get lost in something strong, someone strong... him.
And you hate yourself for your dependency.
It's a never ending cycle.
And YES, you bring it on yourself.
YES, you do it to yourself.
And YES it really hurts.
You can't tell him to get lost.
Not really.
You'd like to. Hell! You'd like to be strong enough to turn away and walk off without a care in the world, but you also know that to do that would be to cut off the fine line between you and a freedom you've probably dreamt up, but still need.
All your childhood values of; only do things for love... don't be slutty, or sinful or imoral --- fleeting morals that you once held so true are now nowhere to be seen.
For seconds you may feel dirty, like you'll never be clean, like you're in too deep.... but that falls to the ground as you juggle this situation infront of you.
If you do this, he may react like so.... if you do that, he may react the other way. But if he doesn't.... Oh if he doesn't! And that's the thought that hangs you... your limp body swings
from the gallows, with the rope of doubt around your neck - the rope you made.
[to be continued...]
[written while watching a program on BBC LEARNING about Marie Antoinette... still to be refined, forgive any typos. Written at 2 am on Halloween.]
Ciao for now...