The Only Person I Need Is My Dog

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I ran downstairs and there he was. Just sitting on the floor. We were both breathing heavy, fully knowing what we had just done. We had kissed. The simplicity of that sentence doesn’t give the magnitude of the situation. The power that he had held over me since the day he broke me finally took over all over again. Sure I’ve been praying for this day to happen since that first day of heartbreak but I had to pretend like I didn’t. I pretended to my family and to my friends that our friendship was the only thing that was going to be rekindled. That I was not hoping for exactly what happened to happen. I couldn’t tell any one that I had hoped that one day  would want to be laying some where (under the skys, on the floor of my family room, or on the beach somewhere) and we would just be looking at each other in the way that we used to; it was the “friends don’t stare at each other in longing silence like we do” kind of stare. The air would be heavy with our laughter and secrets. I don’t know whose eyes would move first but one of us would look at the other’s lips. The other would understand and then we’d lean in. It would be a soft kiss back unsure of what was to come next, a lean back to look into each other eyes would follow. It was like going back to the ocean for the first time. When you go to the water and just let the waves come up to your ankle and you feel the rush, excitement, thrill radiate through your body. Then you crash in and that’s what we would do (when I secretly imagined it). We crashed in and we kissed. We kissed like we had never kissed before. The dozens of boys that my drunken lips had touched would fade away and any hatred I had for you would melt like the ice in the lemonade we got together during the summer. You would pull me in and just like that ice I would melt away. I would become a puddle of love. Then after all was done we’d stare into each other’s eyes again and you would whisper that you loved me and that losing me was the biggest mistake of your life. And I could finally tell you the only secret I never told you, that I was in love with you. But I couldn’t tell anyone that I imagined all of that because everyone would tell me that I was making a mistake letting you back into my life. Even without telling them that scene they were still telling me that you were a mistake so would it have been any worse if I told them?

I stood in the doorway of the room just staring at you. Your blonde curly messy hair was even messier than usual. That was my fault, in the dream scene I messed with your hair less, but it was so soft, and I couldn’t resist running my fingers through it. You smiled while our lips were touching each time I did it. Your eyes buried into me. In any other situation where I finished with a guy and they looked at me like that I felt insecure, as if they were going to notice the flaws in me and kick me out right then and there. But as your green eyes looked at me I knew they weren’t going to cast me aside when they saw a flaw, they knew my flaws. They knew the deepest and darkest ones, the ones I didn’t even know were there, and the ones I wore proudly on my skin. No, they were waiting for me to fall apart. They knew what was about to happen. “I’m sorry,” he whispered almost too faintly to hear.

That’s when it happened. Everything else was exactly like I had imagined it except this part. The tears began to swell in my eyes and the scream that I had been holding back for months was caught in my throat again, begging to be released.

He stood up and walked towards me. I inched backed, watching him turn his stare to the ground. Please turn them back to me, I thought. Let me stare into them and imagine the life I had put together for us. Let me imagine them being the eyes of our son and let me see you smile so I can see what our daughter’s would look like.

The tears were running down my face at this point. You were still staring at the ground, I was staring at you, and the air was not thick with our laughter or our joy anymore. There was silence. “Say something. Please,” He begged.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked. “Do you want me to sugar coat this? I could say that this,” I gestured between us, “was just a happy mistake. That it doesn’t mean anything, and we can just go on pretending that for five months we were something and that the last five months weren’t spent filled with hatred towards you. I could say that this wasn’t the first place you held me while we cuddled and fell asleep in my family’s extra bed. Let me sugar coat it more and tell you that this won’t hurt me in any way.”

“I want the truth. I want to know what you’re feeling right now,” He rushed out. “Tell me the bad and the good and tell me why there is fire in your eyes.”

“Because you are the match. You are the match that sets me a blaze. You were the reason that I burnt to nothing but ashes. YOU DESTROYED ME!” I screamed hoping that God himself would look down shocked at the amount of volume and pain that was involved in that statement. “The first night after you broke up with me I drank so much vodka that it replaced my sweat that ran down my back while I danced. I laughed and ran into boys that I wouldn’t remember the next morning. I ran through the streets and screamed about how you shattered my heart. The same thing happened the next weekend, and the one after that, and the one after that. The boys and booze bottles that I kissed became so blurred together that Jacks and Daniels had to be clarified between my friends when we recounted stories the next day. Every party I held a boy in one hand and a bottle in the other and I would look up to the stars and want to scream to the universe, ‘Look at me! Look! You’re not the only one who can destroy me! I can do it myself too!’ I lost count of the boys that I kissed. I lost count of meals I skipped. You were my match that burnt me to the ground but by some magic here I am. Birthed from the ashes that once destroyed me.”

He just stared at me. Wide eyes. Oh those eyes could trick me into loving him all over again. My heart pounded in my ears but his slow blinks were slowing my heart rate. His eyes then shut. “I was hurt too.” He said with a firmness I had never heard before. “I lost my best friend that day. You stopped talking to me. The person who held all my secrets was gone. You ran away with an entire part of me that I couldn’t replace. I tried too. I tried to replace you. I looked through all 40,000 people that I went to school with to find someone like you. With your gentle heart but your firm words. Your sense of adventure but with a side of caution that kept us out of any real trouble. Someone that would go anywhere with me or just to get coffee. Sure I didn’t replace you but I tried. I lost my best friend and I realized that there was a chance you weren’t coming back. Four years of friendship all gone.”

Four years of friendship. Those words stopped me. If sophomore me knew this was going to happen, I don’t know what she would have done. This time when I looked at him, I pictured him to be the younger version, the first time we talked. It was the first home football game of the season and I only went because my dad’s fear of me being alone. I was standing in a crowd of people who didn’t know who I was and didn’t care. But like a knight in shining armor he showed up. In a movie-esque way, he pushed his friend into me and started a conversation. A conversation that led to him introducing me to his friends, not like a little boy shows his friends his new toy but rather a way a prince shows off the beautiful and rare jewels he had found. That night turned into friendships with every person I had met that night. That boy turned into my connection into some of the happiest times of my life. He also turned into my best friend. The one who held onto every word I said, who refused to let me feel anything less than beautiful, and the one who ran to hug me immediately after telling my life story. Would sophomore me think that these very high highs would outweigh the lowest of lows?

We had both sat down of the ground, tears glistening on both of our faces. I had never seen him cry. Every time I had seen him, he was smiling. When we watched sad movies together and I was the one crying he’d lean over, wipe my tears, and tell a joke to make me smile. Seeing him this way made my heart break all over again. It was almost as deep as when he told me he thought we were better as friends. The crack was deep. I’m sure the girls in the dorm next to me heard it through the brick walls. Here it was again, after months of being repaired by alcohol and mixes of different boys.

“When I told you I thought we were going all the way, I meant it.” I faintly said.

“I know…” He responded.

“No you don’t,” I said harshly. “When I said I thought we were going all the way I meant ALL THE WAY. I saw us growing up and growing into our careers. We’d come home together and build each other up. We’d get married and have these beautiful children. We’d travel and go on outrageous adventures together. We’d make sure our children never hurt like we did and that they would have our sense of wonder. Maybe we’d move around a lot but we’d always be together and we’d be happy. Your mom would be so concern but we’d come home every Christmas and assure her that we’re doing great, because we would be. When I said we’d go all the way I meant it.”

He looked at me with his mouth open and no words coming out. The tears were steady now for the both of it. But my face was burning hot, the tears felt like they were sizzling as the slid down my face. I wanted to stop but the words wouldn’t stop flowing. They slowly turned to screams. “When I told you that I always liked you more than you liked me, I wasn’t fucking kidding! I loved you! I was so madly in love with you! I couldn’t breathe without you! You were my everything and you fucking tore yourself away from me like it was nothing! So you lost your best friend well I lost my first fucking love!”

“I didn’t know.”

“Yeah. Well now you do.”

dankmemeuniversity:

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lilaccatholic:

It’s Fourth of July Eve so make sure to leave some milk and cookies out for Captain America

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gluten-free-pussy:

gluten-free-pussy:

You ever just, like, hear the way some women speak about/to their daughters about their eating habits/weight/appearance and you’re just like….oh no wonder she has low self esteem and an eating disorder? We had this mom come in with her 15 year old today at the gym and signed her up for a membership so she (and I quote) “will look good on vacation and won’t embarrass me on the beach”. 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

It really hurts my fucking heart hearing older women talk to their children like this. I developed bulimia at 15 and had anorexia/body dysmorphia from about 12. It always came from my older relatives telling me I’d end up too fat for a husband or I’d look like a whale on the beach. I see the beginnings of eating disorders every single week here. There’s at least 3 girls I know all under 16 here who have been hospitalized and are seeking treatment for anorexia. Please don’t project whatever hatred you have of your body into your children, can we please end this cycle

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originalangelic:

eat leaf

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tempestaurora:

Nikki’s okay, I guess.

aw beth loves me