I dislike prejudices so so much…They form our own truth, not the actual truth. I’ve written a little something about prejudices on a fictional character and I just sincerely hope you find the time to read through this and find the message I’m trying to bring across; don’t judge someone before you really know someone. And even then, be careful not to hurt, even if you’ve been hurt yourself.
-A girl’s point of view-
I always imagine last kisses to be perfectly gentle and soft, so they would settle in a mind without causing any pain. They’re supposed to be the last fragment of the person you’ll never lock lips with again and therefore the most beautiful memory of your lost love – one you’d treasure for as long as you’d live. The last thing to hold on to.
Imagination is vicious, so it seemed last night.
I trembled when my boyfriend’s lips crushed mine, too demanding and reluctant at the same time. His hands were tangled up in my hair and the gesture felt so familiar to me that I couldn’t bring myself to the realization that his would no longer happen in the future.
No more whispers of his hazy voice ghosting through my hair. Living through the day without the knowledge that somewhere, no matter how far, someone I could call mine was there, thinking of me.
A few seconds earlier, he had been staring past me, his lips forming words I couldn’t quite grasp.
“I have this feeling that this, us, is not gonna work out.”
He clearly wanted to get his break-up lines over and done with, kissing me pretty roughly and needy for being someone he thought of as useless. But I couldn’t wonder about it, I was too caught up in the shock, trying to breathe whilst his mouth hungrily tore the pleas I wanted to speak from my lips.
He pressed himself against me briefly, then broke the kiss and embrace as swiftly as it had washed over me. My heart and head felt shaky, overtaken by a complete numbness as thousands of question marks drowned in my dumbfounded tears.
“If there’s no you, there’s no me,” I had thought, not even keeping the voice in my head from stuttering.
“Don’t do this…I need you,” I managed to force the words past the lump in my throat, adjusting the huge bonnet on my head in a desperate attempt to hide my quivery hands.
He sighed, burying his hands deep inside of his pockets and startling me with his careless composure.
“When we see each other, there’s nothing but silence and all I do is try to get inside of your head, try to understand who you really are. But I can’t and I can’t do this anymore, I feel like I’m done with trying to figure you out,” he spoke hastily as his shoulders looked tense compared to his poker face.
I knew that it’d come to this point, that everything I had tried to hide from him –for his and my sake- would eventually come and hunt us down.
Every secret unspoken had caused me more damage than I had ever foreseen – I was about to lose him, when all I had tried to do was keep him out of my misery, my head, my pain.
So now he was done, breaking up with me like a careless teenage boy who kept scanning the watch clinging to his wrist, like he had more important things to do.
I had brought the ravage of what we could have been upon myself. But at least I hadn’t allowed him to feel my pain, to see the world through eyes that were too adjusted to the dark by now.
Maybe it was for the best that he didn’t know who I really was, what I’d been through, what was slowly killing me from inside out.
Another boy who had been mislead by the gentle features of my face, the shy smile on our first date, how cute it was I barely spoke and how willing I was to do other things.
I guess they always endure with me during the first weeks, before they throw me out of their houses. Onto the pavement like a dirty rag they once admired for the beautiful colors that looked stained and dull to their eyes and hearts only weeks later.
How long had I been able to fool this boy? Was it five or six? I wasn’t even sure. I was sure about one thing though; I had loved every single one of those boys and maybe that was the problem.
I loved them too easily and immensely, I trusted them rarely.
How easy it would be if these two words weren’t born like twin brothers in the alphabet.
So as I sniffled too loudly, too dramatically, but held back from saying anything more to him, he retreated, like I had been the one who rejected him.
Maybe I had.
But when you’re living in a home called hell and the only way to escape the screams in your head is to lie in someone’s arms ,just lie there enjoying the silence, you’re not thinking about giving anything back, you’re thinking about taking as much as you can until the moment of blissful sleeping abruptly ends, like it did last night.
So it’s back to the howls in my mind and my reality. Back to slamming doors and ignoring the fights whilst grieving for another relationship I’ve killed.
And it’s not really the boys I miss. It’s their steady heartbeat and their promises, the illusion of a safe place in their infatuated eyes. Finding something, if only temporary, that I’ve never seen or never lived in my own family.
The family that knows nothing about the tears I spill right now, the family that continues to rip my heart from my chest.
Who will love me. Who will ever really love me.
-Our point of view-
The heavy words coming from downstairs slipped into the girl’s head and rumbled inside of her mind. Thoughts wanting to rearrange, almost desperately, were held back by the disturbing noise ghosting through every crack in the wall.
When she was just a toddler, she used to take her giant, fluffy Pooh Bear pillow and buried her face in it, blocking out her parents’ fighting and the powerlessness that kept staring at her from a dark corner of her tiny room.
The monsters hiding in the corners were really dangerous to her fragile imagination. Somewhere in between the dark kissing lines of the walls, unseen things were waiting to creep up on her.
So she closed her teary eyes and hugged her pillow until it hugged her back.
Yet now she had forgotten where she had once left her old, cotton friend. Maybe she failed to believe in it any longer when she passed the age of 12. Maybe she wanted to believe and hold onto something bigger, something real.
So that’s what she did, look for a willing person to cling to until she’d lose her grip. Falling into her endless ravine of anxious loneliness again.
Tonight she had fallen again. And although the boys shared laughter and misunderstandings, the girls crossed her name on their party guest lists and all the kids nicknamed her with a word you can spell with the letters W R O H E , no one really knew how fast she was falling and how desperately she was trying to survive.
No one. Except you and me.