to be honest, my life is a fucking mess right now. a fucking shit fucked black hole mess. i haven’t wanted to document it in any form because then it makes it real, but it’s that time i supposed. to get real. get fucking real. so let’s start from the top; we’ll pretend that was saturday. he and i are sitting in my bedroom. he had slept over the night before and we were now contemplating what to do for the rest of the day. nothing as usual? fuck no, i want to go out, i want to party, i’m ready to roll. so we go to brooklyn, after an hour of back and forth about whether or not we could afford spending the night there. we can’t, but we do it anyway. things start off all fine and dandy. the friends go to the gym, we listen to music and clean their apartment, throw a couple back, smoke a bowl, play a few tunes on beatles rock band. we’re so good. they return, we drink, we frolic out into the brooklyn night, me in my purple tights, cowboy boots, and a dress i’ve owned for at least 7 years, he in his typical attire - plain hane’s t-shirt, jeans, dress shoes, and a leather belt from his parent’s honey moon. we go to some bar a few blocks away. it’s long and narrow and the inside has a golden reddish hue. the bartender is slow as shit, and has a shaved head, and some really sweet tribal tattoos - cue the eye roll. one friend eyes a spanish mami across the bar. i assure him she’s not into the guy she’s talking to, (i was right,) and send him on over to hit her with his best shot, maybe literally. eventually she joins our little troupe, orders up some tequila shots and away we go. before i know it her hands are grabbing my head and her tongue is in my mouth. under different circumstances, i would have appreciated this gesture, and don’t get me wrong, she was hot. it was hot. but it was also inappropriate. i was out with my boyfriend and two of our dudes, like really? of course they loved it. i express to my boyfriend how i’m not sure if this is okay, and he tells me to go for it. i don’t go for it, but i do continue to stand next to her. i don’t know if this was the drunk, or my inner bisexual. obviously, she proceeds with what she was doing, and even grabs my ass, gives my tit a nice little feel. he comes over, makes some comment, and goes to grab both of our asses. i smack his hand away from her and shoot him a look, and she didn’t seem to appreciate his gesture. i order another beer and go sit next to him at a table and start to cry. i’m not sure why, but he comforts me, and we leave. i don’t recall the walk home, or the stop we apparently made to a deli, or our arrival to the apartment, our how the fight began. i can remember that she was brought into it, by me i’m sure. i threatened to call her, which i did, and hung up. they called back twice. he had her guy friends number. yes, he got a dude’s number. i ripped it up and i supposed went on with my tirade of misplaced anger. at some point it turned violent and i hit him with my sneakers, and punched him, and pulled his hair. he tried to get me to calm down and i just couldn’t. i said i was leaving. he handed me my bowl and i can remember looking at it in my hand and seeing it broken and launching it at him. in reality, he handed it to me and i threw it twice, missing once and hitting friend’s very large plasma tv. super. he tells me he threw my shoes out the window. he knows how much i love those fucking stupid converse sneakers that i’ve had since i was fourteen and he said it solely to piss me off and he succeeded. i took his ipod out of my bag and throw it at the wall. i leave the apartment, hysterical, and walk outside. this is when i snap back into reality, start realizing what it is i’m actually doing. i ring the buzzer and he begins to yell at me through the intercom that he’s not letting me in. he let’s me in and runs downstairs, probably because he knows i’m really horrible with these heavy ass doors, not to mention wasted. i go back into the apartment and say something stupid because i just can’t end it. i try to lock myself in the bathroom, but the door doesn’t lock. he throws my bags down the stairs and tells me i don’t deserve him and i don’t deserve love. that i ruined any chance there ever was of him loving me because i’m a crazy bitch and a whore. he’s probably right, but i’m not a whore. i call the cops, i say it’s on him, but truthfully it’s on myself. still, i feel crazy, i was going crazy, i was out of control and i didn’t know how to stop. i’m hysterical in the hallway, i call my mom begging her to come get me. she tells me i have a problem and i need help and says she can’t. he comes out into the hallway, calmed and begs me to come back inside. i abide, and he talks to my mom and tells her everything okay, that i’m just whacked out of my face. he was being nice. at this point i’m embarrassed. i’m shameful. i look like i just got hit by a one of those trucks i’m assuming is driven by mexicans and transporting hundreds of chickens. there’s blood and cranberry juice from the glass he threw in my face all over the walls. i have a black eye, his hand is twice it’s normal size and gushign blood, his face is swollen and black and blue. obviously i favor his left side. my lip is bleeding. i am so unattractive and he has so much hatred towards me. we sleep on seperate couches after he explains everything i had just done. i’m literally in shock, i can’t sleep, i want him to comfort me. he says he wants to but he can’t and i understand and am thankful that he’s even speaking to me. i drift in and out of sleep through out the night. i hear the friends talking in the morning about what had happened. i pretend to be asleep as they walk through the apartment, but really i just want to hear how horrible of a person i am. i feel it, i know it. the morning is awkward. i feel so shamed, like i woke up naked with four black men i don’t know with a sore ass and a missing thumb. i apologize to dave, and he’s still so nice to me because it’s just in his nature. internally he has to hate me. he has to. he and i talk sparingly on the ride home, thank god it went by fast. he parks in front of my house and we watch my mom and boyfriend leave. we smoke what little weed is left and he makes note of how i’m the one saying we’re broken up, not him. i need to let thigns settle so he can evaluate and figure things out. we talk about when we first met, how we went to the dog park and how sometimes when you meet someone you just know they’re going to be a big part of your life. good or bad. he decides to come inside for a bit. i end up sucking his dick, more intensely than ever before. i’m not trying to apologize with my mouth, but i am forcing back tears while he tells me we have to “force the lez out.” i know he’s kidding, but i don’t think it’s funny. he still looks at me like he loves me, but all guys do when they want to cum. we lay close all day but our skin only grazes each other a few times. he decides that he’ll sleep over if i get him a drink and a snack because he’s tired. this is a cover for the real reason he’s staying - he wants to. the next morning we talk about how things are in limbo, and he’s not sure how differently he feels after saturday night, that for the second time our timing isn’t right, and really maybe he just doesn’t want a girlfriend. we spoke for a total of ten minutes yesterday. he’s there for me when i need him during my brother’s flip out. he called me when he got home from long beach, although he did seem cold, he also said “maybe we can chill out tomorrow.” he’s an expert at wearing masks. today is a new gloomy, rainy day. we shall see.