1
Jason was watching me again. His eyes were slitted, hungry. I wondered why he was so taken with me. It made me uncomfortable. Like being stalked almost. I thought this to myself as I gingerly wrapped a piece of tape around my burned finger. 2
"Why do you do that?," he asked.3
"Because I hate bandages and I need to cover it", my reply was terse. I was hungover and not in the mood for his endless stream of questions. I was starting to think he wanted to fuck. The way his eyes traced over my body. They never stopped roaming. It made me want to scream. My hands were shaking. I needed a drink, not his cock. 4
I reminded myself it was only 5:30, not quite time for the drink yet. But I was thirsty and I was getting mean. I found myself wanting to slap his sweet face just for the joy of seeing the shock and then the hurt register there. How cruel I could be some days. I knew that I made him sad sometimes with my senseless meanness.I vowed to myself that I wouldn't do it today. There was no reason for it (not that there ever was really). He'd done nothing wrong. 5
I shuddered just the same though. Without any thought I shoved my way past him and fled to the living room. The bottle from the night before was still on the sofa. Not caring that it wasn't yet Cocktail Hour, I snatched the bottle and took a slug. Carefully, I avoided looking at Jason. But I knew he was there, watching. He was always watching. He told me that I fascinated him. Swore that he could see me shaking on the inside sometimes. I never asked him what that meant and he didn't seem inclined to elaborate. Always seemed a bit ashamed or embarrassed that he had mentioned it. I think in the end all he meant was that he loved me and was afraid to say so. Scared I may run away from him like I had all the others that offered me any kind of solace other than a bottle and an occasional screw against the wall. 6
In turn I kept myself under wraps, or rather, under whiskey label. Wasn't I funny with my drinking and my pills. Jason startled me from my reverie by walking (sneaking in my mind) up behind me. He slipped his arms around my waist and gently leaned his head against my back. I flinched, but did not push him away. I just sipped more booze, wondering at the way he felt. Like he was supposed to be there. 7
I didn't like it. Not one bit. He'd told me once that he'd take away my scars if he could and I had laughed at him. A bitter sound that had rang dully in the room. "Do that and you take my life away." I had replied, glorying at the wounded look in his big blue eyes.8
I fucked with him, I knew that. I took pride in mauling his heart. It was a trick for me, a game. But it no longer held any wonder for me, no real satisfaction. His sincerity ground at me, gouged at my perceptions. It made me doubt things I thought I had known. Things I had taken as fact. As my reality, if no one else's.9
He squeezed me tighter and I felt him tremble. It pained me. He wanted what I didn't think I could ever give him. I knew I'd like to hand myself over to him, dysfunction and all, but I wasn't so sure I was capable. I began to change my mind about him being horny. That conclusion left me wondering again. Curious why he was being so weird. 10
It never dawned on me to think that perhaps he just liked touching me, being close to me. How romanticism always escaped me (and still does) is a mystery. I thought all women had a sixth sense about that. But not me. No. Never me.11
He had become so still I started to think he'd fallen asleep. Yet, when I tried to ask him I had barely uttered his name before he shushed me. "Let me hold you. Just for a little while," he whispered.12
Raising my eyebrow a bit, I grunted in consternation, but to my surprise - I held still. Except for the bottle I slowly raised to my lips, drinking deeper still. I was glad the shakes were subsiding, I no longer felt so vile. Jason was making me nervous though. He could be so clingy, almost desperate, at times that he shook me to my very core. I was not at all used to that sort of thing. Unaccustomed to actually feeling like someone wanted me. Perhaps even needed me in a way. 13
Try as I might, I simply couldn't wrap my mind around that as being possible. No way in hell was I desirable. But he made me feel that way. More than anything though is that he just made me feel. Period. Oh and how I hated him for that.14
The bottle in my hand was forgotten for the time being as the realization struck me that I had leaned back into him. I had done it without even being aware of it. The sheer sense of dread I felt at that was palpable and I felt my spine go rigid once more. To have let my guard down so easily was just not possible. At least I had never thought so. Meaning to pull away from him, I jerked myself forward. Only I was surprised again that he wouldn't let go of me. "Please.," he murmured. Yet it didn't sound whiny, just a little lonely, a little sad. 15
I swallowed against the lump that had formed in my throat. Blinking my eyes rapidly, violently, I drank more Jack. Hoping, praying, the JD would fill me up, dry me up. Leave me as I was before. Bringing the bottle back to my lips after the last chug I was starting to think it wouldn't work. Not this time. But I was fucking determined. "I will not break!" I told myself over and over. 16
I was making for the third installment in my pickling scheme when Jason's slender hand grasped the bottle on its way to fulfill my needs. "No more. Not right now.," he whispered in my ear as he pulled it out of my resisting grasp. 17
I heard the liquor slosh as he turned the bottle up for his own taste of reality. Jason took his first drink with a big, breathless gulp.Then another.Then one more. He sighed with relief. I'd known he wouldn't hold out for long without giving in to the call of it.Then it was silent again. Just the sound of our breathing and the lonesome soughing of the wind outside, streaking around the eaves of the house.18
Settling himself against me once more he propped his chin on my bony shoulder, one arm still clinging to my waist. The other arm, the one with the hand that held the Jack rested against my leg. I could feel the cool of the glass seeping through my jeans. For the moment though I didn't care. Turning my head to the side I gazed at Jason, watching him as he so often did me. His eyes were half closed in contentment, yet they were aimed at me. Just like they always were. "You pretty, pretty girl," was all he said. 19
Author notes
There is actually a lot more of this one. I posted the first installment waaaaay back in May. I am always a little hesitant to post stories, particularly this one for fear of a few people around these here parts taking it for more than what it is - which is fiction.
Link to the first part: www.allpoetry.com/poem/624010
Drink up, babies.
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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I'm sure when I read the original story i claimed that jason should die in the next one, however now knowing you a bit better i realise you do not see tales of destruction as negative or a means to an end, you see them as life, and the only way to live. I thought the reckless drink driving was coming to a point and whatnot but that WAS the point. It was the point. As for the last line. I am tapping my nose and doing this motion
And get your ass online because i miss u and katayana misses u and he keeps asking for his aunty judas so now i feel like a failed parent.
PS I'm editing it because i know you hate typos and u put aqueezed instead of squeezed i think, well i'll see it when i fix it
Love yooooooooooooooooooou
Jadey xXxXx
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What is best about this piece is how real you write your two main characters. Your voice in this is distinct, creating a characterization that runs like a consistent thread from beginning to end. Your narrator is clear with her tugging emotions and contradictions of feelings, her meaness born of pain and self-loathing. I recognize myself to an extent in this story. Perhaps many who read this do.
"I kept myself under wraps, or rather, under whiskey label..." For me, it's more pills than whiskey, but just as numbing. I know this woman's mind-set well.
Excellent writing. So real. Fiction or not, this piece rings true. You put me inside of your head, a place quite private yet aching to be known, heard.
"You pretty, pretty girl," was all he said.
Perfect ending. I bet you blinked, she blinked. It's what I would do. Good stuff, Ms Judas!
~Femme
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Curious piece...I enjoyed following it and perhaps it's better to end where it does...slices of a mirror or broken glass from the the window to the third eye...now residing, stuck in the grey matter and tainted with an ichor once thought as blood...you seem haunted by what drips and oozes out...if the purpose of "Art" is to communicate, then your work here is a piece of artwork! I think I'll remain within the bottle between you two and watch...after all, you play with words in such a way how could I not be held by the gaze and the crimson haze you beckon us all with...or, perhaps just drown in the liquid and be reminded of my own shadows.
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And you did an equally great job of pasting a chunk of it back to me.
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I like the lines, "He'd told me once that he'd take away my scars if he could and I had laughed at him." You described this situation very well. You did a great job on writing this story.
Edited on Dec 24, 10:57 p.m. because 'i was told my author that i quoted too much.'. -
if there is more to this, you BETTER post it.
outstanding....i want more.
an.d -
I will stem the tears for a moment.. and say.. you can hear me applauding you hun.. I know how much this takes and the forthright open wounded hearts and such poignancy.. well I know.. I do know
Here I am.. just listening in the quietude of the moment
~GILL~
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god i love your stories.
N...
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