This is not something that happened to me, though. Even though I admit to have cut myself earlier on, I haven't done so in the past month and a half (proud to say this, because at times it's very hard not to harm yself), this is a story that is completely fictive. I had a dream (nightmare) that sort of went into this direction and when I woke up, I immediately wrote this.
I hope it leaves you to think about how your actions affect the people around you and not only yourself.
Don't freak out too much, though. It was just a nightmare :)
It's what you do to me
My dad stormed into my room and pushed the knife in my hand. "There you go. With permission and everything." I stared at him questioningly. He sighed and said: "Alright, let's see if this works, then," and with those words, he started to pull up the left sleeve of his blue smart-casual shirt. "Do it. Come one, do it. Or I'll do it myself," he threatened. I looked him in the eye and then to his bare left underarm, with his right hand still clasping the sleeve of the shirt at the heighth of the elbow, in order for it not to roll back down.
I felt the pocket knife gain more and more weight in my hand as seconds were ticking by and finally, I clicked the knife in its grip and as I wanted to lay it away, my father grasped it out of my hand. "No! You do it. Now. Or else I will," he threatened again. His sleeve had rolled down a bit, with the sudden movement and as my father saw that, his eyes widened. I stole the moment to hastily leave my room and go downstairs, where my mother was cooking dinner, but he was too quick.
"Sit-down-now," he hissed. I did.
"Open the clasp knife," he continued. I did.
"Now take a look at it, slowly. Take the time to look at how beautifully it shines. Except for those times you used the tip of it, it hasn't been used, has it? So just look at it. Look at how.. Clean it is." He spoke slowly now and seemed to stretch the word 'clean', but that might as well have been my imagination. It was as if he got me into some sort of trance, because when he said the following, I made a little jump on my bed.
"Give me the knife," he said harshly.
I turned the knife- I pointed the knife towards me and handed him the side with the grip. In the slow movement of handing him the pocket knife, the tip of it crossed right palm. It stung and I saw a drop of blood fall on my yellow skirt. My dad saw it too and he smiled, "Sharp, isn't it?"
Then he put the tip of the pocket knife to his left wrist and drew a hardly noticeable line from the left to the right. All you could see, was a thin, light red line, and only if you'd look closely you could see it. My eyes were wide as plates and my mouth was wide open.
My dad looked at me. "Hurts doesn't it?"
I noticed my eyes were wide and my mouths was open, stupidly. I didn't want to look affected by his trick, so I acted coolly: "Only if you want it to. Isn't that the point?"
He pulled up his left sleeve higher this time, till just above his elbow, and drew another line with the point of the knife. This time vertical. And deeper.
As a reaction, I gasped and held my hand in front of my mouth, that was open again. I looked at his eyes, that were focused on me, rather than on his arm, surprisingly enough. He kept looking me in the eye, but I couldn't look at him. I kept looking at his mouth, how it was twitching. I kept looking at the carve in his lower arm, how the blood sippled out of it.
"D-dad.." I muttered.
Within one movement of his hand, he closed the pocket knife and he threw it on my bed. He then rolled his sleeve down and wanted to walk away.
"D-d-dad..." I stuttered again. He fiercely turned around and started screaming.
"Did you like that? Did that ease your pain?! Did it make it easier for you? Are your problems gone now?"
"What.. What are you talking about..?" My voice was hardly audible for myself, I don't understand how he could've understood it.
"THIS. I am talking about THIS. Every single time you bring that knife to yourself, whatever part of your body, you bring it to me too. Every time you cut yourself, you cut me too." He held out his arm, showed how the blood was soaking the fabrics of his earlier blue shirt. He rolled it up, grabbed my hand and made me touch his wounds.
"YOU did this. YOU are the one that is not only causing yourself terrible pain and scars, but also us. Do you think we want to see you hurt yourself? Do you not think we are hurt by your pain?"
My fingers slowly followed the lines on his lower arm. My index finger felt as if it had been numb and was regaining its feel to it- it tingled. It hurt.
I looked up, in the light blue eyes of my father. He was ageing, but not yet old. His hair was gray, but not yet falling out. He was desperate, but not yet giving up.
A tear found its way down my cheek and somehow it fell on the bare skin, close to my dad's elbow. I sniffed and and followed the lines on his lower arm again, with a finger that was wet by the salty tear that had fallen down. He pulled away as a reflex to the stinging, but I held his hand with my free hand, so he wouldn't pull away entirely.
When I looked up, I saw my dad had tears in his eyes as well.. I said I was sorry. And he gave me the tightest hug ever. My chin rested in the hole between his right colar bone and his neck. I heard him sniff. And for the slightest of moments, I thought I heard him say he loved me.
"Your pain is our pain. You do not only do this to yourself; you're doing it to us. And it hurts, it really does." He held my shoulders and gave a little squeeze. "It's our pain too. We love you."
And with that, he walked away.
- Location:Ho-o-o-me.
- Mood:
calm-ish. - Music:Vanessa Carlton- White Houses
You don't know what depressed is. You may have read about it or seen a couple of movies or known someone that was/is depressed, but you don't know what it is.
Being depressed is not sleeping the right amount of nights, long enough to forget how many nights you skipped in the first place. It is not being able to walk a straight line without falling sideways. It is forgetting who you are, what you do and why. It is why. One, big, W H Y ?
Why are you spacing out? Why do you hear voices? Why do people keep looking at you? Why are you here? Why life? Why not choose death instead?
You don't deserve anything. Not even to be happy. So why are you here, wasting space, money, water and food?
You stop eating, because you forget to. Then you continue with not eating, because it just feels so good. And once it doesn't feel good enough anymore, you can't stop yourself.
All you can think about, is yourself, even though you're the last person you'd take care of. Your thoughts mess with your head, body and soul.
You're dying.
And even though you want to die, you don't even see it's happening already. You'd be a lot happier if you'd realise your dying wish was literally coming true.
You make yourself so important by always thinking everything is about you; people looking, talking, not doing anything... It's all somehow related to your tiny spot in this universe. Stop making the world revolve around you; it doesn't, and it never will.
So you don't tell anyone you got raped, because you don't think you're pretty enough for them to believe you. You're anorexic. Bulimic. You have an abortion. You're alone. All alone.
The pain you feel is real. The fact that you hide from it behind not eating or binging, or purging even, doesn't make it less real.
You're depressed; searching for the inner you.
I don't believe in happiness. No, I believe in the moments in between the moments of unhappiness and depression.
You're searching for yourself, which leaves you with the big W H Y ?'s. You find yourself, which some people might want to call 'happiness', just for the sake of it. But then you loose yourself, which makes you unhappy again and the start for the search of the inner you starts all over again.
This is how everything about yourself, except for one thing, always changes. What remains the same, is the fact that you're always changing.
- Location:Thinking about the future at home..
- Mood:
blegh. - Music:Sarah McLachlan- When She Loved Me
Hope you enjoy!
It Tears You Apart
"My dear, my David.
I don't think I'll have the guts to give you this letter, but it doesn't really matter. As long as I write it.
There's so much I want to tell you, but there are only so many ways to tell you these things and after a while it gets all chewed out, so let's just skip the formalities, shall we?
If everything went according to plan, you're in the park where we had our first kiss right now. If you are, I want you to sit down on the bench where the couple just sat. In case you're not in the park, I want you to please stop reading and go to our park before you read on."
David looked around him and saw that the street lamp had turned on. In merely 2 minutes, dusk had stretched its long arms over the city and David imagined people being far away, arriving to a warm home, a family, to find them all waiting. But not for him this time.
Quickly, David walked towards the bench where the couple had been sitting only minutes before. His fingers were stiff from the cold and it took him a while before he got the piece of paper unfolded again. When he did, he flattened it out on his knee and continued reading fastidiously.
"I like your curls. I like your jumpy mattress. I hate your childish T-shirts with holes in them and the way you never clean anything up, but the curls and the mattress make up for those. I love it when you buy a drink for me, even after I initially declined it. I like it when I walk away and you chase after me, because you are the only person that knows better than I do, that I want to be in your arms- not walk away from them. I like the level we were on, not needing to be together 'officially' to prove to others that what we had was real, because whatever was real for us, was real in general. I hate how despite that level, there were bumps in the road that caused tension, which in the end caused this semi-breakup. I like how you are able to pretend not to care, but again- I hate how that confused me overall."
David stopped reading and noticed that he had stopped breathing. He folded the letter the other way and shoved it under his upper right leg, so he had his hands free to blow in them. And they say the weather gets better from February onwards....
"What I liked about you most, was how you kept hurting me and begging me for more at the same time. You kept breaking my heart, but after doing so, you would always mend it and start over from the beginning. You had me going in circles- I would leave you. You would beg me for mercy. I would tell you we could not be together. You took off. I would beg you for mercy. Remember those days, David? I do. They tore me apart. But isn't that what love does; tear you apart?"
He was crying. He was actually crying. Not in 6 years had David let a tear spring from his eyes for emotional reasons. The last time he cried before he met Stephanie was when his best friend died in a car accident, in which he only broke his nose. And then he met her.. Until this very day, David has still not figured out how one person can have such a great impact on someone else. How can one person lift you up that high? And how can that person drop you down this hard? How come there are people who know exactly what to say or do to make you the happiest man alive, or the most miserable, for that matter? How come it is always the unexpected people you come to care about and, well.. Love?
Oh. My. God....
David stood up and almost fell over. His aggression in standing up, caused dizziness and for a moment he thought he was going to throw up. He leaned with his right arm against the stone wall next to the bench, panting and finding it hard to swallow. Clenching his left hand into a fist, with the letter inside, David slowly stood up. His left arm was now shaking because of the tension in it and he looked at the remains of the letter in his fist. He could not read any further. Every word reminded him of Stephanie's teasing, crooked, smile- every word seemed a joke, but he was afraid that this time nobody would jump around the corner and say 'KIDDING!'
The curtain of night had now been rolled down completely and to read the rest of the letter, David would have to stand under the streetlamp. Bad sign. She wanted him to read it on the bench and if he couldn't right now, he'd better not read it at all. She was the one that told him that: if you're not supposed to do something, fate will let you know soon enough. Don't argue it, don't question it- just follow it.
David let the letter fall and picked up his bag that he left in the corner at the entrance of the little park. He took off to the gig where he had to juggle- never to look back at the park; never to know what the end of the letter beheld. It started drizzling.
In the meanwhile, in the back, a girl stood there, watching the scene. She had a navy jacket casually thrown over her shoulder and as soon as David turned around the corner, she stepped into the light of the streetlamp, which lighted up the silver lines on her face. She picked up the letter of the floor and held it in her hand, carefully, as if not to crush it any further. Then, she brought the piece of paper to her lips and laid it on the floor again.
It stopped drizzling and she walked away.
"It's a sacrifice you make. And I did; I sacrificed this for you, because I loved you. Why did you think I was not able to be with you? It's what this love did to me; it tore me apart. Remember that if you are thinking of me- whenever, wherever... I'll be thinking of you too. And if you think this tore you apart, remember that it doesn't come close to half how torn apart I am over this.
So, please leave me alone. I don't think you can mend my heart this time. And even if you can, you'd break it all over again and if I'm frank.. I don't think that's all there is to love. Sorry. But this time I'll try to find love for which I'm not the only one sacrificing myself.
I love you. You don't love me. In case you do- I ask you to turn around right now. If you don't turn around but walk away after throwing this letter on the ground.. I'll get over it.
I wish you the best and more.
Love. And more.
Steph."
- Location:Home in Hong Kong
- Mood:
contemplative - Music:Justin Timberlake,- What Goes Around Comes Back Around
"I don't have much time, because Patrick's waiting for me." She threw a glance in the direction of the entrance of the park. I followed the direction of her eyes and could see that, just around the corner, there stood a broad bloke, with his arms crossed over each other. He was obviously waiting for something,- or someone. She looked at me again and continued talking: "..but I just wanted to say a couple of things."
I gulped the lump in my throat down and said: "What?"
Her eyes scrutinised me. They were bright blue and they seemed to look right through me whenever she was playing this trick on me. She knew I couldn't handle her looking at me that way,- I never told her, but she should definitely have noticed. Don't girls always notice those things? I found it so hard to look straight back at her, but I tried. I really did. What do you want?
"I have a boyfriend," she said.
What?
"I have a boyfriend and I came here to tell you so. This leaves me two options. It leaves me the option to tell you that I have a boyfriend, but that I still want you." Pause. I looked at her, I guess a bit confused. She looked to the floor and then quickly added: "Just physically, of course," she shrugged, found my eyes again. "We would continue whatever it is we had before it stopped and we wouldn't tell anyone. It would be our own, exciting secret." I still looked at her. I was doing pretty well, I think. But for how long?
She sighed, then continued. "This would be the entire story and the entire truth as well, now it comes to that. But there is another option." Pause. I noted she was struggling to keep looking right at me, yet still she went on. "The second option I have, is to tell you that I have a boyfriend and that would be it,- that would be the entire story. And it's true, it's not a lie or anything. I would just pretend that there wasn't more to tell and you would just have to pretend I had never mentioned the first option."
I nodded, tried to push another lump in my throat down. It fell right into my stomach.
I couldn't look at her anymore, so I decided to try to carelessly look at a couple that was sitting on one of the benches in the park, on Stephanie's left hand and my right. "Right," I was able to push over my lips, but only barely. I was starting to feel more and more uncomfortable, as the seconds ticked away.
"Mm-hm.." followed by something she mumbled. "I prefer the second option, so let's follow that one," she threw another glance into the direction of the entrance and then added, breathlessly, "for now."
"Yes," I brought out, trying to look unaffected.
"This, of course, brings up other options, but this time they are not meant for me to be followed. I'll tell you the two options that my decision has left you with. When I walk away, you can decide to do... Well.. Nothing. You just stare at my back until I've walked towards the entrance, hugged Patrick and walked away with him, without having looked back at you one last time. But there's another option. When I walk away, you could choose to follow." The last few words, she uttered in a way as if she stretched every syllable. "Again, I prefer the second one. I prefer you coming after me, calling my name and touching my elbow. I prefer you asking me what the fuck this all means and if this really is what I want. And I prefer you to call me a bitch." The look in her eyes was cold and distanced when I looked back at her,- she almost looked like a stranger. Do all girls change this radically over the course of one conversation?
"This is the moment where I walk away and try to say goodbye, in case you're not coming after me." She smiled that crooked smile of hers. It was the best thing about her,- it was completely real and didn't leave any questions whatsoever behind with me. "As you can see, I'm not really good at it though," she continued nervously, fidgeting her sleeve. "Well.. I guess I'll see you around, then. Bye, David."
I didn't say anything. I mean, what would you have said? What the fuck...
"Hey, Steph! Steph!! Wait up!" Before I knew it, I stood in front of her again and did all of the things she told me she preferred. "Why are you telling me all this?! We haven't been together in private since.. Last March. Why the fuck are you telling me all this, Steph?"
Her eyes crawled back up again, starting at my feet and ending at the most personal spot a person possesses... The soul. Still, she did not say a word. She wanted me to go through the hell of having to repeat everything she mentioned before.
"Is this what you want? What is it that you want, anyway? What did I do? I didn't do anything. I have always been honest with you and I have always been as clear as I could be. I even kept your jacket aside for you to come pick it up, but you never came. What did I do?!"
No motion. No motion, whatsoever. I thought I saw her hands turn into tight fists, at the sides of her body, but I didn't care, actually. It were her eyes that were impersonal; it were the eyes that got to me. I didn't know this person.
"Jesus, Steph, why are you being such a bitch? Why are you doing this? What do you want me to say?!" I threw my hands in the air, hopelessly. Wanting to find something else to vex my attention on to calm myself down a bit and to, once more, seem a tad careless, my eyes shot at the bench where the couple had been sitting a couple of minutes before. They had left.
Stephanie looked at me for a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity, but at the same time, she would never seem to take long enough. And then she smiled. Her lips curled and as she chuckled softly, her eyes rolled. Her body loosened up a little bit and she looked natural again,- herself. She blinked and for a moment it seemed like she was looking in the direction of the bloke at the entrance of the park again, but then she blinked once more and focused her look on our feet.
"Do you really think you've always been honest with me?" she asked, and she looked back up at me, comprehensively.
NO, I DON'T, but it's not like you'd understand anyway, would you? Jesus Christ...
"What do you want me to say?" The lumps in my throat hadn't come back and I was trying not to scream and make a scene in the middle of the park. I felt completely hopeless and stupid and to make matters even worse, I felt her eyes piercing into my soul and I heard the sweet laughter I had always loved so much about her. Right now, however, it couldn't possibly be more of a curse.
"I'll tell you something. If you would have been honest from the beginning, I would not be having this fucking conversation with you this very moment; it would not have been too late. But like I said, I have a boyfriend now, and that is the end of our story," she said, with ever so piercing eyes. Every single word she used to emphasise what she was saying, felt like a hammer slamming me against the side of the head; slowly, painfully.
That's it, then, I thought.
But it wasn't.
"You hurt me, so I guess this was my turn to hurt you. I just wanted to see if I could hurt you just as much as you could hurt me," she whispered, her voice hoarse and fragile.
Carefully not to make any sudden movements, she leaned in cautiously to hold my elbow tenderly and then gave me the softest kiss I had ever had, on her favourite place of the corner of my lips.
"Goodbye, David," she said, with another crook smile. This smile, I also knew; depending on to which side her mouth hung, I knew if she meant it or not. She didn't, right now.
"Goodbye," I whispered.
Her lips curled a bit up again and her eyes looked friendly now, comprehensive. It was almost as if she looked sorry. She let go of my elbow and as she let her arm hang down, I felt two of her fingers stroke my underarm slightly. She stopped smiling and then turned around. I watched her walk towards Patrick and give him a hug. He looked at me, questioning. Quickly, I broke the eye-contact by looking at the floor and tried to make my mind clear of all thoughts.
I don't know for how long I stood there like that, but when I looked up, Stephanie and the guy that came with her had already left. I felt.. Blanked, cold; but at the same time all sorts of thoughts were racing through my mind with the speed of light and I felt my cheeks glowing,- of unbelief, anger.. Fear.
The moment I took off to go home, I saw the guy that had been sitting on the bench with his girlfriend coming towards me. He was holding something and as he drew closer, I saw it was a small piece of paper. He handed it over to me. "She asked me to give you this," he said. "Take care, man." He gave me a pat on the shoulder and then disappeared out of my life.
Trying badly not to stumble over my own feet, I walked slowly to the bench the couple had been sitting on. After fidgeting for a short while with fingers that were stiff from the cold and trembling heavily because of the adrenaline rushing through my veins, I finally unfolded the piece of paper and flattened it on my knee. It didn't take me long to recognise the handwriting on it, or the words that were written in it. I stopped reading when my eyes were half-way the surface of the paper. I never cried. Never.
"Oh my god," I breathed out. I am so sorry.
- Location:School
- Mood:
tired - Music:Kate Nash,- Little Red
I wanted to experiment and try something else for a change. My usual short stories are very short, very emotional. This turned out not to be that short. Nonetheless, in my own opinion, it is still very emotional, even though I didn't want it to be in the first place. When I was writing it, however, I got dragged along by the words a bit and I decided for the persona to be as emotional as the words wanted her to be.
I'm sorry if it shocks you. I'm sorry if it offends you. I'm sorry if you think it's too long.
But it made me feel good when I wrote it. Fiction is a great tool to help you paint the walls that you've built around you. It's a great tool to paint the walls inside your head with too. Sometimes, however, it can be considered a hammer, with which those walls are being knocked down. I still have to find out what kind of fiction this is. The paint? Or the hammer?
JUGGLING COKE BOTTLES:
I saw him coming towards me from across the other side of the trottoir. I had just smoked a cigarette and to act as if I hadn’t seen him coming in my direction, I pretended to be busy with pressing the fire out. After doing so, I opened my bag and pulled out of it a bottle of coke light. Unfortunately, I had never been good at opening bottles of soda in an elegant kind of way and this was one of those situations where it couldn’t possibly have looked less elegant. I opened the bottle and half of its contents came spilling out. The jeans I had been wearing, ceased being the spotless white colour they had initially been and as I saw the brown substance soak the fabrics enclosing my legs, I cursed under my breath. Of course I couldn’t remain anonymous this way and he saw me. Before I knew it, he stood right in front of me. He had a mocking look in his eyes, as he scanned my entire being. He did not only look at my body in a shameless way, but he also seemed to look right through me, as if he knew what was going on inside of me. As if he cared.
I shook this idea out of my brain and with an apologising smile, I stated: “Yeah... I’ve never really been good at opening bottles.” I shrugged and leaned in for a kiss. My eyes closed and my lips slightly pursed, I stood there for a couple of seconds, like a fish praying for a bit of air, until I opened my eyes to see he hadn’t moved a bit. He still had that mocking look in his eyes and it seemed to grow profoundly, when he saw how offended I was. He had rejected my lips in the middle of the street, with people looking at us, scrutinising every little thing we did and did not do. For a while, we just stood there, looking at each other. He didn’t move, the only thing that changed slightly, was his mouth. I could see he was trying to hold a smile back. What do you want? I begged him with my eyes. Then he turned around and said: “It’s that way.” Slowly, he turned his upper-body in my direction and gestured me to follow him, with a faint nod of the head. I picked up my bag and followed the mysterious person in front of me.
During the walk, we hardly spoke. He walked in front of me all the time and it felt a bit weird at first. At the moment I got used to the feeling of being ignored, he turned around. I immediately stopped walking as well and looked at him, curious of what he might do next. He stepped forward, in my direction. Every step he placed on the grey pavement, was placed confidently, yet cautiously. It was as if he walked in an incredible tedious slow-motion, but within a blink, his face was merely a couple of inches away from my face. Confused and still a bit offended, although also amused if I’m really honest, I pulled my body back, so I could have a proper look at the person in front of me. He wasn’t very tall; about two inches taller than I was. He had green eyes, with spots of brown in them, and a perfect nose. He had told me once that he had broken it four times, but I couldn’t see it; it was perfect. He had dark blond, curly hair, which he would mess up with his right hand, whenever deep in thought. He had a bit of a beard, not a long one, but one of those that men have when they haven’t shaved for about 5 days. He had big lips. He was chubby. He wore a childish T-shirt with a shark on it and a hole at one of the seems of his right sleeve. Frankly enough… It didn’t bother me. It didn’t even bother me that his right shoe was almost entire ripped from its sole. I could only look at those green eyes, with those tiny brown spots in them. Depending on how good the weather was, his eyes could become more of a mixture between sea-green and gold and whenever I looked into them then, it would feel as if I lost myself and drowned in them...
I felt his lips pressing against my lips. I felt his entire body pressing against mine. I felt his desire and I tried to hide mine, but I felt lost in his grip; I felt lost in his kiss. His hands were everywhere: first, he held my body against his, he pressed our bodies together as if he wanted to melt together, right there and then. Then he held my face, very gently, as if he was making up for the roughness of how the kiss had started out. His hands moved again and he held my head from the back. I felt his fingers run through my hair and his kiss became rougher again. I felt lost, I could hardly breathe and I wanted to get away from there; from him. But there was one thing that I wanted better: staying with him. I decided to let go of the desire and to share it with him. As I decided to do so, his grip softened and he stopped kissing me. He held my head; one of his hands at the back of my head, fingers entangled in my hair, and the other one brushed some hair out of my face. He leaned forward again and whispered something in my ear. “I want to fuck you. Right here, now.” I know, I thought to myself. I looked at him, smiled vaguely and tore myself away from him. “Too bad you need at least two people for that,” I was teasing him. Even though I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do and this would go wrong. But that was what made it interesting. And irresistible.
He grabbed my elbow and pulled me to him. The confidence he did this with, disgusted me. You were the one that rejected me, what do you want?! I turned around and started walking away. “What are you doing? Where are you going?” he shouted after me.
“I don’t care, as long as I’m not with you, you arrogant son of a bitch,” I shouted back.
Before I knew it, he stood in front of me again, holding both of my elbows this time. I felt my head spin and my knees shake. It's never good to feel things like anger, disgust and desire at the same time.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"With me? What is wrong with me?! I'll tell you what's wrong with you, you fucker. From the first time I had you in my sight, I knew that I was going to hate you. I knew you were disgusting and you weren't going to be capable of doing anything that would not make me loathe you. You are revolting and impossible to be around and I can't believe I'm here. What do you want from me?" Shit, I didn't seem to be able to stop talking anymore. Nerves...
Silence.
"What do you want?!" I threw my hands in the air and felt like a whining little child. He was the only person that could make me feel that way; I wasn't that young anymore in the eyes of some and in the eyes of others, I was too young.
He spoke. "I told you. I don't want to give you any wrong impression, it's just physical. Everything you just said, is completely mutual, I can assure you." He drew closer to me and I could feel his breath on my skin. It made me shiver. He whispered in my ear again: "I know you want to fuck me, why would you even bother denying it?" He leaned back and hid little tangles of hair behind my ears. "You know it's going to happen anyway."
"Yes, I do. But having a shown path, doesn't mean I'm following its direction," I answered. He seemed a bit confused.
"Well.. Why are you here, then?" he asked matter-of-factly.
I smiled, leaned in and bit on his lower-lip. "Let's go," I said.
For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then he smiled and said: "You're such a tease," and followed me.
Arrived at his one-room apartment, I didn't know what to do; it all felt new to me, regardless the fact this wasn't the first time I was alone with a man. I felt his eyes scanning me again and to focus on something else, to feel less nervous, I looked around. On several places, there were juggling balls and against the fridge, stood a couple of clubs. "You can't juggle," I said, more to myself than to him. I turned around to look at him. "Why do you have this stuff?"
He shrugged and started to laugh. "Because I don't juggle, remember?"
"Of course." I bit on my lip. Touche.
I walked around, as far as that was possible, and put down my stuff. I put my coke bottle on the kitchen table and took off my new navy-blue jacket. He reached for my jacket and without thinking about it, I gave it to him and sat down on the bed, absentmindedly. He tried to throw the jacket on one of the cupboards, but instead, it fell on the floor. My new jacket.
"Oh no, you did not just...." I exclaimed, ready to attack him with my words which would remember him of how he disgusted me and of how I really didn't want to be there. Obviously.
Instead of picking my jacket off the floor that didn't seem to have had a proper cleansing in years, he came towards me and pinned me down on the bed. He kissed me roughly and again his hands were everywhere. And on more places. After a couple of minutes of kissing underneath our breaths, he undressed me. It wasn't the romantic, slow kind of undressing, but more like the hasty 'I-want-you-but-we-only-have-10-minutes'
"Ouch! What the fuck do you think you're doing, dick?!" I sat up and looked at my breast. There was a gigantic red patch on it and my eyes went from my breast to his face, back to my breast, in awe. "What the fuck man! Jesus!"
He answered me with a grin and I saw his head go down again. He laid me down on the bed once more and licked the sensitive spot where he had bitten me and I could feel him smiling against my skin. "I know something fun..." he said to my belly.
"Oh, I bet you do," I moaned. I didn't like this. I wanted to get out of there. But I loved it. What is he doing? I wondered, and I pulled up my head to see what he was doing, but it wasn't necessary. I felt it; he was biting me in the side. It tickled and stung and I didn't know if it felt good or not. I wanted him to stop and I wanted him to go on, I wanted to kick my feet around and scream and I wanted to lie still and be quiet...
I smacked him on the head. Not very hard, but hard enough for him to stop biting me. "What the..." he said, bringing his head up to see what was going on. I slapped him in the face. Again, I didn't slap him very hard; just hard enough for him to know that I didn't want him and I wasn't attracted to him. Or something like that.
"You're a pig. I hate you. Let go of me, you're hurting me."
"I'm becoming a bit insecure when you keep reminding me of the dick I really am," he shot back at me. Ouch, you need quite the confidence to be able to say you're feeling insecure. Did I want to get out of there? Yes. Did I play along and stay anyway? Yes.
"Well, someone has to tell you. Get off me."
"You don't want me to get off you."
"Yes, I do," I tried to fight what I felt. I really tried.
He slapped me in the face. I felt my entire cheek glowing and was speechless for a while. Then something inside of me snapped. It was self-control. I literally felt the self-control flow out of me and ripped of my pants. I tried throwing them on the cupboard, but just like the jacket, it fell on the ground. On the other side of the room, one of the clubs fell down.
"It's hard isn't it?" he said, smiling, under his breath.
I got on top of him and got off his jeans. His T-shirt was off already, but I couldn't remember taking it off. Who cares. I nibbled on his ear and he said: "Stop it. Fuck me."
I ignored him and continued nibbling his ear.
"I'm not kidding, just fuck me already."
When he said that, I sat up. I looked at my watch and then at him. "Hmm.. I think I'd better go."
He sat up too and switched our positions again. He pushed me against the bed and when I tried to get up, he slapped me in the face again. But this time, I liked it. I knew I deserved it; it was what I had been asking for all along, after all. Fine, I'll admit it. Damn it.
When we were done, we did it again. After that, David got up, pulled on a pair of black boxers and picked up the juggling clubs that were standing against the fridge. The one that had fallen down, had rolled away, so he picked up the next best thing he could juggle with, instead of that club. He found my coke bottle and started juggling with it.
I looked at him for a while.
"I take it back."
"Hm?" It looked cute, the way he juggled; wearing nothing but that pair of boxers, sticking the tip of his tongue out of his mouth, in utter concentration.
"You're a true juggler."
I watched him again, for a little while, then he dropped one of the clubs and I had to laugh.
"Is it like, your cigarette after sex or something?!"
"Nah. It's more something to bring me back to reality.." he answered.
I stood up, took a short, steaming hot shower and put on my jacket on the way out. He didn’t hold the door for me, nor did he have the decency to stand up. Why was I so attracted to this asshole?
I walked up to him, he still sat on the edge of his bed. Juggling, of course. I waited for the right moment and when I saw he stuck his tongue out of his mouth a bit again, I snatched one of the things he was juggling with out of the air. It was my coke bottle. To be honest, I was a bit surprised I had actually caught the bottle, as my reflexes aren’t that good, usually. I took the cap off the bottle and put the little opening to my lips. It tasted… Like nothing. It made my face twist and I put the cap back on the opening. He took the bottle from me and pulled me down by my hair, gently. He kissed me. "When am I seeing you again?"
What is this? I thought to myself. He didn’t want to give me any wrong impressions, but what was he doing? Exactly, giving me wrong impressions. But were they wrong? What-is-this?!
“How about.. Never? This was a one-time mistake. I do not know what will happen if we make it again and I do not wish to find out.” I bent over him and kissed him very softly on the corner of his lips. He turned his face away, didn’t look at me. Seeming not to use any breath whatsoever, he said: “You should go then. Otherwise I’d have to make you find out.” He still didn’t look at me. Why do you enjoy hurting me so much? Why do you not care? Why?
Without saying another word, I got my bag and walked towards the door. Door-knob in my hand, I realised something. My coke bottle. I walked back and snatched the bottle from his bed. “That is mine, thank you very much,” I snapped at him. But he didn’t look at me, didn’t seem to hear me.
I stood in the elevator and just before the doors closed, I saw his face, bewildered. He was holding my navy jacket. “Wait, you left your…” But it was too late. The doors had closed before he could finish what he had begun. I loved that jacket, but I knew I would not go back up to claim it. I knew I couldn’t.
I never saw him again in private. Sometimes, when meeting up with friends, he would be there, but we would pretend nothing happened. I was happy we could pretend to be friends. I was happy no one else knew. From time to time, however, I could see him throw a glance in my direction. It made me wonder what he had done with my jacket.
- Location:Home
- Mood:
sick - Music:Idina Menzel (Florence),- Heaven Help My Heart
Yet, she felt lost; under all that makeup, those locks of long, brown hair, was nothing more than a poor lost soul crying out for help - but no one heeded her cries. Whilst everyone around her thought of her as a madonna, a beauty queen, a goddess, she thought of herself as nothing more than a toy - anyone who wanted their way with her, had their way with her.
There was a knock on the door. Barring the thoughts from her mind, she hastily wiped her tears away, put on her best smile, rearranged her miniskirt and opened the door.
"Ah, good evening, sir, I've been waiting for you."
- Location:'home'
- Mood:
lonely - Music:John Mayer,- Stop This Train
Her long blonde hair, shimmering under the harsh light of the morning sun, flowed with the gentle breeze. Her eyes, a beautiful shade of pale blue, glistened in the light – the sparkle in her eyes was enough to make any man fall at her feet. Her fair skin - smooth, supple, flawless; she needed no makeup; she needed not a mask to hide behind, for she was the epitome of natural beauty.
I stood behind a nearby pillar – wistful and forlorn, watching her at her best, doing what she did best – being herself.
What struck me most about her was her smile. It was so...true. So natural. A smile on her face was enough to melt anyone’s heart. And in a world where everyone was sucked so deeply into the vast and seducive chasms of the valley that is called materialism,- so deeply that every smile, every possible positive emotion imaginable was being faked... In that world, she stood out from the rest.
My hands rummaged through my pockets and found my last Lucky Strike. I brought the filtered end to my lips and myself a couple seconds closer to death. Whilst sparking the fag, I drew a deep, tired breath.
I hadn’t taken my eyes off her.
I hadn’t taken my mind off her.
I hadn’t taken my heart off her.
I’d lost track of the days, the weeks, the months, years even, since I fell for her. It never really crossed my mind – but then again, questions like these are better left unanswered. Sure, I’d had better-looking girls and better kissers, but there was something about her that instantly had me under her spell from the moment I laid my eyes on her.
One must realise how awkward this was for someone like me. Being a designated carrier of the dirty teenage mind and soul, my mind was infested with nothing more than dark, erotic and somewhat morbid thoughts – but all that became nothing more than a remnant of my past, once she walked into my life.
Letting out another heavy sigh, filled with sorrow and pessimism, I turned around and began to walk away. But like all the other times, I just couldn’t. I’d been trying to walk away for the past few years, but I just couldn’t.
Tears began to well up in my eyes.
“Enough…”, I muttered to myself, almost choking on my tears.
“...Enough now.”
I take a last puff from my cigaret and then put it out underneath my shoe.
- Location:'home'
- Mood:
confused - Music:Amanda Seyfried,- Honey Honey
I find myself thinking of what has been,
I find myself thinking of what is, and
I find myself thinking of what could have been.
Did I make the right decisions?!
Normally, you find out if you've made the right decision right after making that decision, but what about those occasions where you don't find out immediately?
Of course I've made some good decisions, but I can't help looking beyond those and seeing close to nothing but an ash-grey landscape.
Most of the decisions I've made, have made me into a miserable person, who always had to keep a smiling mask on her face,- even when she was alone, so she could maybe start believing the lies herself. They made me into a person who gained more and more trouble with having trust in humanity and the people around her. They made me into a bitter, lonely person, whether I was really alone or not.
So yes, you could say that most of my decisions were bad ones, but I guess that even that is all 'just relative'. I say this, because every experience, whether good or bad (however mostly the bad ones), shapes us into the person we eventually become. So you could say it are all good decisions indirectly, but what about the direct effect our decisions have?
What about feeling unhappy before finally being able to (maybe) feel happy? Is the unhappiness of no value whatsoever in comparison to the happiness? Or is it a taboo we are just not allowed to speak of?
It just keeps me wondering...
It keeps me wondering about what would have happened, if I wouldn't have run away, but stopped walking and turned around at some point...
And I wonder what would have happened, if you wouldn't have ignored me, but called me up and talked to me. Or just called me.
What would have happened if I wouldn't have faked that smile, but cried right there and then?
And where would we be now, if you wouldn't have betrayed me, but had been my friend through all the sunbeams and rainstorms?
Where?
Why do we do the things we do?
Is it the pattern we're stuck in?
Or is it the friends around us who influence our thoughts and actions?
Maybe it's the human instinct we all possess: the feeling of constantly needing to prove ourselves as individuals, no matter at what price.
Maybe it's the human arrogance,- our stupidity.
It certainly has to do with emotion, that's one of the few things I know.. We do things out of love, anger, sadness, loneliness, unhappiness, happiness.... And that's the way one emotion is followed by another.
But can we control this? And should we want to control it?!
I'm careful when it comes to deciding things.
We all have the power to change our lives in our own hands, but what we'll never know, is if we're changing it for the better or for the worse.
-If it's for the better, the probability that you might have gotten used to it by now is big. Very big indeed,- you might not even notice your luck anymore.
-If it's for the worse, you're situation is getting worse and worse with every decision you make. How do you break free from your habits? How does someone heal from an addiction to self-destruction through merely making the wrong decisions?!
I don't know.
I only know that the reason I'm still here, consists of two things ;
-Breathing; and
-Remembering myself (and others) that if you keep your eye on the horizon, you will find your right way. No matter how many 'wrong' direct decisions you make,- you're making the 'right' indirect ones as well.
And if not now ..you'll make sufficient 'right' decisions later, to compensate.
But even though I'm thinking and saying this, I still find myself waking up in the middle of the night,- wondering about all this.
I still wake up thinking of how things were, how they are and how they could have been.
I still wake up and think of how you are and yes, sometimes I wake up crying..
Even I wish that I could turn back time sometimes.
- Location:'home'
- Mood: rejected
- Music:Amanda Seyfried,- I Have A Dream
- Location:Home.
- Mood: hungry
- Music:Sheryl Crowe,- Go Tell It On The Mountain
THAT STRUTS AND F R E T S HIS HOUR UPON THE STAGE
AND THEN IS HEARD NO MORE.
IT IS A TALE TOLD BY AN IDIOT, FULL OF SOUND AND FURY
SIGNIFYING N O T H I N G!
SIGNIFYING...
NOTHING.
- SHAKESPEARE,- macbeth
- Location:In bed.
- Mood: cold
- Music:Sly And The Family Stone,- Que Sera, Sera
Somewhere, a clock is ticking. For every second that a clock has been ticking, a second has been wasted,- a second that could be spent dreaming, loving, LIVING. It's a one-way-road and sooner or later we all get to our very own dead end. And we will all think: I could have spent my seconds better. I could have made a difference.
Death. War. Divorce. Bulimia. Abortion.
They don't affect you, do they? So..they don't exist. Right?
I have learned that it's good not to know anything,- ignorance is bliss. I have learned that thinking about these subject is inappropriate, sinful almost! It's not in my right to create an opinion about these subjects.
But which boy died in front of my eyes? Which uncle was sent to battlefield, to never return again? And whose father stayed away from home more and more often as well? Who thought that beauty equals pain? Who needed someone to see her when she was invisible?
Yes, it's better not to know anything. Ignorance is bliss.
You look for truth in all their lies. You want to believe that a 'war against terror' is not only a made up phrase to comfort people.. You even want to believe that a certain religion may be the projection of all hate! A leader preaches that everybody has the right to back up his or her belief, as long as he or she does not hurt someone else through doing so. This leader, however, frowns heavily and turns away, when it comes to gay-marriage. Since when do we play the game of Love according to a book of rules?
And you are scared of my words. The realisation that you are not safe,- that the society you are living in, is narrowing itself... It scares you.
And you're just sitting here, taking notes!
Tick. Tick. Tick.
For every 3 seconds you have been reading this, 450 people have died.
And you could ask yourself the question: Was it the little girl that sat next to me on the bus? I don't know. Maybe it was the old man who you passed by on the street this afternoon; the man you didn't think of twice. Or wait, maybe it was a premature child, whose right of living got taken away from. Maybe your mother, or your best friend?
You are scared of my words, but you know what? Everything has different options,- a fork in the road, where you choose to go left or right. You make a good decision, or a bad one. Are you going to ask for directions? Or are you going where your heart brings you? Are you going to stand up for what you feel and believe? Or are you going to sit and watch how your possibility passes you by?
Tick. Tick. Tick.
You are scared of my words, because they speak the truth.
- Location:Home.
- Mood:
angry - Music:Judy Garland,- I've Got Rhythm
xCamila.
"Baby, look at me. Who would have ever thought that we would be standing here together? I can't even believe it myself.. How many times did I not almost leave you? And how many times did you not almost leave me?? You cannot just forget all that. You cannot just abandon all the work we put into this. You cannot just.." Silence. I tried to stay breathing and keep my heart in my chest. It was as if it was pounding so hard, that it could come out any time soon. I took a deep breath and blinked a couple of tears away. I gulped the lump in my throat down. "You cannot just leave."
He looked at me. Silent tears were streaming down his face. "I'm sorry," he said. One tear dripped off his chin. "I'm so sorry."
And with those words, he turned around and started walking away. My glance followed his back and saw how he turned around and looked back one more time. One time only..
And that's when I let the tears stream down my face. My ears forgot how to hear and couldn't hear all the sobs my body let out, but I could feel my chest humping up and down like crazy. My knees forgot how to carry all of my body weight and so I sank into the floor. My head forgot how to think and there I lay: on the ground, half conscious/half unconscious,- my tears making ripples in the little pool underneath me. If it weren't for the weather, I would've thought it had all come out of my eyes..
I stopped crying and I just thought of everything that had happened.
What... How... It wasn't very productive.
..His hair has the scent of coconuts. He uses this special shampoo, you see. German shampoo. And it smells great. Always when I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do, is sniffing his hair for a bit and then get up to get him some juice. I don't even know whether he likes the juice or not, but he always drinks the glass down till the last drop, which must say something about him, I guess..
When the rain stopped, something inside me snapped. I think I woke up,- literally and figurally. I tried to get up. My head was filled with saw-dust and I couldn't think straight. I don't know for how long I've been crying on the floor there, but it couldn't be less than three hours and a half; except for the streetlamp, some couple of meters ahead, it was almost completely dark.
Whilst walking in the direction of where I supposed my bike should be, I saw him. With his back he leaned against a tree, his head hanging down; as if waiting for something,-
or someone.
And before I could even think of why he stood there and what was best for me to do, I started running. I don't believe I've ever run that fast before, but at least.. It was for a certain purpose. Him. I knew that if I really didn't want to lose him, I had to give it my everything. I had to show him I cared, that I wanted him back. And that I meant it, when I had promised him all those times, that I would never let go of him.
And so I ran and ran. And ran. Till I stood right in front of him. We stood in front of each other and looked each other right in the eye and after a moment or three, he hugged me. He pushed his chest against my chest and I felt his heart beating against mine. Or was it mine against his?
"Baby?" His grip softened, but didn't let go.
"Hmm?" I still wasn't really able to talk, as you lot most probably understand.
"I'm sorry," his voice broke and as I heard, I grabbed him and held him tight.
"I love you," it's ok, I whispered. "I love you."
And as I did so, I sniffed his hair. It didn't smell of coconuts, funny enough. It smelled of rain. It smelled of hair that had been in rain. For a long, long time.
And that was when I knew I loved him.
And that we would be fine.
- Location:Home.
- Mood: envious
- Music:Tom Felton,- Time Well Spent
Anyway. The reason I've started a new livejournal, is because I simply forgot my old password. As people found out what my blogspot is and I can't be completely honest anymore there because of that (about what goes on in my life, things like that), I wanted to start writing on livejournal again, but you understand that I can't, considering the lack of my password.
So here I am: fucking up the virginity of the brand new livejournal page. Oh dear, that was a lame joke. Ah well.
Let's do a short introduction, shall we?
I'm Camila. I'm a girl of very varied background; I'm half Dutch, a quarter Portuguese, an eight French and an eight Chinese.
I've been living in Holland for almost my entire life, but at the moment I'm living in the precious land of the 852: Hong Kong. I love it here!
Currently, I'm doing the International Baccalaureate (yes, I can actually spell it!), which means I can only choose between two of the following things: a good night's rest, a social life or good grades. It's either none, one or two, but more than that is just impossible. Let's say that whenever I go to bed at 3am, I literally think: 'Hey! It's an early night tonight!' Just for the record: I get up at 6:30am to get the school bus every morning. Life is a precious thing, indeed.
I love musicals,- acting, singing and dancing are totally my thing! I'm also in love with writing; it's one of the few things I actually make sense at, whilst doing it. When I still lived in Holland, my teacher for the subject Dutch sent a school assignment I wrote to a publisher and the people at the publisher asked me to work with them to see if we could get a book out of these precious fingers of mine. But too bad.. I blanked.
That is one of the major reasons I don't like myself: I work very hard to open doors for myself and to keep as many options open as possible, but as soon as a door is wide open, it seems as if I get blinded by the light that comes from the other side of the opening and I walk the other way. I don't know why I do it, but maybe I'm just not made to be happy.
I am a very extraverted person, but one who does not show emotions easily. The superficial emotions like ..being angry or content are obviously spotted: I'm very black and white, there is no gray area whatsoever. My mood swings can be terrible, but that doesn't have anything to do with showing that I am hurt or worried. I care a lot about my friends and I'm interested in Psychology, which broadens my scope and I find myself helping my friends a lot, just because I can. It's not arrogant of me to say that I understand people more than often, even when nobody else understands them ..even when they don't want to be understood. I'm not saying that I can read their minds, but I just...understand. There are even people that feel 'too naked' around me and that is why we don't talk as often as we used to. But that's how it goes.
After the International Baccalaureate (let's call it IB; it's a relief to the both of us, I'm guessing), I'd love to do the whole world-trip thing, for about a year/a year and a half. After that, I want to study at an Ivy League university (preferably Dartmouth, Princeton or Brown) or Sarah Lawrence (yes, very specific!). I will most probably study something like Literature, Creative Writing or a language (I'd rather do something relating to theatre; specifically musicals, but my parents don't want me to). Possible Masters are: Journalism, Communication or anything, really. I might be an interpreter/a translator in court or for the United Nations. Or a writer. I don't know. There are so many things that I'd like to do, I think. There's just too much out there. I'm bad at taking decisions, arghh.
I don't have a favourite colour. I like smarties better than M&Ms. The Notebook is overrated to the max.
Nice to meet you. xCamila
- Location:Home.
- Mood: blah
- Music:Regina Spektor,- Samson
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