A Collection of Works

reflection/free will

2011-07-19T19:26:00.000-07:00

looking into the mirror
i dissect what i see.
too this, too that.
more tit, less fat.

not a fan of my reflection,
my eyes agree we should see other people.
i'm grateful we decided to,
because seeing the hate and wickedness depresses me properly.

seeing that i'm not the only one,
the only victim of free will.
free will seems like a gift,
but really it just gives us a license to screw everything up.

even if we don't do it single-handedly, we'll tag team it up;
we all have different degrees from the university of
"don't get mad, get even"-- i've even got a minor in "idgaf"--
so there's to be expected some turbulence on this flight.

we like to decide how each other gets to react,
trying to save the trouble of feeling things out.
we'd rather jump to conclusions and jump down throats.
if we're not doing that then we're expecting too much.

some of us like to forget, pretend, whatever
that finding another person fixes your problems--
but no booboo, that's on you.
its YOUR shit, regardless of me and mines.

whether i follow your plan, or you skim mine,
what's yours is still yours and what's mine is still mine.
although that won't stop us from wishing for a trade.
your load seems lighter, my load seems funner.

ooh, pride will be the one to bury us all.
"anything you can do, i can do better"?
more like "i can fuck my shit up faster than you can".
to admit we're wrong is like defeat so we hold back.

that's how it is behind the veil,
then we're waist deep in some shit we can't wade through.
we've got too many "yes"'s and "don't"'s, "maybe"'s and "won't"'s,
its no wonder we get so much wrong.

frankly, being a human being sucks.
we get higher thinking, emotional range and the ability to multitask?
no wonder we're an array of tragic messes,
a smorgasbord of insecurities from comparing to ourselves.

strangely, realizing that i'm in no way, shape or form
the only one in shambles, it's cathartic.
i can leave the mirror smiling thinking as i walk away
"at least i'm me, and not one of those guys."

Chance and Gamble

2011-07-19T19:24:00.000-07:00

Wrapped in a cocoon of sheets
Waiting for metamorphosis to engage.
Hoping, wishing, praying, but all the while
Knowing it won't change a thing.

Things changed, no doubt, when we set to burrowing.
Preparing to hibernate while tangled together.
We can't go back-- why would we?
Except to get back what we threw away.

We took a chance and shorted ourselves.
Gambled when we should have folded,
Lost when we went all in.
Can't go back-- or do you wish we could?

When our fingers brushed on their way into the others hair
A spark made us jump-- a warning.
One we mistook for a go ahead signal.
We ignored all the signs and dove into each other.

All the while we knew once the sun rose we'd hide from the truth.
The cocoon will open to spill out our mess of emotions to spite us.
We can't take it back-- why would we?
Except to go back to where we knew what to do.

We took a chance and lost ourselves.
Gambled when we knew we couldn't win.
Lost it all when we played the hot streak.
Can't take it back-- or do I wish we could?

We had a chance and a gamble,
No one could fault us for that,
But once we actually played to the odds,
We were doomed from the start.

untitled...

2011-03-31T20:51:00.000-07:00

I've never been good at happy poems.
Just like, I suppose, how I'm no good at happy times--
Always looking for the signs we're sliding into bad blood,
Sabotaging it if we don't when I feel we ought to.

Do I do it so I can write about it?
Or do I write like this because it's all I can pull from?
Once the thrill of something good and new fades,
Apprehension slithers in and smothers any hope.

Doubt's long fingers wrap around my resolve
Slowly strangling, crushing, obliterating gleeful thoughts.
With love comes paranoia, holding hands frolicking about;
Together driving me mad as I fall deeper.

I can kick my heels up here, knowing it's crashing down round my ears.
Relax knowing my attempts at sabotage finally set me free.
Waiting, waiting, w a i t i n g for this point was wearing me down.
Crumbling and blowing away is our shot-- and I can breathe easy.

Knowing now your words and actions can't have a hidden secret agenda,
I loosen up because there's no need to translate you for honesty.
This will be the freest you've seen me, now it's all on the table;
Dangling over the abyss of uncertainty no longer, I'm the shining bit that caught your eye again.

Because that's my cycle; I'm a relationship phoenix.
Vibrant until I start to care, until you start to really matter.
Then I become wary-- watchful and secretly suspicious.
I fade as I question your affections-- after all I'm only me.

You may start to lose interest at this point, seeing my dull coat
I don't blame you; I've already assumed you have by now.
I untangle myself from the connections we've made or I've invented,
Feeling vindicated I goad the break down so I may burst into final flames.

Finally free again, I can just enjoy what's left of our company.
Goodbyes I'm great at-- especially ones orchestrated by my antics.
Aflame, though, I'm the golden beacon you were originally drawn to.
You're entranced by my flourishes, my leave taking motions.

I've caught your eye again, so you lay on the charms.
Ever so susceptible, I play into your words.
Taking your lead and passing it back amidst my with, thinking we're past playful romance.
Until, before I know it, I'm ensnared and my phoenix is in your cage again.

This is my vicious cycle, forever playing with fire.
I've been burned sure, but I have brought most of it on myself.
I see it all now, after all hindsight has to be good for something, right?
Surely, happiness is only the enemy if I make it so.

Doubt won't make my heart it's summer home any more,
I can't let it snuff out all the baby blooms of joy I've manage to nurture.
Apprehension is a permanent citizen, sadly, but we'll take baby steps to evict it.
And here's hoping the next time I set myself on fire...

I burn the damn cage with me.

Going away.

2011-02-13T09:22:00.000-08:00

I'm leaving town,
Waved "good riddance" and got in the car.
Not sure when I'm headed back--
Or matter of fact, where I'm headed.

Can't say I'm sad to see the signs
Pointing me away.
Didn't bother to say my goodbyes in person;
I don't want you to ask me to stay.

I've got to get the taste of something new,
To jump start the bittersweet stale taste stuck in my mouth.
The open road will be a salve for my eyes,
Over worked from staring at the same places, same faces.

The repetition isn't enough for me anymore.
I'm tired of this same song and dance with the too few players.
In another place I can be someone new.
Not another filler because this cast has gotten too small.

You know, that's just it.
This place is too small;
Too full with everyone's wants and wishes.
Not enough room for mine nor me.

I need to spread my wings,
And all that cliched shit about getting free,
Of shaking the dust of a past you can't escape,
Of a present weighing heavy on your head.

Once I'm some place new,
I'm gonna shine bright.
Once I've kicked the ball and chain of expectations,
I'm gonna dance on the wind.

So you see, I've got to get anywhere else and in a hurry.
I've got a full tank and a good sense of direction.
That way I can come back this way after a spell,
And show you how once I stopped letting this place cripple me, I soar.

trainwreck

2010-12-09T15:42:00.000-08:00

there's little to be said for falling in love.
it's dangerous, it's scary, it's tricky and such.
i've even been told
"to love someone more than yourself is little more than murder."

there's plenty i've heard about falling out of love.
it's painful, drawn out and will scar.
my heart will be in pieces, and i won't know which way is up.
"all good things come to an end", well fuck that shit, this blows.

i hadn't agreed to sell my soul
and i certainly didn't think love would be like that.
i don't wake up crying, but some nights end like that.
driving seems to help, but i don't stand a chance when i hear a train.

i've heard love described some ways,
its amazing, its devastating.
but never like a train, which is what i find its most like.
someone coming to you or just passing through.

the bellow it makes echos in my soul,
it reminds me of the wrenching i passed.
but the hope it also brings makes me tear up.
its the sound of someone moving on, passing through.

i've become like that train, moving ever forward.
love tripped me up, but it didn't push me off the tracks.
that horn is me shouting "here i come"
love sure did a number but honey i'm speeding through.

love for me was like a train in the night.
it lit everything up real bright, showed me its might.
then sped right past, leaving me at the tracks.
i was left dizzy and my night vision was shit.

but after a little while i tripped on my way off the tracks,
but i found my own way off.
i considered sticking out a thumb,
seeing how far away from the tracks i could get.

i hitched a ride and closed my eyes
trying to block the trip i'd taken.
but it didn't match the power of what i'd been on.
so i asked to be dropped off at the next station.

being back at the tracks brings flashbacks
flashbacks of my trainwreck-- our trainwreck.
then a train passed, wailing and brutal.
it reminded me of the ups and downs of our ride.

i reasoned i could feel terrible because my train crashed,
but i would rather remember the exhilaration of it all.
standing on the tracks i'd rather smile than weep.
i look from my perch and watch the cars stop and go past.

not everyone gets to feel that rush,
or feel the call of it in their soul.
so i gather up my courage,
and run on my own down the tracks.

Closing The Distance

2010-06-15T14:14:00.000-07:00

All I can think of is the inch between our fingers.
How far I'd have to go to cross it.
The mile of current between us is
So distracting, discouraging, disappointing.

Then as if you know my plight,
You fix those beautiful eyes on me
And it goes straight to my heart.
With your smile, I'll tackle the Strait of Gibraltar.

You're encouraging me to bridge the gap,
I'm begging you to do it with me.
Like two people meeting halfway on a crosswalk.
Then your fingers brush mine and I'm on fire.

Did you know you hold a sun inside you?
That you fill me with it when I touch you?
We have everything we'd need to set the world on fire.
I just wish I was sure you see it in me too.

I look at you and see it-- in all it's glory.
When you see me, do you take it all in?
Can you sense the passion, purpose and peace within me?
Or does it end at the curve of my face and the shape of my eyes?

When you crossed the city blocks to touch my hand,
Did you feel the distance too,
And decide you would cross it for me-- for us?
Did you care because you needed to feel my touch?

Give me a sign-- shout it to the sky.
I'll give you everything of mine.
We could love like never seen before.
Or I can move away another inch, block, mile-- and feel nothing inside.

Thought of You Today

2009-12-30T09:11:00.000-08:00

I thought of you today.
You flitted through my thoughts
Faster than you fled my company,
And longer than you were there.

The few moments you were a memory
Burned me like the noonday sun.
Far above me, out of reach--
Like your love, your affection.

The clenching in my chest
Passed once you left again.
Only for the hollowness to return.
The space you leave, a reminder you were here.

My breath is returning to normal
And I'm already forgetting you again.
I smile at the world outside
And bury you inside my head.

"Trial by Fire"

2009-12-30T08:54:00.000-08:00

Loving you has been a
Trial by Fire.
Bullets flutter like petals
In the war-zone our love's become;
Twisted echos of the chant
"He loves me he loves me not"
In days long gone.
Our friends dropping
Like our pretenses.
As we pull trip wires
Setting off land mines
Emotions become collateral damage.
We take mortars left and right,
Exchanging words like hand grenades.
I consider your gaze
A heat seeking missile;
You think me a tank,
Unfeeling and impenetrable.
"Friendly fire" isn't just an expression,
Its this.
We need to raise a white flag,
Negotiate a truce--not surrender,
So we can both get out alive
At least until the next fight.

"Pull the Pin"

2009-12-07T17:27:00.001-08:00

Our love could've been an explosion
But you couldn't pull the pin.

We could've introduced our folks,
Joined our last names
And made babies with my smile and your eyes.

But you love being alone so much
You can't pull the pin and end it.

I would've loved you hard,
Till the sky fell down,
And Liberace went straight.

You couldn't do it,
So if you'll excuse me,
I'll pull the fucking pin.

Who wins?

2009-10-21T15:16:00.001-07:00

If I could I’d
Cut you from my chest,
Rip you from my brain,
And try to salvage what was left.

I know you'd rather
Burn me at the stake,
Maim me for life,
Or smother me with a pillow.

If we had our way
There’d be nothing left of the other.
Ego versus super-ego,
Locked in eternal battle.

But wait, pipes up the id,
When you're fighting against yourself,
Who wins?

Toxic Love CH 5 "The Upperhand"

2009-09-27T21:03:00.000-07:00

“Hey baby,” I hear him call as he sidles into the kitchen. I’m immediately on guard, trying-to-make-amends Tommy is here. I’m wary of this because, although he is my favorite Tommy, he’s more trouble than regular Tommy. I suppose because regular Tommy is upfront about his nefarious aims; I’m-sorry-and-turning-over-a-new-leaf Tommy sneaks his double meanings into everything, so you never know what’s happened until he’s finished. It crushes me, but it steam rolls Ms. Tori because he acts just like he used to; it’s worse for her because she’s known old Tommy so much longer than I had. She always starts to believe he’s changed just in time for him to revert and show her again just how far he’s gone.

He massages my shoulder as he kisses below my left ear. I feel myself start to melt into our old gesture before I pull myself away. He doesn’t notice and makes for Ms. Tori. “Hey ma, smells great,” he starts as he hugs her from behind, “what’re we having?”

I see Ms. Tori’s head turn a little towards him before snapping back to the stove, she says stiffly, “dinner. Set the table.” I want to cheer and hug her; she’s standing her ground, the dear, she’s trying to not fall for his charms. I straighten up in my chair; if she can do it, I certainly can. I turn back to chopping lettuce for the salad while Tommy starts to set the table.

I watch him with my peripheral vision as he sets the table. He keeps glancing between Ms. Tori, the table and me; gauging our defenses to find his way under our skin. He pauses for a moment then heads across the kitchen to the pantry. Once he leaves the kitchen, Ms. Tori and I look at each other and mouth frantic questions at each other. Before we can pause and understand each other, we hear him walking back into the kitchen; we both turn back to our tasks but eye the doorway for the very moment he walks back in. I see him first and I notice he’s limping. My first thought is that he’s faking; I begin to turn away when I see Ms. Tori look toward him. I try to catch her eye to signal to look away, but when I see her stiffen I look back to Tommy. I look just in time to see him drop his sweats back down a swollen ankle. “Tommy, what on earth? What—“ Ms. Tori starts, walking over to him.

He sits sheepishly, “I’m not sure really, but it really hurts.” Ms. Tori lifts his leg onto the chair next to him and starts feeling his leg. She doesn’t look up when she asks me to get some ice; her face intent and focused. I’m filling a dish towel with ice when it hits me—he’s flaunting it as an in. I knot the towel angrily and drop it into Tommy’s lap before going back to my salad bowl. He winces and looks at me, confusion clearly on his face. You’re not getting in that easy I think to myself, I’ve been on this ride as long as you have.

I start chopping carrots while Ms. Tori wraps the ice around Tommy’s leg. Once the ice is secure, Ms. Tori straightens up and returns to the stove; I’m practically singing when she does—this means we haven’t fallen for it. I wipe the vegetables off the cutting board into the bowl and carry it to the table. I plop it right in the center of the table and look at Tommy. When he shakes himself out of his daze to look at me, I smile. looks like you haven’t won this round.

He freezes and watches me as I finish setting the table and sit across from him. It feels good to have the upper hand on him, so I say the first thing I can think of to throw him off guard. “So, Mike called and he had some interesting things to say.” I can tell his mental tirade stopped abruptly when he practically chokes on his own spit. He sits up and Ms. Tori snaps around; both eye me warily, waiting for my next words.

“Anything you want to own up to, Tommy?” I say, letting my subconscious take the reins. While I watch the emotions flit across his face, I think about the last time I out maneuvered Tommy.

Photography

2009-09-27T17:32:00.001-07:00

I've decided today to add my photography to this blog; afterall, it is a collection of my work. And as an artist I am more than just words, I capture and channel life in many ways. Photography is just another medium I adore.

Here are a few favorites to begin the photography tide:

This is a self-portrait; "Jump".

My friend Jason learned I was taking his picture and froze up.

We went back to my hometown and I snapped this sky light.

"The Men We've Been Through" excerpt

2009-08-11T20:51:00.001-07:00

My roommate catches me as I’m trying to sneak into the house. “Out all night and most of the morning, Therese, SPILL.” says Carmen, arms crossed in my bedroom doorway. I roll my eyes and wave her in; she sits on the bed while I try to decide how to tell her about last night. “It all started as a blind date,” I begin, “one I was unwillingly dragged to, mind you…”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.--.-.-.-.-.-.
“He’s so hot!”
“You’ll hit it off I know it.”
“Frankly, I don’t know how he’s still single.”

After a while, all these reaffirmations are making me more nervous; what character flaws are they hiding? What odd quirk are they leaving for me to discover when I meet him? I keep asking myself all these questions while I try on outfit after outfit.
Mid-teeth brushing (for the third time) I get a text from one of my gays, “remember you are classy and just looking to get your body touched chillax” I laugh and text back “got it boo, wish me luck, love and lots of action.”

I finally get out of the house and to the restaurant. I park two rows back so I can scout the outside for my possible date—I’m still determined to ditch if he’s an ogre. So much for my brilliant escape, there’s no one outside. I gather my wits and snag my purse.
I get a text before I hit the door from an unfamiliar number, “hey, its ur date stuck in traffic b thr soon.” Annoyed with not only his tardiness but with his spelling I reply, “Who gave you my number?” I plot death to whoever gave my number out while I wait, but I have my suspicions. My phone goes off and “Greg” is all I get. I huff and snap off a text to Greg, “why does this guy have my number? I didn’t even screen him yet.” Greg replies, “Girl. You need your body touched. Calm down.”

I roll my eyes and sit down at the bar, “Long Island iced tea.” The bartender nods and starts pouring. I’m fishing my ID and credit card out of my purse when someone sits next to me. A woodsy scent catches my attention but before I can look at the new arrival, they ask “What’s your poison?”
I glance up and see a tan, lithe guy with a charming smile and dark hair. He quirks an eyebrow and winks, “Can I get you a drink?” Sexual, I think to myself before replying, “Got one, thanks. Long Island iced tea.” As I slide my ID and card to the bartender; the cute guy laughs, “Wow, trying to get drunk are we? Rough day?”
His eyes shine and I feel a rush of warmth through me. I snort, “Yeah, and the worst part isn’t even here yet.” The bartender sets down my drink and I sneak a glance at my handsome bar buddy under the guise of taking a sip. He’s already looking at me, and when our eyes meet he extends a hand. “Hi, I’m the man of your dreams,” he gives as an introduction.
I laugh and shake his hand, “Hello, the woman of your reality, if you’re lucky.” He smiles and we flirt until my phone goes off, “im her where r u” I groan and he looks into my hands at the phone, “Ah, a date, huh?”
“Not quite,” I start, and before I realize it I pour everything out to him; from the lack of action to the creeper I’m supposed to be meeting. He leans back and sips from his lowball, “Wow.” I cringe when I replay what just happened in my head. I signal the bartender for my tab and prepare to leave before I dig a deeper hole.
“Leaving so soon?” I turn surprised, “Oh. Yes and no. I figure I should at least give him an upfront ‘no’, but I’ll be back before you miss me.” He grins, his full lips gorgeous, “You better.” I turn and grin to myself. Wow, I lucked out. Guess there is a balance to the universe.

I giggle and skip a bit to the hostess, “Two for Greg?” She looks at me and chokes back a laugh, “You’re his date?” I start and cock my head, “Sorry?” Wow, what’s going on? “Sorry,” she quickly blurts, “but you’re killer and well…I can tell this is a blind date.” I sigh and ask, “Where is he?” She begins to lead me and turns, “If you need help, I’ll be up here. We girls have to stick together.”
When we round the next corner, I see a stout bald man with a stringy beard. I grimace and whisper to the hostess, “There’s a man at the left end of the bar, ask him if he’ll come to my rescue.” She nods and extends her hand to direct me to my chair. She pats my shoulder as she leaves me to my fate.
I take a deep breath and smile at the man Greg deems a “keeper”. This “keeper” is homelier than a bulldog and eyeballing my breasts. So much for a great personality. I clear my throat hoping to disturb his gaze, but no such luck. I roll my eyes and make a mental note to punch Greg in the throat. “I’m Therese,” I say, thrusting my hand in his sight, “What’s your name?” He finally glances upward and slips his flimsy hand in mine, murmuring, “Pedro.”
His eyes quickly stray back to my chest and I know it’s a lost cause. I desperately glace around, hoping for back up, escape, alien abduction—A N Y T H I N G. Nothing. Sighing, I resign to looking at my menu, angling it as a wall between me and the troll across the table.
After a few moments I hear him muttering to himself and raise my eyes enough to see him with my peripheral vision. His brow is furrowed and eyes closed, “Tracy? Tiffany?” I groan quietly; he’s trying to remember my name. I give him a break, “Pedro, right? See anything on the menu?” He looks relieved, “I was gonna ask you what you wanted, I don’t see nothin.” I shrug and reply, “Not yet let me take a look.” I turn back to the menu, 'don’t see nothin'? Well this certainly couldn’t get any weirder
I’m in the middle of wondering why Greg would think Pedro and I would be compatible when I hear “Psst. Pssst.” I look up, distracted and see Pedro trying to quietly get the attention of a girl at an adjacent table. I quirk an eyebrow and silently watch the scene unfold. The girl finally looks up and glances about, Pedro hisses again and she looks in our direction. He makes kissing noises and gestures over with his head. She looks disgustedly at him, then turns away, dismissing him stoutly.
I laugh quietly at his rejection and keep my eyes on him as he turns to face me again. He sees me looking at him and instead of chagrin, like I expected, he looks upset that I just watched him try to pick up another girl. Upset that he crashed and burned with a witness more like. “What’re you looking at?” he scoffs, interrupting my thought. I stiffen, wasn’t I just the one disrespected here?
I put my menu down and level my gaze, “Excuse me? You’re already rude by trying to pick up another girl while you’re on a date, and now you want to get mad that I saw you do it? Don’t think I want to be on this date anymore than you do. Let’s just call it a night.” He isn’t hearing any of it, “What? You’re lucky to be sitting here with me. I told Greg I’d do him a favor by even doing this.” I shake my head and brace my forehead on my palm, it’s not going to get easy from here. He’s still rambling as I move to grab my bag and leave. “Where do you think you’re going?” he snaps, “you ain’t leavin.”
I look at him incredulously, does he really think I’m going to sit through this? He must not know about me. I start to reply when I see him straighten up and look past me. I roll my eyes; I’m sure he’s started eyeballing another girl. “Leaving so soon?” a familiar voice chimes, “I was just coming to join you.”
I smile a little and look up; my bar friend is there, leaning against the back of my chair, smiling. I have never been so relieved to see a complete stranger, but in this moment I wouldn’t have chosen anyone else to be my knight in…pinstriped shirt. He sits next to me, his eyes still on my face, bless his heart, and winks at me.
“Who’s this guy?” Pedro chokes out, his face purpling, “What the hell is he doing here?” We both look at him; I for one had forgotten about Pedro. “Oh this is…” I trail off as I realize I don’t know his name. I glance at him and nod for him to finish the sentence. He laughs and addresses Pedro, “I’m your replacement. We decided you didn’t know how to treat a gorgeous woman, so I volunteered to take her off your hands.”
I snort and quickly take a sip of my water. Pedro’s knuckles are white as he grips the menu; his eyes flit back and forth as he stares the pair of us down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but this is my date so leave.” My bar friend sits for a moment before muttering to me, “How’ve you lasted this long with him?”
I don’t answer, I’m still looking at Pedro, frankly amazed at his sudden ownership of this “date”. More like train wreck, I think. “Pedro, I’m leaving, you’ve been nothing but rude since I’ve been here,” and that’s putting it nicely, I add silently before continuing, “But I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” I’m completely out of the chair before Pedro spurts out “You’re going? What? Greg said you were a sure bet!” I freeze in my retreat. “He said what.” I force out, “I’m shocked that he would say that, but that doesn’t mean that you were going to get lucky.
I’m getting more and more upset the longer I’m standing there; called out in front of two complete strangers. One who thought he was gonna bed me and the other I hoped to sleep with; oh joy at my luck, I think bitterly before turning to my bar guy, “I’m sorry if this has given you a bad impression of me, but I’m going to leave before I’m completely humiliated.”
I stalk out of the restaurant before something else can go wrong. Outside I pause to snatch my phone out of my purse; I’ve got to call my best friend and tell her what’s happened. I’m typing her name in my contacts when I hear, “Wait a sec, beautiful.”

Toxic Love Ch 4 "Tommy's day"

2009-07-23T19:20:00.002-07:00

I wake up naked in my bed. I'm not sure what time it is, but I smell, so I decide it's time for a shower. Walking to the bathroom is hard; I'm limping but don't know why. I shrug it off; mom probably has the whole story.

I turn the shower on and while it heats up, I give myself a look over in the mirror. No stitches, busted lips or black eyes—must’ve been a slow night. I stretch my arms and back, but it seems only my ankle is weird. Not bad for a Sunday night—or is it Wednesday?

I shake it off and step into the shower; scalding hot, just the way I like it. The sweated out liquor and disorientation and sore muscles all slide away under the stream of water. While I soap up and rinse tidbits of the night flash up: a phone number, barfing in a beer case, falling off a car, and a fight. That’s all I remember.

I glance at the back of my hands, but don’t see neither a number, nor any bruises or split knuckles. Hm, guess I wasn’t in that fight, I think before shutting off the water.

I grab a towel and wrap it around me, then head back to the room. I see my cell phone on the floor where it probably fell out of my jeans. I flip it open and check “recent calls”. None after my customary “Babe, me and the guys” call at the beginning of the night. I check my inbox, but besides Mike blowing me up I got nothing.

I toss the phone onto the bed and get dressed; if anyone has figured out what happened it’ll be mom and Claire. I limp down the stairs and come across them making dinner in the kitchen. Claire’s shoulders are practically up to her ears, so I know she heard me come down and she’s pissed.

Well, it shouldn’t be hard to charm my way back into her good graces, I think before sliding up behind her. I’m going to need someone to take care of me while I mend, and some late night entertainment since I’m stuck in the house for a while.

Toxic Love Ch 3 "Clarie's Day"

2009-07-23T19:20:00.001-07:00

Ms. Tori is cooing into the phone, trying to placate Mike; I'm watching the inertia of my coffee spin the spoon around in my mug when it hits me-- the spoon is me and Tommy is the coffee. I roll my eyes and snatch my spoon out.

I hear something coming from the bathroom but Ms. Tori hangs up and turns to me. "Claire, Mike says he was bragging up and down the bar about Coke he was selling."

"Coke? As in cocaine?" I gulp, while Tommy has always dabbled, he's never pushed. This new revelation makes me nervous; what else is Tommy doing.

Ms. Tori pinches the bridge of her nose, "I'll check the room, you clear the car. I'm sure we've got time before--"

"Mom! Fucking Claire!"

We both break into a dead sprint for the bathroom. I reach the doorway first, ready to shield Ms. Tori from a corpse. No, he's just peed on the floor and barfed all over himself, I think to myself, we couldn't be so lucky. I realize my thought and quickly squash it.

"At least he got it in the tub," Ms. Tori mutters darkly.

"We gotta clean him up," I say moving towards him.

Ms. Tori nods; "I'll get the bleach and the mop," she says heading out the door.

I can hear him muttering something into the tub rim. I step gingerly onto a dry spot and grab him by the back of his collar. I pull him back sharply hoping he gets whiplash; this is the closest I've ever come to strangling him. It's a small victory, but considering I'm standing in his urine, I'll take it.

"C'mon Tommy, get on the toilet," I say as I drag him backwards, "I've gotta flush the tub out." I drop his carcass onto the toilet seat, and steady him with one hand while I turn the shower on. I lean over to rinse the sides when Ms. Tori appears with the mop and bucket.

"You're too good for him," she states simply.

I look at her; we always think it, but we've never said it aloud. "Thank you," I start, "I don't know how you've done it. You're a saint, Ms. Tori."

She looks at me a moment, and misty-eyed she whispers, "You’re a blessing; you're more than I ever could have hoped for."

I never knew my mom, so Ms. Tori is the only maternal influence I've ever had, to hear her say this makes me want to cry. Sometimes I wish I were her child instead of Tommy-- he doesn't deserve her-- and at times like this I think she wishes the same thing.

We lock eyes for another moment, and then get back to work. Once I've got the tub cleared, I hook my arms into Tommy's armpits and drag his sorry ass to our room. Since he's finally yakked it's safe to move him to a bed; once he's there I strip him down for laundry and leave aspirin on the nightstand.

Then it's all routine from this point.

Toxic Love CH. 2 "Meet Tommy"

2009-06-12T08:36:00.000-07:00

I hear the road under tires and my eyes start to open. I'm not ready to wake up. So I don't.

Next thing I know I'm laying somewhere with something jabbing my head. I ease my open and see I'm in a tub with shampoo stabbing me. Again. A whole fucking house and my idiot mother and her sidekick, my stupid girlfriend, stick me in this tub.

Whatever. I gotta take a leak. I wrestle with the stupid shower curtain and finally get my feet out on the floor. Standing up makes me want to kill myself, I left my balance back in the tub, so I drop on the toilet seat.

I lean my head against the wall and try to breathe. I've got two options: stand and piss in the toilet, or just let loose in the tub. Fuck the tub, I think while digging my cock out of my jeans.

My head’s killing me, and that weird bathroom cleaner smell makes my stomach turn. I push to finish draining, but it doesn’t look good. I can already feel the barf making its way up—yeah. I shoot forward, piss hitting the floor, as my chest hits the tub edge and I blow chunks all over the tub.

I yell for my mom and Claire. Why they’re not already here after me hurling at the top of my lungs is beyond my simple fucking understanding. I hear them finally making their way to the bathroom. When they get in I can hear Claire saying “We gotta get him cleaned up.”

Well no fucking shit.

Toxic Love CH. 1 "Meet Claire"

2009-06-12T08:29:00.000-07:00

It’s so hot in the car, it feels like the windshield is trapping the sunlight in the cab with us. I flick my eyes to the right, Tommy is still out. I breathe a small sigh of relief, if he’s passed out until we get home then I won’t have to clean his puke out of the truck.

My phone goes off and I scramble to pull it out of my pocket before it wakes him up. I silence it in my pocket and Tommy stirs, but slumps against the window again. I wait a moment before arching my back and slipping the phone out of my pocket.

I flip the phone open and check my missed calls; “Bar Mike” called and left a voicemail. I hit the green talk button and listen to an angry Mike yell about an unpaid bar tab and vomit in one of the beer cases. I delete the message and check the urge to groan.

With three stop signs till we’re home, I don’t want to wake Tommy before I have to. I sigh and roll through the second stop sign, with a practiced hand I turn right with one hand and dial Tommy’s mom with the other.

“Claire? That you?”

I nod before I realize she can’t see me, I whisper, “yes’m, how do you always know its me?”

“I didn’t. Tommy wasn’t home by midnight, so the only people calling me at this hour would be you or the police. I was just hoping it’d be you.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the truth always makes us pause.

“I’ll meet you in the drive,” she whispers before hanging up.

I nod again, and hit the turn signal before I put my phone in the cup holder. We pull into the drive way, and his mom has the door open before I’ve killed the engine. “So he can lose it on the lawn if he needs to,” she always says, but I know better. It’s to survey possible damage before we move him.

I wait behind her while she finishes her once over, when she nods at me we start lifting him out of the cab. We don’t speak again until Tommy’s in the downstairs bathtub; we stand there a moment to look at his innocent sleeping face. Ms. Tori reaches for the shower knob; an inside joke between us, that one day we’ll turn it on and let the bastard drown. We never do.

“I’ll get you a cup of coffee,” she says, brushing her hands off. I watch her head for the kitchen; I wait until she’s turned the corner to slump onto the toilet seat. I put my head in my hands and take a deep breath; after a few moments I mutter “Tommy, you are such a dick” into my hands.

I sit up and look at him, crumpled in the tub. There are so many things I start to say, shout, scream, but I swallow them and go to the kitchen. This is our routine, and I’m starting to get really tired of it.

I turn into the kitchen and hop on the counter top to the left of the sink; Ms. Tori already has my mug waiting for me. I sip the cup before meeting her eyes, she’s already got the “what’s the damage” look on her face.

I hesitate and she curses, “Shit, it’s that bad?”

“Well, it depends on how you look at it. Mike says he’s not allowed at the bar till he breaks even and repairs the door. So he won’t be at the bar, but that just means he’ll get creative.”

She looks so defeated as she digests this; the both of us are imagining all the scenarios that Tommy can get himself and others into. She shakes her head and goes for the phone, to make amends with Mike I’m sure.

I’m not finished imagining the trouble he might wreak on our lives. I can see it in my mind’s eye-- the glazed not-all-there look he gets when he’s gone. The same look that got me into this mess.

"I've Got To AskYou"

2009-06-09T21:56:00.000-07:00

You want to be back up in my life
After you left me high and dry.
And so now I've got to ask you
A few things to be sure
I don't want to love you unless this times for sure...

Are you ever gonna marry me?
Do you want to have a child?
Will you ever just up and leave me,
And say you had enough?

Will you fight with me and for me?
Even when times are rough?
Would you kiss me every time you or I was mad?
Could you wake me up in the morning by us making love?

Will you treat me to a back rub whenever I'm feeling stressed?
Would you do it without forcing me to repay the debt?
Could you want to spend all day in bed with me?

Would you, could you love me like no one's ever been loved?
Or will you just become a cautionary tale I'll tell my daughters?

"Vague"

2009-06-02T21:13:00.001-07:00

You're getting short with me.
Annoyed with my vague answers
"Uh maybe." "Sure" whatevs"

Don't you use these same ones on me?
But I struggle, to read between your lines.
I strain and scrounge an answer.

I sift through the nonsense,
The fine sounding mumblings;
Your endless bullshit.

Now I'm fed up,
And I'm feeding your same lines back to you.
Let this be a lesson to you.

If you expect other people to eat your shit,
Make sure you can swallow.

"I'll Be"

2009-06-02T20:28:00.000-07:00

I could've been your soulmate.
I could've given you a beautiful baby boy.
I could've been the one who doesn't mind your snoring.

I could've wooed your family.
I could've cooked them dinner.
I would've made them love me.

I would've kissed you every night and morning.
I could've been the one you woke up to.
I would've held you all night, every night.

I would've held your hand when times got hard.
I would've rocked you to sleep when you couldn't do it alone.
I could've been the one to always make you smile.

I could've laughed at your jokes.
I would've told you every joke I know.
I would've done anything to hear your laugh.

I could've been the best thing to happen to you.
I would've done all that and more.
Now I'm not going to.

I could've and would've.
But now, I'll be the one that got away.

Untitled Tidbit

2009-05-23T12:12:00.000-07:00

I can't keep doing this
Shuffling, sidestepping, shushing
The issue.

I want this to be
Dissected, discussed, digested,
So we can be on the same page.

So we'll know if this is
Like, lust, love,
Or just a road bump.

"I Am One (Acquainted with the Night)"

2009-04-21T10:22:00.000-07:00

The following poem is "Acquainted with the Night" by Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain --and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

this poem has always made me think of every night I was out with friends doing less than legal things, but this morning when I woke up it made me think of a different kind of night, and thus "I Am One (Acquainted with the Night)" was created. Enjoi.

I am one acquainted with the night.
I set off in the dusk-- and back in at dawn.
I am freest under city lights and stars.

I have driven to the ends of the coast.
I have seen flashing lights in my rear view mirror,
and slowed, praying he’ll pass me.

I have run through crowds of people
With cries of laughter and happiness,
As we climb our way to our precipice.

This goal isn’t a beginning or end,
but a seeming bridge to another world,
as we see waves crashing against the pier.

And so I leap from my cliff into the sky,
I am one acquainted with the night.

"In short"

2009-04-08T20:49:00.002-07:00

in short on love, moving on, and relationships;
we speak in different tongues
when we speak the language of love.
words are misplaced, misunderstood, missed.
interpretations differ,
and relationships suffer.
people tear themselves at the seams
in trying to keep it together.
citing that hard work equals happiness.

life's too short to waste when you're unhappy.
take a stand.
i'm taking mine.

"Eventually It Catches Up"

2009-04-08T20:49:00.001-07:00

Eventually it catches up
And catches you off guard.
Then you're struck with a realization.
Life isn't what you expected.
You figure what's important,
What's not,
Who is
And who isn't.

You take stock of everything,
And then you sit.
And think.
Sit. And think.
Sit and think.

Then you either are happy with the outcome,
Or not.
But will you sit there, unhappily, complaining that life's not going your way?
Or get up off your ass and make a change?

"Hide and Seek"

2009-04-08T20:49:00.000-07:00

this is where we part our ways.
where we bid our adieus.
as we've outgrown each other's company,
we've begun to seek outward claims.

no more hide and seek.
simply seek and be seeked.
love and be loved.
feel and be felt.

hide and be lost,
hide and lose;

lose me--lose you.
never mind me, once you've lost you
there's no return.
no going back.

sure their opinions have always been more important than me, us.
but is it more important than you?

don't let go.
live for yourself and no one else--not even me.
for i won't wait for your blessing to live mine.
i'll let go, and fly
unbroken, unabashed, unashamed.

f r e e.

"This isn't what I thought it would be"

2009-04-08T20:45:00.000-07:00

This isn't what I thought it would be like.
I used to think it'd be like a movie--
With its plot twists before the happy ending.

I remember I thought I could write our story,
Making your confusion into subtle foreshadowing of our future.
But I can't write your side, so this--
This isn't what I thought it would be.

Now I know there's no formula for this,
But I need to borrow your script
Because I can't watch the movie not knowing the end.
This isn't what I thought it would be.

I knew there wouldn't be fanfare
And I figured there wouldn't be a musical number,
One where we both come clean while dancing our pas de deux.
But this isn't what I thought it would be.

Mutual, not jilting.
Good timing, not inconvenient.
Genuine, not underhanded.
But then again, this isn't what I thought it'd be.

I don't know what I expected
Or what I figured would happen.
All I know is,
This isn't what I thought it would be.

"We're Not Every Love Story"

2009-04-08T20:43:00.000-07:00

The way the light slants in your window,
Like the light is heaven sent,
Makes me think its a sign from God
That I should be here, in your sheets.

The way the light kisses where I kissed,
Your brow, your cheek, your lips,
Makes me think I'm right as rain,
Wanting to do it again.

I want the light to shine in your eyes,
A glow that'll warm me, head to toe.
Illuminating the depths of your soul,
And drawing me into you.

And the way your fingertips trace my skin,
It's like fire and ice.
Until all I can do is follow your lead,
To finish what you started.

We're not every love story,
We don't get a happily ever after.
All we've got is an evening,
And the chance to make it work.

Our love story isn't an epic romance,
and it certainly isn't the easiest.
But its ours and wholly unpredictable.
I wouldn't have you any other way.

Haunted Ch. 6 "Stronger"

2009-04-08T20:39:00.000-07:00

I stare, and Paul hasn’t moved. Almost as though if he remains perfectly still, he’ll fade back into the background. Its been so long since he’s been seen by anyone but me, I’m sure he feels exposed.

I look at Charlie, and wait. He turns back to me and says “That’s one reason I’m a grief therapist. i know more than you think. I’ll be around when you’re ready to talk.” And with that he leaves me awestricken and alone with Paul.

Paul sits there a few moments more, and turns to me. “Did that just happen?”

Yes. Someone who can help me exists. I can feel the excitement start in my chest and spread to the tips of my toes. I’m not crazy.

The rest of the day blurs, and before I know it I’m being checked out of the hospital and am on the road home. All I can do is repeat over and over to myself, “He saw Paul. He saw Paul.”

Paul keeps trying again and again to catch my attention, but now he doesn’t register. He’s a dull buzz compared to the roar in my head.

We get home and I go through the motions of life, while feeling the excitement grow and grow in my chest. I don’t sleep, and when I’m full to burst its time for school.

I am stopped on my way out of the parking lot by the principal and I’m ushered into his office before I can open my mouth.

“Now Therese,” he begins, gesturing for me to sit, “I’ve received a phone call from a Charlie Thibodaux, and he’s asked me to give you time to adjust to school. So I’ve gathered your work from your teachers. You can go to class or go to the library. Take your time, We’re all here for you.”

I look at him. I listened to every word he said, and noticed how he didn’t pause for breath, how it all sounded so forced. It hits me. He’s afraid of me. He wants to get me out of his office quickly.

I narrow my eyes, reach forward, grab my stuff, and turn out on my heel. Stalking away I think, Oh because suicidal tendencies are contagious right?

I reach the library and steer myself towards one of the hidden tables and sit quietly by myself. After relaxing I start to go through the work I’ve got. But it ends up being more of me absently flipping through a text book while twiddling a pen in my hand.

“Didn’t your friend like die or something? Why are you here and not in some loony bin?”

My head snaps up. Mark Branch, resident dick, is leering over the table.

“Well?”

I resist the urge to blow up, “Maybe I don’t want to give you the satisfaction.”

“Whatever Therese, your friend couldn’t hack it, and now you’re back to your over achiever ways. Once a freak always a freak.”

He slides his palm across the table, knocking everything onto the floor, save the book I had in my hands. He sneers and walks out. I grip the table, do bullies ever think of any new insults?

I pick everything back up and drop it onto the table. I settle down and focus on the work, blocking out the encounter with works of “literary genius”. I start taking notes as I hear Mark’s taunts from the past year build to a crescendo in my head.

I cast a glance around me. The library is empty. This isn't unusual as I'm often the only one working; it just irks me because Mark felt the need to jab at it. I slump lower in my chair and pull my notes closer.

"Overachiever! Jeez, were you, like, raised by education Nazis or something? No one works like that. What are you, some kind of freak?"

I think, No, not a freak; just safer in work. I burrow a little more into my notes. Steady pen strokes and pages flipping are the only sounds I hear for hours. Then like clockwork the librarian "accidentally" shuts off the lights and then finds me, shaking her head and saying, "Oh, I thought you had left already..." Right.

I gather my things and allow myself to be shooed outside. I stand outside the door and wait to hear the tumbler catch on the lock, then I walk. I'm not heading home, just going to another place to work.

After about two miles I pass through the gates of City Park. I walk through and eventually come across our place -- the secret place I have with Paul and Brittany. Or did. The flat patch of land between two willow trees on the outskirts of City Park.

I hesitate on the threshold, unsure if I want to take the plunge or keep going. I tentatively step into the cove, half expecting a giant spring-loaded trap to set. After several seconds of waiting with bated breath, I step fully in the cove. There's a swelling in my chest as the memories come. The three of us stargazing, picnics, birthday parties, camping trips, smores, cramming for tests.

I pivot quickly and make it a few small steps away before I collapse to my knees and bawl.

WE WERE HAPPY HERE! WHY? WHY?!

My sobs wrack my chest and before long I'm heaving for air, gripping the ground. I cock back on my knees and let loose a bone chilling scream. All my rage, frustration, confusion and sadness are in that cry. And in the echoes I feel I can hear the world cry with me.

Finally, I can't do it anymore. I sit on my knees for a few moments to catch my breath and regain my composure. I look around as I stand, and see if anyone saw my resolve disappear. I brush off my pants and turn to grab my things. It feels good to loose control, to be so utterly swept up in my emotions. No one realizes that this is how I'm helping myself; teaching myself to be stronger.

Haunted Ch. 5 "Bedside Secrets"

2009-04-08T20:38:00.000-07:00

I wake to what feels like a tarp covering my body. I can’t open my eyes, move my arms or sit up. I want to yell for help, but only succeed in breathing heavier. The weight of my panic pressing into me harder and harder. I’m screaming, thrashing and kicking--only no one can see it. I’m trapped under my skin and its frightens me.

Suddenly sounds, voices, lights, movement. People are near me, whispering and moving. The tarp slides from my conscious and my eyes slowly flutter open. My vision slowly focuses through the fog and settles on a nurse with a needle in an IV.

“Morning dearie, “she says sweetly, “how’re you feeling?” She reminds me of my grandmother; stout, warm, kind and the kind of woman who’ll sweep you up in a hug at a moment’s notice.

I open my mouth to reply, but still no voice. I shrug pathetically and muster a grunt. She coos sympathetically and pats my hand, “The doctors will be here shortly.” She leaves and my first instinct is to run, but i cant even sit up. I’m suddenly exhausted and close my eyes; letting sleep wash over me.

“Therese.”

I start and shock waves roll through my head. My eyes snap open and I see Paul perched on the edge of my bed. He looks nervous as though I may jump up and leave the room. I turn my head away and stare intently at the cracks in the pale yellow wallpaper. He edges closer and waits for me to notice him again.

“Therese,” he whispers, “how you--how’re you doing?”
He reaches out slowly to graze my hand, as one might to an easily spooked horse.

“Fine. Go away.”

He keeps reaching for me; I swat the air where his hand would be, my hand passing through his. He jerks his hand back and looks at me, sadness apparent on his face.

“Therese, I--”

I cut him off.

“Stop. Paul, seriously, you’re the reason I’m here, so forgive me for being a tad pissed off at you.”

He looks confused and opens his mouth to comment, tears forming in his eyes.

“No Paul” I spit venomously, “Stop. Just stop. first you kill yourself with no warning and now you leave a secret note to make sure you fully drive me insane?”

By now I’m yelling. Bad call.

“Fuck you! Just leave me alone. Tell me what you want or leave me the fuck alone!”

The nurse barrels through the door, panting, eyes sweeping the room. “What the dickens? Child, what’s the matter?” She rushes to my bed to check my monitors and place a pudgy warm hand against my forehead.

Shaking her head, she sits on the edge of my bed near my elbow and twists her upper body to stroke my hand and move the hair from my eyes.

“What’s wrong? Bad dream?”

I look from her to Paul. I nod, looking him straight in the eyes, “Yes. I just wish I could wake up.”

She nods sadly and moves to leave. She pauses in the door way and opens her mouth she changes her mind and walks through Paul. She closes the door and leaves me alone with him.

Paul shuffles his feet, and waits for me to look at him. I don’t. Instead I look out the window and pretend that I am alone.

She nods sadly and moves to leave. She pauses in the door way and opens her mouth she changes her mind and walks through Paul. She closes the door and leaves me alone, with him.

I look at him, daring him to speak to me, and then lean back and close my eyes. The door opens again and in walks a man. A small dumpy man with squinting eyes hidden behind round glasses clutching my patient records. He clears his throat with a hacking sandpaper like cough and addresses me like royalty.

"Miss Crews, I'm Dr. Roberts. How're you feeling?" He nods and continues, "this is most disconcerting, we had to prescribe sedatives: there were enormous amounts of pain killers in your system. Your parents are being briefed in the waiting room. A psychologist should be in shortly. Any questions?"

He dumps all that on me at once and then wonders if I have any questions? Oh, if only looks could kill. Then, it hits me—my parents! They're being told about the painkillers.

I wait until the doctor leaves, and then begin to take off all the monitor patches and needles.

A man I assume to be the shrink walks in and catches me in the act. He looks up and down the corridor outside the door, and walks in. "Let's just put these back and we'll pretend nothing ever happened," he says walking towards the bed, "Charles Thibodaux, but you can call me Charlie, I'm your grief counselor."

I take in his general appearance; well groomed hair, jeans and a cardigan, over all a friendly type. He's humming as he reattaches my patches, but steers clear of the needle. "Not a fan of blood" he says, "that's why I'm not that kind of doctor." He laughs and pulls up a seat.

He asks about me and my life since Paul, but I don't answer. There is no life after Paul, because Paul's still here. I look across the room at Paul, and he's got this odd glint in his eye. Charlie turns and says "Oh didn't see you there champ."

I freeze. He can see Paul?

Haunted Ch. 4 "Liquid Apathy"

2009-04-08T20:37:00.000-07:00

”It was late, late evening
The flowers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.”
-W.H. Auden

We pull into the driveway and I glare into the sun. Ugh life, whatever. I walk into the house and shrug off my mom’s please to help me. I don’t need her mothering me right now. When she gets that helpless look on her face my heart clenches because its my fault, and seeing as how it already feels like something is pulling my rib cage into itself no mommy time today.

I stagger into my room and collapse on the floor. “Go. Away.” Paul ignores me and nestles on my chest--well, in my chest if you want to be politically correct, but I don’t so he’s on it. “Therese, come on. Just eat something.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I glare at him, and then put my head back down to ignore him. I lay there and eventually fall asleep. After today’s fiasco, I was just about dead.

I wake up what seems like hours later judging by my sore back from the floor. I wince as I push myself up and limp into the bathroom. I listen for sounds of like in the house, but only hear me flushing the toilet. I shrug and go downstairs. I guess I’ll try and eat something. Can’t have another scene like this morning.

I get to the kitchen and call out, “Did you guys eat already?” No answer. Eh, no biggie I forage in the fridge, trying to figure out what I’m going to eat. Finding nothing, I close the fridge and turn to check the pantry. I hear a piece of paper flutter to the floor and I bend to scoop it up.
“Therese, we went to Peter’s open house. We might eat out. call when you read this
-Mom”

I crumble it up. How is it schools can have first days and open houses; how people can still eat out; how the world is still going after Paul died. I’m just barely surviving and the world just continues on.

I find myself growing ever more resentful of life. So I throw the note on the floor and stalk over to the pantry. I’m tearing through the shelves fueled by my frustration. I’m not looking for food anymore. I’m looking to steel myself against this rage with some liquid apathy.

I find nothing and I slam the door closed. ”AAAGGHH” I kick the door and bang my head against it. I feel the need to hurt something--someone--anything.

My cell phone rings upstairs, and I can hear it hit the floor, vibrating in time to Chevelle’s “Send The Pain Below”. I whip my head in the direction of the ruckus--that’s Brittany’s ringtone. Perfect.

I shoot up the stairs two steps at a time trying to reach the phone before it sends the call to voicemail. I slide around the corner at the top of the stairs, and drift right into the doorway of the bathroom. Where I just happen to slam right into a closed door. Crap that hurt, I think as I push off the door to launch myself onto my bedroom floor. “Ouch.”

Wincing, I scramble to my knees and scan the floor. It stopped ringing so it’s going to be harder to find it, especially because my genius self put the only light in the whole room in the other corner. Great, rummaging in the dark; whoopee.

I start pushing piles around. When I hear it, muffled at first then clearer as I shove piles around.
Much like suffocating
I’d send the pain below
Much like suffocating

My fingers brush the hard cool plastic and I grab it, feeling it vibrate in my palm. I plop on my floor and flip it open. “What.”
“Therese...I...I,” Brittany starts, “I...”
She mumbles something I don’t quite catch.
“What. Do. You. Want.”
“Ithinkyoushouldseethis.”
“See what.”
“Paul’s suicide note.”
Fuck you.”
“What? But He--”
“No. Fuck. You. How do I know this isn’t some staged intervention, or you’re just doing this for attention? Paul wouldn’t leave a note.”
“Because.”
“Because why? I don’t have time for your stupid mind games.”
I pull the phone away to hang up.
“Because he hid it in our spot.”

I freeze and my throat starts to seize up. I open my mouth to speak--to cough--to breathe. It doesn’t work, I’m choking and the room starts spinning.

“Therese, its written to you.”
She starts crying while I’m on the other end dying. I hit the floor for the second time that day. I can hear Brittany’s voice fade out.

_{“Therese?...Therese?! Therese? ANSWER ME!!....”

Damn. I could use a drink....}

Haunted Ch. 3 "Childproof"

2009-04-08T20:34:00.000-07:00

The bell rings for first period. I look up, relieved to get away. I snatch my binder and practically run out of the room. Kids jostle me as I make the beeline for the gym, where we pick up our schedules. I don’t make eye contact with anyone, instead I fix my eyes on the gym roof and walk quickly. I’m navigating through groups, and crowds, hoping to make sure Paul can’t find me.

I hear him yell my name over the ruckus of teenagers yelling and the screams of girls as they see their friend’s summer makeovers. I swipe furiously at my eyes, angry that I’m crying again. I have a right to, that should be us. Happy to be close to finishing high school, but we can’t have that now. And it kills me.

I reach into my bag for the pill bottle, stopping to focus. My fingers brush the cool hard plastic and I close my fingers around the top. I glance around, if teachers see it, they’ll take it away and then where would I be? Hear a satisfying chink as the cap easily pops off. Childproof my ass. I quickly palm a couple of pills and toss them in my mouth like candy. Almost immediately, I feel the tingling start in my fingertips, I sigh and move to go to the gym.

Only, I can’t move and there’s this loud ringing that’s starting in my ears. No wait, in my head; I can hear it echo and fed back. Oh crap, am I dying?! I clumsily try to grab someone around me, so I can let them know somethings really wrong. I swing my arms, but I feel heavy and off balanced, and I start to fall.

I feel so slow, but my heart’s racing. How many did I take? But I can’t seem to think, and just when I think it can’t get worse, I can’t hear anything. Just muted sounds and the ringing. I’m laying on the ground, and it occurred to me how funny I must look. I try to scramble up but its like I’m in a tar pit, with resistance keeping me nearly still.

There’s sand in my mouth, and cotton in my throat; I can’t call for help. I hear a scream and manage to turn on my back. I lock eyes with Paul, and he looks worried. He bends closer to me, “What’s happened Therese, I told you something would happen. What do you need, what can I do? Talk to me!” He’s such a trick, I’m this way because of him. I try to flip Paul the bird, but pass out before I can.

I finally come to, and I can hear again. “OH MY GOODNESS! THERESE ARE YOU OK?!” Crap. I wish I couldn’t hear my mother. I struggle to sit up, my heart’s in my ears and my stomach by my toes. “Hi, mom,” I offer weakly, “what happened?” She practically body checks me in her attempt to hug me, “The nurse said exhaustion, and malnourishment. When was the last time you ate?” She’s still got me pinned against her chest so I pull away. The last time I ate? When food wasn’t disgusting I shrug and offer a small smile, then it hits me. They don’t know I passed out because of the pills, I gotta get out of here before they check my stuff!

”Is there anything you need, Therese?” my mom asks quietly. Jeez, what is it with people and this question?! I open my mouth to ask that, but I see Paul sidle in and spot me. Why he sneaks around when I’m the only one who can see him, I’ll never know. The nurse calls my mom over to sign some forms so she can take me home, and I glance at the clock. 1:25. Dang, what a way to spend my first day.

Paul sits on the edge of my bed and reaches for my hand. I yank it out of his grasp and pull my knees to my chest; anything to get as far from Paul as possible. “Therese, why are you fighting me? I just want to help.” I glare daggers in his direction, “You really want to help? Turn back time.”

Paul blanches; so ok maybe that was a little harsh but he’ll deal with it. “Please Therese, just let me in, let me help you.”
“Why, when you wouldn’t let me in when you needed me?”
“Therese, you can’t honestly blame what I did on you.”
“Well, why not? Its not like I have anything else to base it off of.”

My mom comes back in, worried that I’m snapping at nothing. “Maybe you should go home and sleep for a few more hours. We’ll get you some food on the way home, ok?” I shrug, and focus all my attention on my mom. Maybe Paul will get the hint and disappear. We get up and I grab my stuff, I spy Paul getting up. No such luck.

When we get in the car, trailed by Paul, my mom and Paul ask at the same time, ”Therese, please let me help you. Just tell me what you need me to do.” I look at them both, and then turn back to the window. I can’t believe them, what’s wrong with how I’m handling it? My mom sighs and turns back to the road, and Paul puts his hand on my shoulder, “Please Therese, at least tell me.”

You wanna know what I need Paul? I need someone to listen to me, without their own agenda. Someone to tell me why I feel so empty or what’s wrong with me, why I’m the one who’s Haunted.

abandoned.

2009-04-08T20:27:00.000-07:00

Here are three poems I've started in the past few days but have unceremoniously shelved. Enjoi:

I hate when I look up
To see you're already looking at me
I hate the way my heart
Thuds when you smile

Because I hate how you seem to already know
That I'm completely under your spell
And all I want is you.

Now I need to get myself together;
Counter act your charms,
I need to find more of me,
And lose all of you. メメメ

I hope I mean something to you,
Not just a notch in a bed post
Or a feather in your cap.
I don't need the heavens nor
Your heart on a silver platter,
I just want to know I'm more.

You're not just "a boy",
Certainly not "the boy"
You just happen to be "that boy".
You mean more than the others. メメメ

Life is full of little pleasures
And lately a few of them involve you.
You're not like lounging in the sun,
Or a long hot bath.

You're more like a well worn in pair of jeans,
Hugging me just right.

You're not quite a good book;
Something I don't want to put down.

But more like the latest Cosmo;
My guilty pleasure I can't wait to peruse. メメメ

"Kryptonite"

2009-04-08T20:26:00.002-07:00

Your eyes are like the sun.
I'd go blind staring too long,
Into the blaze of your gaze.
But I'd do it knowing so anyhow.
It warms me to my core.
Prickles my skin, blisters my coherency.

I'd willingly lose my mind.
My heart races, words catch.
You make my palms clam and legs shake.
You could be my kryptonite.
Weakening me, yet remaining unaffected.

Surely I'm not alone in this.
Feelings like this can't be mine alone.
Yet, if they are, you truly are like the sun;
A dead rock merely aglow,
being loved afar by mere mortals like me.

"Little Black Box"

2009-04-08T20:26:00.001-07:00

There's a little black box
I'd like to put my heart it
To protect it from charming young men.

With their sweet smiles and perfect faces.
This little black box will keep my heart safe
Even when all it wants is to be out.

I can't take that chance
Not again--not with you.
But maybe I'll let it out.
And, instead, in the box, I'll put you

"And Your Words Speak to My Soul"

2009-04-08T20:23:00.000-07:00

In the battle for my heart;
Prose is my shield,
Metaphor, my sword.
But the words you use;
They cut to my soul.

These words that fall
From your mouth like A-bombs,
Strike me unawares and unprepared.
Torpedos to my defenses.
And your words touch my soul.

You are a harpist;
Fingers plucking my chords--
This way and that.

You are a fisherman,
I, the fish at sea,
I've taken your bait
Pulled at your whim.

Compliments drop like rain,
From the haven of your lips.
And your words speak to my soul.

"I'll Show You the Way"

2009-04-08T20:22:00.000-07:00

Sprawled across my bed,
My fingers trace the curves you should fill,
With no one around
These empty spaces are aching for you.

The whispered words of skin on skin.
Lust is the wrong word,
It lacks that oomf.
I'd go with tinder catching fire,
Flash floods of desire.

Its an electric current,
Turning me on like a light.
So switch me on, and I'll show you the way.

As a friend puts it, we can get biblical.
Adam and Eve won't mind our return to their state,
And when our bodies intertwine
I get a hint of that original sin.

And I like the way it tastes;
Sweet, sultry, deep.
The way you smell making love to my senses,

Much like the way I’d like you to take me:
Without warning, without stopping.
Without worry, without thinking.

Our attraction? No its stronger,
Much like the moon and the tides,
Earth and gravity, living and breathing.

Come close and I'll show you how it feels,
We'll be hotter than Global Warming.
You and me; I can't resist you.
So keep turning me on, and I'll show you the way.

If I Told You I'd Have to Kill You Ch. 2 "Unexpected Enemies"

2009-04-08T20:20:00.000-07:00

I crab walk to the underside of the counter in the kitchen as I hear the door be pushed open only to stop at the chain's length.

“Where are you my pretty?”

Ugh, how unimaginative. I think as I edge towards the hall closet. If I can make it I’ll be good; there’s a safe room and weapons.

I pause at the doorway of the kitchen facing the hall door; if I cross I’ll be without cover. I listen for a sound from my visitor. Silence. I’m too late. I make a mad dash across the five feet to the door.

I grasp the doorknob and fling myself in as the front door slams off its hinge. The air from the front door’s impact swings the hall door almost completely closed. I reach to close the small gap, but think better of it and instead silently forage in the darkness around me.

“Now now pet, don’t make this easy for me, I’ve heard so much, and I hate being disappointed,” he calls out, his muted footsteps marking his progress down the hall.

My fingers brush the keypad to the safe room, and I start to punch the code in when his shoes scuff the floor in front of the door. I pause, the keypad is too loud, I asses opting for the knife I have hidden in an umbrella by my foot.

“I’m alone, no worries there, I want nothing less than your best, little one.”

I use his voice to get a bearing on him. I pinpoint the voice reverberating in the kitchen and I clear a path in the closet to the door. I think while feeling in the dark, likes to hear the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?

His voice is carried to the next room and I quickly appraise the situation. The door swings out so I know I’ll have the advantage on the offense, though I’m out muscled by a gun to a knife.

He’s still jabbering on from the next room when I hear muffled footsteps stepping over the door. Someone who was with him would have already been in, and wouldn’t be sneaking around with his voice for cover. I hope against hope it’s Richard, but doubt it is.

The footsteps near and I grip the knife tighter; my whole body is coiled like a predator before pouncing. My eyes fasten below the door jamb, wanting to know the second someone is there. Two dark forms appear at the bottom, and I prepare to leap into the opening door.

The door is quietly pulled open a fraction and I lock eyes with Richard. His eyes open slightly in relief and then narrow again in concentration. He flicks his eyes to the voice and winks at me. I follow him out of the closet and down the hall, trying to form a plan.

I hear rummaging in the room to my right and realize half a second too late that the man is walking back towards the hallway. Its too late to warn Richard, but not too late to surprise the hit man; I stick my knife between my teeth and use my hands and feet to pad up the wall. Extending my legs to hold myself by the ceiling, I’m in perfect position to drop down and surprise him when he spots Richard.

I take the knife from my mouth, and glance to see where Richard is in the hall. Richard is walking back towards the door and pulls out a gun, leveling it at the door, waiting for my visitor to walk into the barrel. I’ve never seen Richard have even the slightest inclination towards violence, even towards rude cabbies or me on a bad night. So the sight of him with a steady grip on a firearm confuses me.

I try to signal to Richard to move so I can climb down when I hear a second set of footsteps turning out of the bathroom at the end of the hall. I try to scoot higher up the walls to hug the ceiling more. A second gunman walks out of the bathroom and freezes when he sees Richard and slowly walks down, gun raised.

I silently grip the knife in my hand and tense my legs, if I’m going to get a flying leap going I’ll need momentum. Richard isn’t even aware of the man’s presence when I fly down and wrap my legs around the man’s chest, pinning his gun between my ass and his gut. With one hand over his mouth to muffle him, the other has contact three times; once in the throat and twice in the heart.

I jump quickly down, with my hand still over his mouth, and slowly lower his twitching body to the ground. I keep him pinned through the death rattle, and look up at Richard. He hasn’t turned but nods, aware of the quick take down. I ease the knife out of his chest, trying not to get sprayed in the eye, and pad softly down the hall to check the remaining rooms.

I go from room to room, silently and efficiently. Before a minute has passed I’m standing next to the door facing Richard, waiting for our visitor to come out and be ambushed. Richard hasn’t moved and inch, his eyes seeming to see through the door.

I hear the tumbler catch on the door and I edge closer to the threshold. Richard clicks the safety off, and the door swings open. Richard starts to squeeze the trigger, but stops. My eyes flicker back and forth between the now open door and Richard’s face.

Then the visitor speaks, “Well well, Richard, this is unexpected.” And I’m floored.

Richard knows the guy who’s come to kill me?

If I Told You I'd Have to Kill You Ch. 1 "Hazards of the Trade"

2009-04-08T20:18:00.002-07:00

Click.
its funny how one sound; one so slight, so small, can change so much. It doesn’t shock me nearly as much as the first time.

I look up into the barrel of a gun. I swallow slowly, feeling my saliva catch in my throat. Shaking, I sit back, as if to get as far from it as possible, and slowly raise my eyes to the hand holding it. Then up the fore arm, to the shoulder and finally upon a cold, expressionless face.

Click. He sneers at me as the round is chambered. He cocks an eyebrow, as if to say “any last words?”. I take a deep breath, and relax. Everything slows as my instincts take over. I’m over the table before he gets a chance to blink. We hit the floor and he realizes I’m not an easy mark. He swings a broad palm towards my head; I duck, but not fast enough. I’m on the ground slightly dazed as I grope along the ground.

There must be something. I think as my fingers graze my shoe, Oh I’m going to be pissed after this. I grip the heel between my index and middle finger, the rest of the stiletto dangling from beneath my palm. I stand, armed with a shoe, and lunge at the goon. Swinging in short, hard arcs I aim for his face and neck. He picks me up and throws me onto the table, my head hitting the edge.

Through the haze I can see his shape lumbering towards me. In the split second before he grabs my leg, I lift my other stiletto clad foot and heel him in the throat. Hard. He hits the floor gargling, thrashing as he strangles on his own blood. I sit up rubbing my head and blinking hard.

I glance about the apartment taking in the damage. I limp over to the phone and dial Richard, he’ll have someone over to clean it up. We exchanged a few words and agree to meet. I glance down realizing I’ll have to change, and burn the entire outfit. I hate what blood does to my clothes.

20 minutes later, I’m at the bar three blocks from my apartment. Ice cubes clink as I swirl the lowball glass. I take a sip, the amber liquid warming me as it tumbles towards my stomach. Once it hits home, I feel the warmth exude through my fingertips.

I’ve always enjoyed the solace that comes from alcohol. It has no opinion, no personal interests, nothing to gain. And it tastes great.

I let my fingers graze the rim while I scan the room. No sign of him yet. I turn back to the bar and raise my glass, signaling the bartender. If I’m going to be kept waiting, I might as well have another drink.

I’m halfway through my drink when he sidles up and plops unceremoniously onto the stool next to me.

“Did you have to kill him with your shoes?”

I roll my eyes, “No Richard, I did it entirely to annoy you.”

He chuckles into the mojitio that’s appeared before him. He’s always questioned my “business expenses”.

“Its one thing for me to look the role of a city girl, and its quite another when a thug breaks into my apartment and forces me to not only burn Chanel, but use Jimmy Choos in a death strike. Its all hazards of the trade, Richard, and I expect to have the replacements by Sunday.”

Richard sighs, pulls out his Blackberry, and begins to text someone. Victory. I smile inwardly as I scan the bar nonchalantly. Richard and I fit in with the 20-something couples and “first daters", no one would ever guess what we really were. I take a good look at my handler: tall, lithe, tousled sandy blonde hair, overall attractive. I turn my gaze to the mirror behind the bar: green eyes, long dark hair, long dancer’s limbs, exotic features.

I hear Richard blathering on about something, and redirect my attention to him in time to hear, “I think its time we took a vacation, Legs.”

I snort, Legs? Vacation?. “Who are you and what have you done with Richard?”

He turns, smiling his killer smile, “Legs, there is more to life than work.”

“Yeah? well you’re going to get a lot less of it if you keep calling me ‘Legs’.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me, “Don’t tell me you’re actually upset? Most girls take compliments in stride.”

I roll my eyes, “I don’t know what kind of girls you talk to, but women don’t like to be labeled by their anatomy.”
I turn away from him and sip my drink. Ass. And people wonder why I don’t date.

I put my lowball down on the counter and feel someone grab my hand. All my senses go on high alert, and I feel my muscles tense in fight-or-flight adrenaline. I turn my head in what I hope is a casual fashion and meet Richard’s amused expression.

“See? you’re so wound up, if I were to bump you in an elevator, my ass is grass.”

I jerk my hand away and snap, “Well, I’m sorry for being good at what I do. If I wasn’t so ‘wound up’, I would’ve been dead by now, and you would’ve been out of a job.”

Snatching my clutch off the bar, I stalk out of the bar and out onto the sidewalk. Taking a few breaths to steady myself, I turn and begin the walk back to my apartment. My long angry strides eating the distance; sailing me past distracted faces and loud voices.

I get to my building, walk past the door man, and finally unlock the door to my apartment. I lock it, slide the deadlock, and slip the chain. It’s pointless, but I take comfort in my New Yorker habits. Tossing my clutch on the counter, I turn to take in my loft, spotless now, with a note and a flower on my desk.

Done. Call me. -Richard

I smile at the flower, an easter lily, beautiful and poisonous. I take it into the kitchen, toss the note in the trash, and look for a vase. I slip the bloom into the glass vase leave it on the counter, its white petals contrasting beautifully with the dark marble. I walk back to my clutch to get my phone to call Richard.

It rings while I look out the window of my high rise apartment, the view of downtown sprawled beneath me. I get his voicemail, and tell him to call me back.

I hear something. While common sense would say it was the phone disconnecting, I’m certain its something else. I drop to the floor, and edge out of sight from the window and door. I hear metal slide until--Click. They’re in.

"I've Done it Again"

2009-04-08T20:18:00.001-07:00

I've done it again
Made your words into a cloak
Worn to hide your faults.

Every lie I swallowed,
Their fermented bite like wine.
I'm drunk off your deception,
Giddy and in denial.

I gathered my resolve,
Ready to shake you loose,
A bucking bronco to a cowboy.

I was ready to erect walls in my heart
To keep you out and me in.
Prepared with my stucco and drywall.

But when you smile like that,
With your eyes alight with love,
I find myself marooned on Island Heartbreak,
With you at them helm of the rescue ship.

Let myself sink into your quicksand.
Drowning in you, all just you.
Then I know.
I've done it again.

Let you blindfold me,
Another round of emotional S&M.
You dominating me,
Making me bend to your will.

You're pulling my reins,
Leading me across the barren wasteland
I also call your heart.

I've rearranged the roads on the roadmap of my heart.
Breaking bridges and flooding towns,
So they could all lead you in.

I just didn't have a way into yours.
I'm lost in translation.
No GPS here, no Mapquest to lead me.

But I keep driving, hoping for a sign.
My low gas light blinding me,
Saying "go back, let's stop."

My comfort food becomes old voicemails,
Twinkies become memories,
Cookies are letters.

I gorge on the good times,
To keep from craving you.
Our waning passion passing like the moon.
I long for you and the past times.

The times when time stopped,
Kisses became our language,
Caresses replaced thought.
And when I can't breathe I know.

I've done it again.
Let you convince me to miss you.
But as you walk away and I feel alone.
I just know.

I've banished my feelings,
To please your ego.
Turned down the volume of my wishes,
To cater to yours.

And when I decide I want to stand up,
To take back my mind and soul,
You pat my hand and shake your head,
And obediently I stood.

But now, this time,
I'll stop where I stand.
Look you in the eye and say,
"I won't do it again."

Haunted Ch. 2 "Understand"

2009-04-08T20:16:00.000-07:00

I slip out of the car and slam the door, looking pointedly at Paul. On my way up the sidewalk, I pop four more pills in my mouth and chew them, their bitter taste comforting. “Therese...” Paul’s voice warns me, I stop and look at him and chew bigger so he can see it.
“Fuck you Paul. You have no right to judge me, especially since this is your fault.” I turn and head back up the sidewalk, with long strides. “Bastard,” I mutter, stalking up the school steps, clutching my binder to my chest. My vision swims, I blink hard and the tears just come faster. This is not how I wanted to start my school year.

I stumble towards Mr. Lewis’s room to meet Brittany and escape Paul’s gaze from the car. He’s our favorite teacher--or at least it was Paul’s favorite, he’s dead so he can’t have a favorite. Well, that’s his own damn fault, and don’t judge me; you’d be bitter too if one of your best friends killed themselves. I manage to make it to the classroom, and yank open the door. Mr. Lewis is sitting behind his desk, leaning attentively towards Brittany. I love Brittany like a sister, but in this moment I can’t stand her. I turn to leave, but Mr. Lewis has already called me over. Damn. I edge over, careful not to lose sight of Brittany, who is keeping herself from making eye contact.

She hasn’t been able to look me in the eye since the funeral. She had been crying and drawing all kinds of attention to herself; if you’d have been there it would have seemed like she was the one who found him and I was some heartless bitch who couldn’t manage a few tears at her dead friend’s funeral. I refused to, simply, I was mad as hell at Paul and wouldn’t let him have my tears. Brittany took a moment to lean over and whisper to me, “Paul may not be here, but I am, and I’ll never forgive you for not crying over his death. Its not his fault you didn’t love him like I did.”
That’s when I lost it--ok I blew up.
“What the hell are you talking about?! You wouldn’t come to the hospital or the viewing or to help pack his stuff!! You’re only here because you don’t have to see him, you can just say goodbye and go to your little world of denial. Well, I’ve got news for you cunt, you’re the one who didn’t love him enough to be there when he really needed you, when he was dying.”
She sat there gaping, and she stood up and moved away from me in a huff. That was the last time she looked me in my eye.

Its just as well, I’m so pissed at the moment that if she looked at me I’d have used it as an excuse to smack her a good one. Fucking Paul. Mr. Lewis watches me sit down in my “spot” on top of the desk two seats away from Brittany, and clears his throat. “Brittany, did you have anything to say?”
Ugh, typical teacher psychology; make it seem to Student B that the dialog to ensue is all Student A’s idea, and that you, as the teacher, are neutral, so Student B, doesn’t feel ganged up on. I look incredulously at Mr. Lewis, too late.
“Yea,” Brittany sniffles, “Therese, I feel like you’re blaming me for Paul’s incident and--” What is it with this trick and crossing the line, am I the only one who notices this? I put my hand up and snap at her, unable to take the anger out.
“Stop right there, Brit, if you’re going to even speak to me, get it straight, there was no ”incident”. Paul killed himself.”

Mr. Lewis opens his mouth to say something teacherly I suppose, but I turn away, meaning to exit. I see Paul walk through the door into the room, and sit next to Brittany. I can’t stand to see either of them so I turn towards Mr. Lewis, angry tears welling up again as I grip the desktop. I can’t say that I’ve ever hated anyone more than them in this moment. Even with one of them dead, they’re more in sync than I have even been with anyone. I turn to Mr. Lewis, silently pleading with my eyes for him to stop it all; the crying, the loneliness, the emptiness. He shakes his head, not understanding.

They never understand. I guess that’s why I’ve always been a little more alone than everyone else. No one understands what I’m going through--not even me.

Untitled Ch. 1 "The Brushoff"

2009-04-08T20:15:00.000-07:00

Music pours from speakers into the empty room, sad, longing, distant. A woman stands alone at the stereo, eyes glazed over, finger on the forward button as though she means to change the song, but can’t bring herself to.

The song finishes and the room settles into silence. She starts at the sound of footsteps. Michelle straightens and glances to the new arrival. He stands looking at the floor, hands tucked sheepishly in his jacket pockets.

“Can I help you, Aaron?” she calls, annoyed that he is standing so close--so far.

He looks into her eyes and the space between them shrinks; suddenly he seems close enough to touch.

“I came by to say I’m sorry,” he says, edging closer, “I meant to call but things happened.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Right, and I’m sure here is where some heart wrenching story comes up and I’m supposed to forget I spent two days straight waiting for a phone call that never came.”

She leans against the barre, with one hand on her hip, eyes locked on his daring him to say the wrong thing.

He spreads his hands towards her, “I’m not going to make excuses, I dropped the ball, and I know that. that’s why I’m here, to start to make it up to you.”

She brushes past him, shaking her head, “Well, it’ll be a long while before I can trust you again, and you’re really going to have your work cut out for you if that.”

She grabs the door handle and pulls it open, gesturing to the opening. He understands and begins to leave. Once at the doorway he stops, “That song you were playing, we’ve heard it before haven’t we?”

She sighs, nods and points out the door.

“One dance,” he counters, one finger raised.

She steels herself, considers it and concedes, “Fine. but after you leave.”

Aaron nods and slides off his jacket. he drops it and strides to the center of the room. He turns and looks at her expectantly, jerking his head in the direction of the stereo. She sighs and wrenches herself from the door frame.

She restarts the song and a slow smooth ballad fills the room. She slowly makes her way towards him; he groans in annoyance and grabs her hand. She blanches, but is is spun into his arms.

He holds her gently, firmly as he leads them in a slow dance. She moves stiffly until she gives up and gives in; melting into his embrace. He kisses the top of her head and pulls her closer.

The song ends and she nestles closer to his neck. She inhales deeply, taking him in. He pulls her closer with an arm around her waist; with the other hand he lifts her chin and looks into her eyes. Smiling, he brushes his fingertips against her cheekbones and lips.

“Why did you leave me hanging?” she says after a moment, breaking the trance they were slipping into.

He stiffens and relents, “I had some cleaning to do,” at her confused look he continues, “not in the literal sense. I had some people to cut out of my life and habits to break before I was ready to be with you.”

Intrigued, she steps back, “People? Habits? A tad too mysterious for this situation don’t you think? You’re trying to get back into my good graces, as I recall, so out with it.”

He groans inwardly and broods over how to explain this in the gentlest way possible. Because I’ve had to cut other women loose he thinks.

“Because I had other conquests, who weren’t right, after me,” he says finally.

She stares at him thinking, conquests? what is this the middle ages? She opens her mouth and closes it, trying to find the words to do her response justice. Finally she slowly raises her chin and shoots, “So there’s someone else?--Oh wait, forgive me, there was someone else.”

He stands there stock still waiting for the worst to happen.

“So I was initially this little tart on the side? Now, what? I’ve been upgraded to the main course? Though I suppose I’m just dessert now--” she continues her rant while he tries to interject. She rolls over it in stride and plows on. “--I was RIGHT! I was some booty call or something! And you have the nerve to show up and try to sweep me off my feet with your vague responses and dance moves. Was that supposed to make me forget? WELL?!”

He’d not responded, thinking she was asking a rhetorical question, but when she yelled the last word he quickly responded. “NO, listen that’s not what I meant--”

She cuts him off with a raise of her hand. “No. I don’t want anymore of your nonsense. Get. Out. NOW.” her voice deadly calm and low, “its now your turn to feel the brushoff. I want you far away from me. Leave.”

She turns and stalks away to the farthest corner. Throwing her hands in frustration at the fact that the corner wasn’t far enough.

He stands where she left him, eyes on the floor. How could I have screwed this up? he thinks, glancing at her pacing form. He begins to slink out, hoping not to press this farther. Once he reaches the door he turns to her and whispers “I hope you’ll forgive me,” not expecting her to hear or care.

But she does. She ceases her pacing and puts the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Bastard,” she mutters to no one, heaving a sigh of frustration. She chances a glance over her shoulder at the door, noticing he’d slipped out.

Hm, skipping out without a word. He never ceases to disappoint. I wonder how long until there will be “apology part two” she thinks bitterly. With a howl she jerks off her shoe and hurtles it at a wall. Panting from the exertion, she collapses to the floor, pounding it with her fist.

“Couldn’t keep my mouth shut...idiot...ass...insensitive...man whore, ”her tirade continues until she runs out of insults. She lays still to collect herself before standing. She brushes herself off and takes a deep breath.

“All right, got that out of my system. I’ll be damned if I let him get the best of me,” she hurries assure herself as she closes up the studio. After turning the key in the lock, she turns and heads to her car, ready to get home and start to repress this afternoon.

She pull up to her house and sees one of her house mates in the driveway, her arms up in a warning gesture. She braces herself as she parks the car and slowly gathers her things.

If I’m still in the car, what ever’s waiting for me in the house can keep waiting, and I can pretend that Crystal’s not outside the window. she thinks as she hesitates opening the driver door.

“Michelle, don’t freak out, but we let Aaron into the house. He had a bunch of flowers and looked really down and he said you were upset with him and--”

Crystal’s gush of information stops at Michelle’s expression; one of irritation and regret, at Aaron and getting out of the car, respectively. Michelle locks her eyes on the window that she’s sure Aaron’s watching her out of, “Crystal, why is he here?”

Crystal’s chagrin is apparent, “I’m not telling, as far as you’re concerned I was sent to intercept you.”

Haunted Ch. 1 "Self-Medication"

2009-04-08T20:09:00.000-07:00

“Hey Paul, you done yet?” THUD “Oh, My God PAUL!” THUD “Therese would you like to talk about it?” THUD “No.” THUD “We commit to memory.” THUD “Therese...” THUD “No Brittany.” THUD Bastard. THUD “Where did my Vicodin go?” THUD “No clue, maybe you finished it?” THUD “I could’ve sworn we had more aspirin.” THUD “Therese, you haven't eaten in days” THUD “I’m fine.” THUD “But--” THUD “No, I’m FINE.” THUD “I’m worried about Therese” THUD “At least she’s still here. any lesser kid would’ve offed themselves” THUD “She’s a strong kid” THUD “If I’m so strong, why can’t I stop?” THUD

I’m “self medicating”, the shrink I saw a while back thought it’d be “productive to self-medicated”. Meaning she couldn’t handle me, I refused to break to her mind games. I should stop, my head hurts from banging it on the floor. When I’m stressed I lay down on my floor, prop my legs up on the bed and bang my head against the floor. I’ve been doing it for a while now and I’m sure my mom is going to barge in any second yelling or something. Then I remember, she doesn’t yell at me anymore. Not since I found Paul.

I’m doing it again, and I realize it before Paul walks out of the closet muttering about the commotion I’m making. The noise clears my head and the rhythm comforts me. It silences the voices. Ok, before you think I’m some nut job with schizophrenia, its not like that. See, this summer me and Paul were hanging out at his house, he was in the bathroom doing something and I was laying on his bed. We were talking and he got really quiet, so I hopped up and went into the bathroom unknowing of what I’d find.

I fell against the door and screamed. Paul saw me and he screamed, or sort of, he was hanging himself and he had just slit his wrists. We just stayed there screaming, his getting fainter, and me screaming louder as his blood pooled around my ankles. His parents were banging against the door, but couldn’t get in, I was in front of it, afraid to move. When they finally get in, they scream. The voices I hear are those screams.

Paul is sitting on my bed telling me to stop or I’ll get brain damage. It makes me stop, he was forever saying empty threats of things that could happen. One time when we were kids he told me that if I ate the last Oreo then a troll would come and eat my nose. I didn’t believe him, because I had already eaten the last Oreo and no troll had come yet. I start again, humming a song to myself. My mom comes in and sits on Paul, “Sweetie, you know you don’t have to go to school today.” Its the first day back from summer vacation, and I know she’s trying to keep me from the whispers and the questions. “No Mom, its all right. They’re going to find out one way or another, Paul wouldn’t wanna miss the first day.” She smiles sadly, and leaves.

I sit up, clutching my head, “Paul, when she sits on you, how much does it suck?” He puffs up his chest and says “For your information Therese, she doesn’t sit on me, she sits through me. And I don’t feel it, the downside of being a ghost remember?” Paul always gets a stick in his ass when I bring it up, but hey I’m not the one who decided I was going to kill myself now am I? I reach under my bed for my shoe box, Paul sees it and opens his mouth to protest, “I need a little help, Paul, so shut the hell up.” I pull out the shoe box and sit hidden behind my bed foraging through the box. I pick up empty bottle after empty bottle shaking them all, until I find one with promise. The rattle is the closest to tears I allow myself to become.

I’ve become slightly addicted to painkillers, and Paul harps on about the problems and how I should stop taking them, but this is his fault and he knows it. So all he can do is bitch and moan, knowing I’m going to do it anyway. I pop three pills in my mouth and dry throat them, waiting for the numbness to settle in so I can make it through a few hours of their stares, their whispers, their questions. I climb down the stairs and get in the car, I drive the 3 miles to school and park in my usual spot and then turn to where Paul’s car was always parked. There’s no car, there never will be. I turn the other way, feeling tears well up, and a cotton feeling grip my heart. “Why Paul?” He looks at me sadly and shakes his head, he never talks about it. And it pisses me off.

"Poison"

2009-04-08T20:04:00.000-07:00

Poison.
I graze my fingertips up his chest, and slowly raise my eyes.
Pure poison.
I take in his chest, shoulders, face and lock eyes with him.
Pretty poison.
His striking green eyes swallow me whole; his smile burns my sex.
Powerful poison.
He draws me closer and kisses my neck. My back arches and everything's electric.
Poisoned.
I wake, alone. No trace of him at all.