Sunday, 29 May 2011

Exit. Chapter 3

That’s like when you never liked that guy but there's rumors and everybody remembers both of you kissing, even if they had not seen it. It is painted upon the mind, maybe because I had wanted it, maybe God wanted it, but then it broke as if I was fourteen, but then I was, that's when you start knowing that you don't know who he is.

My name is Roberta, I might've killed you if you'd seen me, because I wouldn't want to know you, I wouldn't want to know anyone, I'd take Jonny and everything with me on a stranded island and none of you would be there, the thoughts of yours which shall judge me, the subconsciousness which is keeping me from being who I am, because you'll judge anyway.

I was Bo for people who I trusted, Bonnie for people who liked calling me that and whom I trusted, who were even fewer. Roberta for family, teachers and people who I disliked. Simple, easy. Oh, Graham and Jonny were free to call me Bo or Bonnie, how they wished. Jonny said Bonnie and Graham agreed. They were in my head, they were next to me, they held my hand. They held my hand threw out my life, hugging me from the pain, as I dug my chin into their shoulders or chests. Something like guardian angels, only better looking and cheesy to dream about.

The headphones shall mute out what the uncle shall say and they do, because he tells me something I do not want to hear. I don't, the music blanks it out, as if I were holding my eyes and ears and chewing bones.

I lie that my luggage is easy.

The talk show is on, so he fades along with the possibility of not breaking my back as if it were fake wooden chopsticks to bite in a state of eating sausages.

I pull on, soon enough to see the big fancy, known entrance in front of me. I ignore several classmates sitting in a circle, talking, about how their vacations went and how many hot guys they had seen. But then maybe they’re passing weed, slowly dragging it rolling into hysterical fits of laughter discussing how nice the new Barbie is as they shorten her skirt and fix her eyebrows as my muscles rot and I become the new mocking target.

It’s not like when I open the doors I see stretched out faces, holding their hands in the air in a silent scream or sudden affection. I walk past, not bothering if the images that I glued to them are real or not.

I call it mental breakdown.


Because that one second, as if fate was laughing at me, I saw him or I had drawn him, singing to The Doors, I'd fuck Morrison, Jonny let's do it, I'll be on top, you'll be stroking him, fingering him, we'd do him.

He was in that circle, Morrison, someone who Jonny didn't want to fuck, so they both stand up and gasp, covering their butt holes, no more anal. Graham's specs laughing as he wiggled his feet, his untied shoelace making notice as a green flag, hey, babe, I'm eco, fuck me with a used condom, we need to have plastic. My Graham leans towards the black converse, identical to mine, only bigger and ties it. His hazel with red tint looks up and meet me for a second. He blinks and I just ran past, ignoring how heavy my luggage was. The luggage are my wings now, let me burn.

He was here.

The croak in the throat as everything is blurry and I can no longer breathe, even if I don’t think about it I can taste it pulsing threw my veins in a mute echo that he is here.

I could see him stand up, come up towards me and run a hand through my hat, taking it off revealing the five neatly dyed short steaks forming some sort of messed up star on my head. I could see how I wanted to run my fingers past his temple, touch his cheekbones, brush my index finger on the corner of his lips and end at his jaw line.

I wanted to chew, to be a disgrace and a fuck to Graham.

Just like that.

I did it in my head, dazing out in the lobby, my heart turning into milk, I am my breasts, I shall feed children, I am a fuck, to escape the running.

Show me how you kiss, do it.

Chew it.

I could repeat it in my head, I could imagine it now, I could imagine a kiss. I could make it how I wanted, for myself nobody to observe.

No corrupted by the media souls desperate for some horrid looking blonde or brunette thirty year olds playing fifteen year old machos, who knew how to kiss in front of the camera that would heat up your cheeks and send butterflies to the stomach.

To make you produce bubble gum from your vagina, expired.

I grabbed my keys after telling who I was easily. I did it without shrugging, asking if Marcia was already here, my roomie, knowing that she wouldn’t be here for five hours, she shags alone with a dork.

The room is left out for me and nobody else for the five hours. I don’t bother unpacking, as I curl into a ball, my iPod slowly hinting the need to charge. I watch him sing out last chords in a familiar singing voice before the screen goes black. Three hours. Two to go, as I put my savior to charge and as soon as he has enough energy I stuff the headphones back into my ears.

I can see him storming into my room.

“Hey, my name is Graham. You are the prettiest girl I have ever seen.”

Let me laugh.


I removed two chracters, nearly, Evan(former Julio) and Marcie. I disliked the scenes with them, so more will be crossed out, but most likely Evan's role will be kept.

(2015): This is surely a product of it's teenage time.

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