Intoxicated

I told her I’m not that girl. The kind that sits under the cold shower, fully clothed rehabilitating our toxic love, crying tears of regret because of your name I got tattooed on my ass. The non-ending toxic love, it’s not for me. I’m one delicate and gentle creature. I can almost see us together, sitting on the kitchen counter, smoking and drinking and disappearing into people we won’t even recognize or look back in the mirror the next morning, waking up from the sheets where she fucked me the night before, because she doesn’t make love.

She feels around in the dark for my delicate body but she comes across an ashtray, at that point we’ve become addicted to the substances. She sits up in the same sheets I have left her, there’s a bottle of beer from last night, it’s open, it’s half empty. She drinks it, this is how our days usually begins. We don’t brush our teeth but drink beer instead. Our apartment is dark and not because we don’t have electricity but it seems even the sun can’t shine through the darkness; we won’t let it in. Our dark love. We keep it confined in these walls because it’s somehow thrilling for the both of us, the adrenaline rush, it’s like jumping off a building and hope we don’t die.

How do I escape this love? I cannot escape my own vomit, I’m sitting by the toilet sit, my arms wrapped around it and my legs stretched across the bathroom floor. It occurs to me that we don’t have toilet paper, we bought cocaine instead. But we don’t shit out anything because we hardly ever eat. She stands by the door, with the bottle of beer in her hand, she’s half naked, her ribs poking out. We’re anorexic, not that we’d actually make the choice to buy food, we make the same choice every time we don’t have to. At this point I feel like throwing up, even though I have been for the past fifteen minutes. She makes me sick; I make myself sick.

She yanks me up by my arm from the toilet sit, I could almost feel my shoulder breaking. Why wouldn’t it? I was emaciated as it was; I was easily broken. She grabs my ass, the one with her name inked on it and pulls my head back with the other. You are mine. She says, I chuckled. I honestly couldn’t hold myself because I thought it was, well I don’t know, funny! But not the kind of funny that people find comfortable laughing at. It was funny because I wasn’t even mine. How could have I belong someone else’s?

But it certainly felt like I was her property, I mean I had her name on me after all and if I attempt to escape for all good reasons and it came down to her fighting for my custody, my family would lose, I would have to show my ass to the jury in court to prove that I was in fact, hers.

She throws me back on the bed, the ashtray! She looks at me, with those eyes, the same eyes that warn me that nobody can love me the way she does. Because for some reason I’m not worth the kind of love that is warm, bright and the one that does not need validation or drugs to feel euphoria or numbness, when not loved. I don’t have to escape these walls they would escape me before I do. Eviction notice!