Spiraling

I stood in the middle of the street, rain beating down on me. This would go down as the most dramatic moment of my life. Except for the fact that the rain was only in my head and I was running down the middle of the street to get home as fast as I possibly could. I fumbled with my keys, which refused to enter the lock of my door.

“You look cracked out,” said my roomie, as she pulled the door open for me.

I don’t know if it was all of the vodka and rum, or that I had just had a nervous break down, that had my pupils so large the color was gone from my eyes. I threw myself on the couch, demanding an audience.

I had completely lost my shit. The Devil and I had gone out to his friend’s where I got myself good and drunk. We returned to his place late, late, late, and got down to some very personal business. Afterwards he fell asleep and I began to sweat. As the room began to spin, my mind began to spiral. Thoughts were racing as my stomach was churning. I pushed the covers off of me, sitting up enough to still the spinning that was quiet literally consuming my head. My heart was beating as if I had run a marathon and breathing felt impossible, I had to get dressed. In the darkness I managed to get my cloths on, exiting just as The Devil woke. I ran.

Why did I do it? As I lay there it became very apparent that I loved a man that was never really going to love me back. The thought was terrifying to the point of an anxiety attack. It wasn’t the alcohol making me sick, but the love I was feeling. I’ve stayed away from love as best I could since the day I broke my own heart. My roomie listened as I catapulted these toxic thoughts from my mind, before leaving me to catch the train.

I made up my mind as she left that I was going to stay away from The Devil, it just wasn’t worth the potential pain. It was 7:00a.m. and I still hadn’t gotten any sleep. As I tried to close my eyes I remembered the thing I had forgotten. On The Devil’s nightstand I had left my cross. The necklace I wear everyday, not for religion, but because it’s a part of who I am. It was obvious that I couldn’t avoid seeing him again. The only thing I could do was lie. I sent a text, knowing The Devil was asleep, saying I had gotten sick and went home. He believed me.

The only thing to do now: Return to the scene of the breakdown and get the cross out with my heart in tact.

Hello, My Name is Bitch

The minutes of my morning ticked away more slowly than I want to remember. Not to mention the fact that I have a cold, which I would trade for a hangover any day. The Devil returned home today, who knows what time. I checked my phone every five minutes to see if a message was left. I went through my entire workday without hearing from him. I had made it home before I finally received a message. Nine days of waiting and, “I’m home” is all I got.

Frustrated is nowhere near how I felt, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind. I wanted to reach through the phone line and strangle him. Calling him The Devil is quickly becoming more fitting than I had intended. I should note that we sat emailing each other, which feels like the slowest form of communication when you’re desperate for some contact. I had to ask. I couldn’t, not ask him if he had slept with anyone while he was away. There was no way I could have prepared myself for the response. He made out with one boy and they jerked off together. I was relived, though I felt like an ass.

I had spent the entire week wondering who The Devil was laying down on, when the truth was, he wasn’t. I on the other hand, went out and acted like a slut. I failed to mention that to him, though he didn’t ask. We chatted for a bit, when I found myself blocked in a corner. I was forced to explain how crazy I’d let my mind run the past week. I was surprised by The Devil’s calm and understanding responses. Though he reminded me of his rule on not getting serious before three months.

Am I confused? Yes. Am I completely unsure of what I am doing? Yes. Should I break it off before I end up getting hurt? Probably, but I won’t, I’m gluten for pain. My frustration was made only more painful by the fact that The Devil didn’t want me to come over while I was sick, understandable. Yet, he kept texting to say he wished I were there.

The following day dragged even more slowly, if that was possible. I sent a text around noon to see if The Devil would be home later in the evening. He told me he wasn’t sure, he might go to his parents. This is what I’m talking about when I say I’m confused. He’s telling me he wants me there and then he tells me he’s too busy with everything else. After not hearing from him, around midnight, I asked if I should go to bed. He told me he was out. Thank you for that vague and considerate response.

I don’t think I’m asking for that much. We might watch a movie, he gets sex if he wants it and sometimes we just go to sleep. What is it that he’s not getting here? I can’t get my mind around whatever it is that I’m missing. On one hand I feel like I’m being erratic and on the other I feel like he’s being a douche. Have I made myself too available to him, or is it that I’m coming off as desperate? I do a fantastic job of making sure I keep all of my overreacting to myself and out of The Devil’s view, but how much shit can one person put up with? Which leaves me with this: When is it moving towards a relationship and not just bullshit?

Shakin' Off The Dust

I’ve spent the last several days obsessing over The Devil. I finally have come to the realization that if I want to continue seeing this guy, whether I feel the love stuff or not, I’m going to have to accept the fact that it’s just sex. At least to him it’s just sex. I’ll do what I do best and suppress my feelings into that dark little box somewhere in the back of my mind.

To prove to myself that I can still have fun while hiding what I feel, I chose to go out. I made plans with three different people. It’s always good to have backup plans. I ended up meeting with my friend who works as an agent for a New York modeling agency. I thought hanging out with the Model Man and his batch of brainless bimbos would be entertaining at the least.

I arrived at the Model Man’s apartment, forty minutes late, to find a group of four guys drinking and having a good time. I grabbed a glass and joined the fun. It didn’t take long before I realized that this was a set up. The Model Man was trying to hook me up with one of his models. Don’t get me wrong, the boy was cute, but I could never play with a model. I downed my second drink, sprawling on the floor, talking with this model boy. I was impressed that he actually had some brains in his pretty little head. Then it happened. The Model told me something that made my jaw hit the floor. He was 18 years old and a virgin. That was the end of any chance this boy had of getting into my pants. I don’t enter virgin territory, you’re just asking for trouble. Plus if I’m going to have bad bumpy sex, I want it to be because we’re both really drunk, not because he’s never seen a penis before.

Later into the evening I was feeling good. All I wanted to do was sit on the couch and talk. I become very insightful when properly intoxicated. Suddenly I was being whisked out the door and into a car. I’m not one for letting other people drive me; I won’t even get in a taxi. The motion of the car nearly forced the vodka that was sloshing around inside me to erupt, but I held it in. Upon entering the club I informed the bouncer that I was too cute to pay the entrance fee. I was surprised when he let me in without paying, sober I would never be so brazen.

Once in the club everyone just wanted to talk. That’s what I wanted to do at the apartment, now I wanted to dance. That I did. Half naked and out of control, I danced with myself in the center of the crowd. A boy latched onto me, not that it mattered, I was in my own little world. We danced for about an hour, my legs beginning to throb from the gym earlier. When I was ready to go I grabbed the Roman by hand and dragged him out the door. I forced him back to Brooklyn. His apartment was closer but there’s a roommate situation and I wasn’t in the mood for drama. I’m not usually interested in guys younger than myself, but he did the trick. I took the Roman to bed in an effort to prove to myself that I didn’t need The Devil. 

Using sex to suppress my feelings is probably not the smartest way of going about it, but it’s the best thing I could think of in my vodka haze. It like no time before the Roman was waking me up. I told him how to get home unaware that he had run into my naked roomie in the bathroom. We laughed for a minute, then I passed out. Not to wake for several hours.

Tangled Up In Me

It is amazing that after everything I think I’ve learned, I’m still so f**king stupid. Who didn’t see this coming? I knew it would happen but chose to go against my better judgment. I gave into the “feelings” because someone said what I wanted to hear.

The Devil, at least to the best of my knowledge, was playing a tricky little game. He had his fiddle going and I couldn’t keep up. I said all the things I felt and know better than to let out of my mouth. Now, The Devil is away doing God knows who. This is the point in my dilemma where I should head straight for a cocktail. Let me explain:

The Devil is a DJ and for work he travels around for a few weeks at a time. Last Friday he informed me that he would be leaving the next day. I was surprised, considering the fact that he wasn’t planning on hanging out that night. I asked if I would be seeing him before he left. I wasn’t pleased when he replied via text that he would see if he could get home early enough for me to see him. His flight was early and bed was the only thing he planned on doing, so it was implied. Out of irritation (spite), I invited the Fireman I had met earlier in the week to come over and watch a movie. It was about 2:00a.m. when we were getting down to business and my phone began to buzz.

“r u up”

Two minutes later…

“hope so”

Two minutes later…

“i guess not”

Before even reading the messages I knew who it was. I told the Fireman that he had to go, not giving much of an explanation. I hustled him out the door pulled on a hoodie and all but ran the eleven blocks to The Devil’s house. When I got there we went straight to sleep. Suddenly it dawned on me that he had probably already had somebody in his bed before sending the texts. I was somewhere between confused and pissed. The messages he sent seemed so eager for me to come over, yet upon arrival it seemed as if there was little, if any, interest in my presence. The next morning, with a peck on the lips and a shove out the door, The Devil said he would see me in two weeks.

The first day he was gone I refused to contact him first. I thought this would be an effective way to see if there was more between us than just a condom. Nothing. The second day I received an email referring to some pictures on my webpage.

“Um, where did you get those pictures my boy?”

I wouldn’t have paid it much attention had he not tacked on, “my boy”. That threw me into a whirlwind of questions. Two more days followed with no sign of life from The Devil. I finally sent a text to see what was going on. He told me he lost his job and was on vacation until Monday. I haven’t heard from him since.

I know we’re not a couple but after what he said I thought there was something more to it. Clearly, I’m an idiot. What have I learned? I’ve learned that my love life is best left to my bitter and cynical side. When I think with my heart, or anything lower, I can’t see clearly.