April 2, 4:00 A.M.
I’m walking restlessly around my room, cursing myself. I should’ve never gone to SM. If I hadn’t I’d still have him for late night cravings, even if it was just virtually and I’m weirdly horny, furious and frustrated. I should have never wanted Him physically. That way none of this would have happened. I don’t regret anything but losing his late night conversations, and on the first spring night I lost almost everything.
Him: Nighty, yo
Me: Nighty, love.
I accidentally turned him into an insomniac, I know He won’t actually be sleepy until five, but He‘s saying his goodbyes at 1. And my brain time-travels to the Irish Pub we went to after we realized we were both too nervous to stay in the house, on March 20th.
I arrive around 9 P.M. to SM, nervous and excited. There’s a revolution in my chest, the kind of revolution that makes it impossible not to smile. I change my clothes at the bus station: new underwear, bought for him, a new skirt, bought partially for him too, and the black shirt I always wear. I take a taxi. I’m there. I knock and the three seconds between my knocks and the moment He turns on the lights make me think he’s not opening the door. He opens the door. I walk in. Should I kiss him? Should I wait?
We met online, as I’ve met most of the relevant people in my life this year, and for some people that’d be embarrassing, but for me it’s now normal. We first talked about writing, then we talked about everything. He was helping me edit Iliás when I made a sexual joke in a group chat, and He replied in a private chat. A week later I was hitting on him, and days later we were sexting. It was the weirdest combination of instant good-friendship and sexual attraction I’ve ever had.
Her: you almost make me consider monogamy.
Him: You have no idea of how much I want you.
And I wanted him too, terribly. The kind of wanting that tears your skin into thin pieces of human fabric and makes your muscles glow through flesh-rags. The kind of wanting that would make me travel across the country just to have his breathe on my neck and my ear, after a couple of days of phone sex and a couple of months of sexting
I could write book about the last two months and his role on them, but I already started one, and this blog post has only two purposes. Regina, keep this short. My computer dies for the third time as I’m about to publish this, I don’t know if this is providence telling me to sinthesize or my ex fucking everything up with his mad hacking skills. I also smoke a cigarette in three puffs, imagining what the people I know will say when they’re done reading this. Thinking of how absurd everything is, of how weak this makes me look. Stage fright almost makes me fear judgement and stop writing, but fuck it, I’ve never cared that much about other’s opinions anyways, and today is not the day to start.
Three of his friends arrive and the thought hits me: He’s rejecting me. He barely looks at me and we’re both scared of the intimacy dilemma “I want to fuck you, but I also like you a lot, where is this going to lead us?”. He’s also uncomfortable with the idea of Lautrec only agreeing to an open relationship because I was about to leave him. Lautrec has also been manipulating him through stupid-ass bro-codes and I even fear he doesn’t think I’m pretty in person, but the thought flees my mind fast enough. “Crave you” is playing inside the pub (we’re outside, so I can smoke in peace) and I laugh at G-d’s sense of humor, of how he mocks us through serendipity. All of the coincidences of just one night make me think Palahniuk was right when he said “All G-d does is watch us and kill us when we get boring. (so we must never, ever be boring.”)
“He’s just not that into me” I say to one of his friends as a joke, most of them are too drunk to see how sad it actually is, and they think I’m joking about hitting on him, about being in that town just for him. Panic starts to set in, He was my escape from Lautrec, who had been as controlling and possessive as one can be with me before I snap: he hacked into all of my accounts and read all of my conversations weekly, he’d fuck me once a month if I was lucky and even said “I disgusted him” once, breaking my heart, right before I decided I didn’t love him anymore.
Just as the Lautrec high started (fiercely, last year), it went away (violently, in early March). I didn’t love him anymore and He seemed like the perfect way to save my relationship with Lautrec without me withering: He wanted me and he was intellectually perfect. Lautrec was oh-so-boringly-common and wouldn’t touch me unless something extra relevant made him do it. For someone like me, who’s strings are moved by lust, sexual rejection is probably the worst of rejections.
I had stopped wearing my engagement ring since Lautrec said I disgusted him, about ten days before Spring. I started planning my trip to see Him around the same time, and now He was about to reject me too. Right after a talk on G-d’s sense of humor, mythology, religion and personal beliefs (and the sting of losing someone so interesting) I decide relapse is the only way out. Lautrec doesn’t want me, and I did see myself growing old with him. He doesn’t want me, and he is my number one crush. I feel my chest collapse like some ancient ruins during a strong earthquake, but I don’t feel the pain yet, and before I do, I decide to escape by doing what I’ve always done best. Get coke.
It takes me only two people to end up in another bar’s bathroom snorting 90% + pure Colombian cocaine, I’m a little amazed at my luck, but the quality of the coke is even more amazing. As I sit down at the sofa of this new bar (we left the pub behind and He is being friendlier, he even holds me as I sit next to him on the sofa) I realize how much I’ve missed it. This is a happy place, the kind of place only shit this pure will take you to. It’s a fucking braingasm.
Serotonin, dopamine, whatever the hell this is lighting up… It’s true, falling in love and cocaine hit the brain just the same. It’s like three romances all at once minus the drama. Pure chemical wonderland.
I tell him I’m happy because of the coke, He looks worried, he thought I’d just smoke weed or drink a beer and he knows all my back story. I lean back on his chest and He seems to be less worried. We go on, bar hopping until I’m drunk. At one of his friend’s house He smokes a joint of something + something with us. Since weed and opiates have never been my thing, I can’t tell what it is, but I trust the host when he says there’s some hash in there. We go back to his place, he’s high and he tells me he wants us to get back, it’s almost like a promise, it sounds like a good omen. We kiss. We undress (partially). We kiss again. He stops.
He friendzones me as he talks about Lautrec’s manipulation “Lautrec wrote to me… he told me to look after you, and now…”, “I LOVE your personality, but I just can’t see you this way, you’re too much of a friend”, and the ruins in my chest start to hurt. I’m drunk enough to cry, I’m drunk enough to realize this is just an echo of every past rejection: Lautrec, Dreizehn, L, my parents, M. And I fall apart half naked in his bed.
It’s funny you don’t realize all of your bones are broken until you’re comfortably numb. Sober I almost felt ok.
Everything hurts, everyone hurts and I cry myself to sleep in his bed thinking of them. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you feel like this…” he starts apologizing, I tell him it’s ok, he was just a trigger, he was the little rock I kicked that caused the avalanche, but He is important, I just don’t want to make him feel guilty.
I fall asleep and Lautrec arrives hours later, on March 22nd, worried about my relapse. Codependent, possessive, manipulative, controlling and annoying Lautrec takes no relevant place in my body anymore by the time he gets there, and the numbness of relapsing just makes it easier for me to leave him. Spring is here and I’ve made a decision. Many decisions. Everything will change.