Monday, July 21, 2014

the strangle squad

so i was putting on eyeliner and mascara for my 92 of shame back to adams morgan, since jon b.&john-boy usually escorted me to parties. i felt pretty so experimentation with contact lenses led to prettier eyes. anyway. we had a weekend routine. party together and separately friday, crash, meet saturday night, party together and separately, split up sunday until monday for partying and crashing.

so i was applying purple eyeliner. and they slammed in. stormed in. I ignored them because jon was always like, they are just bitches, skanky asshole fuckers, let me call them whatever i want!

and i draw the line at sluts but whatever. i just stopped him at that line. we maneuvered it icily.

so they came up to me in his communal bathroom and one grabbed me by the neck. slammed me against the body-length mirror by the exit as someone kept an ear. and three were threatening me, really making me laugh inside with their mean comments about how i'm too ugly to deserve him. which is why my best friend is keeping an ear out, pretending she doesn't see. she's cracking up inside too.

if you don't keep laughing at the absurdity of a meat face your best friend is always saying he has to push out of his and find time to bitch to me about over a'll freak out that she has a hand around your neck.

when you tell him he flips the fuck out. when you tell him not to do anything he fucks the pretty one win the two first names. she looks at you like "i stole your man." this is the last day. i meet his parents  half an hour later.

he looks at me sheepishly and then we realize he was hoping for one last good time. but he's out of time and admits as much. he blinks too much when he's ashamed of himself and you almost appreciate that more than anything he's said all year, all the sexism and all the times you smirk that you're not the one he's with when he's particularly rude about some poor girl, a girl you love and respect, a girl you're glad he's telling you about because his secrets are theirs to keep. so you do.

and you're glad there's nothing to wring out of. no end-of-year kisses to make up for a romance you both hated for its tie to this glamorous blonde he thinks has an inner bitch lurking in me. so there, your eyes dance all lit like sun-glazed rosettes when he comes out in tears: "she stole my brotherhood jersey!"

and that is when he nods. he knows his friend has raped me and that he waited a scholastic year per some agreement. that he hit me for being afraid after his friend tried to fuck me and i flipped out for three nights crying as much as seven tiers of bridal chocolate fountain. he knows everything has been a charade, that we talked when alison said i looked at him so disdainfully it was like i hated him. that we talked about being in love with each other but having a friendship. it stayed that way and i didn't want to be bitter. before the internet there were perfect endings.

so he was like, yeah, i thought i'd get revenge on you. fuck you, you only get 30 minutes of my time. but looking at you, i have so much to say and there's never going to be time to fill that gap.

and then at the end he ran out crying, right, at me, and stopped short. by his shithead expectations he was stopped shorter than a bus.

he never was the right choice, but he really knew what he was losing then.

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