I got stuck writing this several times but i think it’s finally done.

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Fucking and Punching

By Ace Troy

            You think I don’t know, but I know. Or maybe you don’t think I don’t know, maybe you haven’t even thought about it. Maybe it hasn’t even occurred to you that you slept with one of my friends and that my best friend was over at your house at the time and came straight home and told me.

            I waited up for him, as he biked home from deep South East in the strange and wet March snow. I knew he’d been at your house, but I didn’t know what he wanted to tell me. I was drunk, it was already nearing three AM.

            He told me he wanted to talk to me and that I should stay up. I fretted about the news I was about to hear, already suspecting what he was about to say, knowing he’d been at your house with our friend who was kind of a skeez and had a tendency to fuck anything with a vagina. I thought back to the story you told me of throwing your ex out of your bed so you could fuck someone else.

            My best friend came into my apartment wet and icy. He pulled off his bike shoes and peeled back his soaking socks as he stretched his frozen feet out in front of the space heater. He pulled open his messenger bag, and offered me a beer to take with the news as he cracked open his own can.

            My heart sunk as he told me how our skeezy friend was massaging your back. How our skeezy friend was making you laugh.

I love your laugh, the giggle snort you do.

My best friend told me how our friend was most likely inside of you right now.

I am punching myself on the inside as my hand rolls my necklaces between my fingers. The two that I’ve been wearing for almost three years, one is something I got for myself, the other is something which belonged to my grandfather. There’s a third now, and you made it for me after Valentine’s day.

I love the necklace you gave me, the one I wear all the time, which forces me to think of you throughout my day, even though thinking of you makes me hate myself. The way I feel about you makes me hate myself. I hate myself for loving you though I know you don’t return the sentiment at all.

            Sometimes we all want to do things we all know we shouldn’t.

            I knew not to shoot the messenger, but you just shot me square in the chest. So I started building my walls back up; because big hearts break hard and no heart breaks as hard as mine does. I already could feel that you could easily destroy me. My narcissism made me love you, cause you’re just like me, but you sleep around more than I do and I know you’re trying to wall me out. You’re trying to wall out everyone.

            Do you really like to sleep alone, or is that what you just tell everyone?

            You make me want to shut myself down. I wish my heart had a switch I could just turn off. I want you too much to make you go away, but I’m starting to hate you. You told me I would. I didn’t believe you, because part of me still believes it can shut my heart off, when I know I can’t. I wanted you bad enough to try and convince myself that what I knew you would do to me would somehow be okay and not hurt me.

            I want to throw you into walls.

I want to choke you a little bit while I pull your hair and whisper into your ear.

I want fucking and punching.

I want to bite you until I break skin.

I want to slap you so hard that my handprint glows red on your face.

I want you moaning underneath me while I beat you up.

I want you getting off while I make you feel things you’ll still feel tomorrow. I want to leave bruises on your body so you’ll feel the same pain that the bruises on my heart will be causing me tomorrow.

Yes, I’ll get off. Yes, you’ll get off. But no matter how I try to make myself not hurt, I never seem to be able to get my heart off your hook. I can throw a right hook straight at your jaw, but you’ll never stop using my heart for piranha bait.

I’ve been working out since the last time we fucked; since the time I missed the side of your face and punched you in the mouth. I’ve been trying to ignore you, trying to pretend I don’t care about you. Trying not to text you. Trying not to talk to you on-line. Trying not to think about you at all, but the ghost of you chases me around constantly because you’re so much like me.

Because there are constant reminders of you in my apartment, on the street in my neighborhood and inside the bar I spend most of my time drinking at.

I hate you.

I love you.

I hate myself for loving you.

I love myself for hating you.

            I will not touch you the next time I see you. I will force you to make all the moves if there are moves to be made, but really all I want is to fuck you one more time so I can punch you over and over again in the face. I want your body to hurt the same way my soul hurts.

            I am hiding behind a façade of apathy so you won’t know how much I really care. I am pretending to feel things I don’t feel so no one will know you hurt me. I am pretending to feel the way I wish I felt, because the way I really feel makes me feel vulnerable, and pathetic, and weak.

The way I feel about you makes me hate myself.

You’re dancing on the pieces of my heart, but you’re up so high you can’t even see your feet. I am lying in broken glass that exploded out from the inside of me when I realized you don’t want me the way I want you. When I realized I can never tame you or make you my own. When I wondered if someone else could have.

My ex-girlfriend came over the other night. Not my most recent one, but the last one who really drew me in, the last person who I wanted my love with to never ever end. She has a new boyfriend now. She’s had many since we split up, many, many more relationships than I have had. She told me how I was unlike any other person she had ever met. She told me how great I was; funny how hanging out with someone who is telling you how amazing you are can really, really make you feel like shit.

She told me how she wanted me to find someone as amazing as I am. How she wanted to find an amazing girl for me.

I told her that girl does not exist.

I told her I’m done.

She tried to tell me not to give up.

But you, the latest misstep I have made, have reaffirmed something important. Something I began to forget. Something that needs to be remembered. You reaffirmed the truth that if you let down the walls you get hurt.

You reaffirmed that thing where even though I knew things would turn out the way they did, I kept telling myself that everything would be okay. The thing where I kept telling myself everything would somehow work out. That thing where my heart gets the best of me and ends up fucking me over. That thing where I feel so stupid for feeling at all.

You came over awhile after you stopped seeing me, you were with a friend of yours. While he left my apartment to go try and meet up with his lady friend, I looked over at you. I knew something was up and asked you what was wrong. You started to tell me and then you held back.

I asked if you needed a hug, but in only a semi-serious manner, trying to cheer you up in case that was supposed to be a joke.

You said if I hugged you you’d cry, so I sat in my seat and listened to you slowly begin to tell me what was wrong. But then you started to cry anyway.

I got up and sat next to you and held you from my position by your side.

You began to weep and I held you tighter and told you everything would be okay.

This too shall pass.

You cried harder and put your arms around me, giving in.

I offered the encouraging words I could muster and assured you that you were strong, that you were not alone, that you could hack it, that you’d get through this.

When you were able to stop crying, you bit my collarbone hard and sat up, wiping the tears from the corners of your eyes.

You smiled as you used the back of your hand to brush away the tears and running make-up from your cheeks.

I felt as though things might be taking a turn back in the direction my stupid little heart truly wanted things to head in. My heart mourned for your suffering and recent misfortune, but knowing you had opened up to me made me feel like I was special to you again.

It was only a few nights later that we met at a bar. Both of us were contributors to a big event there and needed to show our faces. I was happy that you seemed happy to see me. We talked closely on a love seat as you told me more details of your week and told me how you were doing, as we both sipped our drinks and enjoyed the atmosphere.

A friend of mine showed up and sat down with us for a while. He had been involved in the event as well; he had helped coordinate the whole thing. Then a friend of yours showed up. I went outside to smoke a cigarette with some other of my friends who arrived and wanted to say hello. As I came back into the bar and over toward you, I heard you telling your newly arrived friend everything which you’d sworn me to never ever repeat as you wept all over my shirt just two nights ago.

I am not a beautiful, unique snowflake.

You lulled me into thinking I was special yet again. I was quietly shamed and embarrassed of myself on the inside.

I headed straight for the bartender.

The way I feel about you makes me hate myself.

I think you’re special, but you make me feel like off-brand, canned soup. The kind you bought at the grocery store, but ended up leaving alone in the pantry for months. You know you’re never going to open that can of soup, but for some reason it comforts you knowing that it’s there, even if it’s past its expiration date.

I sucked down a few drinks and stuck close to my friends trying to pretend you weren’t there, trying to pretend I didn’t care about you. Trying to pretend I didn’t hear that, because I wasn’t listening. Because I don’t care.

            I hung close to the bartender to make sure that I wouldn’t even remember saying goodnight to you. I just want to forget you, but I can never do such a thing. I know I will remember you forever but I wish I could forget the shame I feel for trying to pretend that I could ever be with you.

elliottismylove:

fuck it!