| no one needs to read this. |
[13 Nov 2007|09:13pm] |
Last night:
"Did you get your paper done?"
"Yeah."
"What did you end up doing it on?"
". . ." I look her in the face for a second, look away. "Self mutilation . . . in adolescents."
I glance back up and she glances quickly to my wrists. First to the right one and it's failed attempt at covering up (an insult to anyone's intelligence) and then to the left one which I didn't even bother trying to hide (perhaps even more of an insult). She looks back up and says, "Oh."
I try to change the subject, to stop my mouth from screaming the thoughts in my head.
FUCKUP.FUCKUP.FUCKUP.FUCKUP.FUCKUP.
She didn't pursue. She's never been a mother to pursue. And if she had, what would I have said? Just another bad night? Just some bad habit? That I laid on my bed for an hour trying to stop the fucking bleeding because I didn't realize I had cut so deep? And that after I had done that, I went and slashed my other wrist 5 more times? What reasoning would I have given? What reasons are there to give?
My subject change serves us both well. We go on with our conversation as if nothing unusual had happened.
Because nothing had.
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| no one needs to read this pt2. |
[13 Nov 2007|09:20pm] |
Tonight:
"Wait a minute. You're not on birth control, are you?"
"What?!"
I run to go answer the phone, because I don't need a god damned lecture on how irresponsible I'm being. I come back a few minutes later, hoping she doesn't remember.
Oh, but she does.
"Where did he finish?!"
". . . where did he finish?"
"This is important. You don't need to be pregnant."
You're telling me. "He pulled out Jill. Soooooo basically he finished in my mouth."
"Oh, thank god."
You're telling me.
And then we discuss the better, more exciting details.
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[13 Nov 2007|11:50pm] |
throw 'em in the moshpit
stomp 'em in the moshpit!
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