Fast Life, Low Life

I can’t describe him… but he’s so typical for me, I suppose.  A tornado, someone that you notice, is so charismatic, but who just rips through life.  The anxiety that tears through my stomach just thinking about him.  Jealousy?   A lover to so many, but never to me… that is different.  Something I grapple with, but I realize I should not.  How can another human being affect another that much?  But not just you, they affect everyone around them.  Exhausting.  Deep breath.

Even in dreams, even in nightmares…

Flashes.  Blurred happenings.. the things that happen in the middle of the night when you’ve downed to much whiskey.  You wind up in odd places in the inner city with strange people.  But, you go.

But it was just flashes.

Flash

A text… to David

Flash

A #2 pencil, the yellow kind from 1st and 2nd grade, sharpened

Flash

It went through my palm

Flash

Twice.

Flash

Punches to my… face…??

Flash

Blood came from my mouth, seems like teeth too…

Flash

I …

I was facedown, I think.  Room was dark.

Star-fished on the bed, sheets tangled and torn up.

Relief

But only for an instant.

The hangover, that empty, dehydrated pang…

Then my jaw; it hurt…

And my palm…

I rushed to bathroom and flipped on the light.

Nausea

Metallic tastes

My front teeth, gone, the gums were blood red, and a tiny shard of the right front tooth, snow white, still dangled in the socket.  Instinctively, I reached and plucked it out.  Blood ran from my mouth into the sink basin, eerily mixing with water and running lazily toward the drain.

Then my palm.

Two holes, I could tell they were mostly round, stopped by coagulated blood that was now almost black.

Face flushed

A cold sweat

A noise from the other room drew me from the bathroom; I knew he was involved.  My bedroom opened to common areas, the living room, and kitchen.  In the kitchen area to my right, an island countertop split the area; it was cluttered, and a rather old telephone dangled its cord from above onto the countertop where I spotted a plate.  Piled high, almost glistening, white as snow, the cocaine almost seemed one with the dinnerware.

Jesus.

For an instant, I forgot my injuries and scrambled for anything that would disguise the mountain of white gold, and tossed a piece of paper from the counter over its summit.

He sauntered into the room, wearing red basketball shorts too low on his hips, and a coy smile, post-coitus, I’m sure.  His hair was starting to curl, but a little too short for its full effect, two bullet wounds visible on his shoulder and chest.  His persona oozed sexuality, but physically, he was not all that attractive.

I wanted to hate him.

He always referred to me as “bitch”

I know he spoke to me, but I cannot be certain what was said.  I gathered that I had been drunk, and in my efforts to obtain drugs, had ran into trouble.  Of course the night would end up as it did…

I could remember texting David… perhaps flirtatiously… a mistake, I knew.  The texts came back as mutually interested… then things became blurry… apparently there was no mutual emotion of any kind.  I could see the hand raising something sharp before the stab.

I looked at my palm.

The holes were more closed now, almost like scars, and the pain subsided.

I was facedown, I think.  Room was bright.

Star-fished on the bed, sheets tangled and torn up.

Relief.

That was a dream.

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