The bottle

You didn’t need your drug. You could take it or leave it.

At first you only half noticed the way the light reflected in crystalline prisms in your glass, and the warm, comforting, back-in-your-mama’s-womb feeling as the liquid worked its way down.

You didn’t need your drug.

It was just something that happened to be there. What was the harm? It made your anxiety disappear for a few hours; you could talk to girls and make them laugh; you could take one home and fuck her, not thinking about anything other than the pleasure of grinding into her. When you woke up the next morning, the sheets stained with cum and sweat, she’d be gone. Or maybe she wouldn’t, and you’d spend the next week ignoring her calls.

You didn’t need your drug. The bottle stood on the countertop, blinking back at you knowingly as your eyes caressed its smooth, perfect sides.

And then you did need your drug… And then it was too late.

Everybody has a drug. You are mine.

A healthy woman would run a mile. I keep coming back for more. I can’t stay away. I step over the piles of unwashed clothes littered across your room, and make my way to your unmade bed with its filthy, crumpled sheets. I can’t wait until your cock is inside me.

The sex is amazing,  but it always leaves me feeling sad and hopeless. You look into my eyes as we fuck, and I stare back, but all I see is emptiness. I don’t know where you are, but you’re not with me. As soon as we’re done, you grab yourself another beer and smoke a cigarette. You always pull on a pair of shorts after we’ve finished fucking. You never let me see you naked.

I tell myself this is just a sex thing. I tell myself that I’m only into you because you’re emotionally unavailable. I stay away for a whole week, while you’re fucking some other girl, and I even go out on a date with another dude who picks me up in his 1964 Ford Galaxie, and who wines and dines me in a fancy French restaurant. I’m wearing my new 26-inch waist skinny Diesel jeans, and heels, and I look hot as hell. Every single man in the place wants me. But I don’t want them. I want you.

During dessert, I slip off to the bathroom to text you, wanting to meet up afterwards. I lie to myself that it’s only a booty call, and just to save face, just so I can feel that you don’t matter, I make out with Mr. Ford Galaxie on the trunk of the car. I hate it. His kisses are sloppy, and he tells me that we’re in “different places in our life” , and that I’m “wild” and “untamable”.

I’m so horny and desperate to see you that I park my car in the wrong spot, and it gets towed. We spend all night and all morning fucking so I don’t hear the tow truck.

My house keys, wallet and phone are in the car. I’m screwed and you make some mean comment about how I should get Mr. Ford Galaxie to help. I think you’re going to throw me out into the street with no money, no car, no keys, no phone. I’m bare footed because I can’t wear my too-new shoes that have blistered my feet. I can’t see because I threw away my contacts. I want to slit my fucking wrists.

But you do help me.

You’re such a mess that you still haven’t fixed your car’s flat, so you  call a friend to drive me to the towing company. You’re exhausted from fucking me all night, but you still come with me. This might mean you care. Or it could just be your Catholic guilt.

Your friend loves me. He keeps saying “Why don’t you like this girl?! Why don’t you like this girl?”. Your uncle I met the week before loved me. The locals in our bar say we’d be a “cute couple”. You don’t say anything.

You still don’t say anything when I tell you all about Mr. Ford Galaxie…the fancy meal, the drinks, his car, his kisses. You don’t need to say anything. You know I want you.

I go to a party, pick up some dude and bring him to the bar where he’s kissing me when you walk in. I hadn’t expected you to be be there – thought you were sleeping off another hangover – but I’m pleased you see. Your expression doesn’t change at all. I want to slap your fucking poker face. I tell you I could leave with this dude, or stay with you. I want you to fight for me, but the only thing you say is “I hope it doesn’t work out”. “Is that the best you’ve got”, I ask? “Yup, that’s the best I’ve got”. I storm out, but you know I’ll be back.

All my friends tell me to stay away from you. But I can’t. Your smell makes me melt. I breathe it in, and think that I want to have your babies. I love your cockiness and the little flashes of vulnerability that appear behind it. I love your bottle-top glasses and the way that your right eye can’t focus properly. I love the way your eyelids droop. I love – and hate – the way you deflect all attempts at serious conversation with a stupid joke.

I’m half in love with you. Or maybe I just think I’m half in love with you. Either way, it still feels the same.

You are my drug. And I will crawl over burning coals on my hands and knees to get to you. I don’t care how much I humiliate and degrade myself. You are my drug.

I need you.

I am not ready to give you up.


Tagged: , , , , ,

17 thoughts on “The bottle

  1. petrichoric September 23, 2012 at 11:11 pm Reply

    I really wish that someone would comment right now because everybody I care about, who could listen, is asleep back home in Europe, and I really need to reach out to somebody. This is really pathetic, but true.

  2. vicariousrising September 23, 2012 at 11:29 pm Reply

    This sounds a lot like my horrid week. Except I had no sex, kissing, drinking or going out. Just humiliating myself in the hopes of some sort of returned affection.

    And, lady, this post is why we need to email more on getting you published. I’m literally in the midst if getting a contract together for author/publisher agreements and filed for my LLC. I want you!

    • petrichoric September 23, 2012 at 11:48 pm Reply

      Thank you for commenting. It helps that there’s somebody out there. I’m feeling better now; writing about everything is very therapeutic. And, yes, I will email about getting published!

      • vicariousrising September 24, 2012 at 12:02 am Reply

        I’m glad you feel better. And that you’re writing it out.

        • petrichoric September 24, 2012 at 12:32 am Reply

          I do feel better. But he still has not replied to the text I sent him, asking if we could meet up on Thursday. I guess he just doesn’t give a shit. And I really, really, really wish he did.

          • vicariousrising September 24, 2012 at 12:35 am Reply

            I get this. I also hate myself for waiting for texts and emails. I actually hid my phone from myself the other day.

            I just printed out a copy of this post. I’m going to try to find some sort of thing to help you write around… or something… you’ve got such a presence, I feel like me telling you what to say will sully it. But maybe I can get creative around it.

            Ack, email me 🙂

            • petrichoric September 24, 2012 at 1:17 am Reply

              I will email you – and thank you for the compliments!

              And hiding your phone never works!

              • vicariousrising September 24, 2012 at 1:42 am Reply

                It worked for, like half a day. And then I asked him to please text with me for a bit to make me feel less mopey.

                No dignity. I am hanging my head in solidarity.

                • petrichoric September 24, 2012 at 2:07 am Reply

                  So, just what is the deal with the guitar teacher? Since you’re texting him for emotional support, I’m assuming that something is actually going on. From your earlier comments, I had thought you just “admired him from afar” and that he had no idea about your feelings for him.

                  • vicariousrising September 24, 2012 at 2:04 pm Reply

                    I basically blurted out via email that I was developing feelings for him. I had a little meltdown when he had to cancel our lesson last week. I actually think it was a legit cancellation, but he’s moving a few hours away from here and I imploded.

                    • petrichoric September 24, 2012 at 2:35 pm

                      Are you going to see him after he moves away? And what was his reaction when you told him about your feelings?

                      Also, I say this with absolutely no judgement whatsoever, but you know that you’re committing emotional infidelity, right? Again, I want to stress that I am not judging you at all. I did the same thing when I was with MM. Clearly it meant that I was not happy in my relationship, and I wish I’d taken the time to address that.

                      Just like RG is not good for me, it doesn’t seem like this guitar teacher is good for you. Even if he fell hopelessly in love with you, and actually wanted you to leave your husband…could you? Would you? I know you love your son, and I don’t think you would leave because of him, so I wonder what it is that you want from this guy. Also, he is 26 years old. He’s a kid. I even find men in their mid-thirties to be emotionally immature and completely unready for a relationship. What could this guy give you apart from hot sex?

                      Forget him. But I know it’s easier said than done. I am not ready to forget RG even though every single part of me tells me to stay the fuck away from him. It’s 2:35 p.m., and he still hasn’t responded to the text I sent at 7:00 p.m. last night. I suspect he might never respond, or if he does it will just be because he wants a booty call. And if he does respond, I guarantee that I will be round his place on Thursday night in a flash. I’m just not strong enough to stay away.

  3. vicariousrising September 24, 2012 at 3:03 pm Reply

    I’m definitely going to see him again, just not weekly anymore. He was nice about my confession, but didn’t send any reciprocal vibes. I did a lot of tap dancing around it — kind of a belated cover up. I dunno. If he’s the guy I believe he is, me having a husband is kind of a stop sign.

    Agh, emotional infidelity. It’s true enough, though. And about whether or not I can leave — my son graduates from high school in May. I suppose I’m at a crossroads.

    I’m trying to forget him, at least in a sex/romantic capacity. Like you said, easier said than done.

    For your sake, I hope RG doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how lucky he is to have caught your interest.

    • petrichoric September 24, 2012 at 3:36 pm Reply

      My head knows that RG is not worthy of my interest, but my heart is still aching because it hurts like hell that he doesn’t want me. I’ve come on too strong, I think, and he’s scared. This makes me angry because I believe that he did everything he could in the beginning to reel me in, to hook me, and then when he got what he wanted, he backed off. The guy I had ten years ago was exactly like this, too. I guess my anger is pointless,though. I don’t think these men try to seduce women consciously. I think, deep down, that they are so weak and damaged that they need to attract a woman’s attention to make themselves feel better.

      I think you’re in a difficult situation with the guitar teacher. Now that I’m single it will be easy for me to date other men to take my mind off of RG; however, since you’re married, you can’t do this, and I’m guessing that the guitar teacher is your only outlet for your emotional and sexual feelings. I’m not saying that it’s necessarily healthy for me to date other men to get over RG, but at least I’m not stuck in a sexless marriage anymore wondering how on earth I’ll cope if I give up my love interest.

      My friends know about RG, and they’re totally against me having anything to do with him, and they’re willing to take me out to distract me, and keep me busy. I’m sure you have friends, but again with the married thing, you probably can’t tell them that they need to help you, and why they need to help you. It seems to me that you are very isolated in regards to your feelings for your teacher, and that this will make it even harder to get over him. Is there something you can do to change this?

      And, yeah, I don’t think RG is going to respond. I think I creep him out. I told him via text yesterday that I had written a blog post about him, so he probably thinks I’m far too into him. Also, he will tell me stuff about his life and I will be, like, “yeah, I know that already” because I did my research on him online. I think he finds that a bit “stalkerish”. I don’t know if it is. We do live in the “Google Age” after all. And any time I have a love interest, I just want to find out everything I can about them. But I guess if a man told me that he knew all about me, I would maybe be a bit freaked out, too. I suppose I’m just a creepy weirdo.

      • vicariousrising September 24, 2012 at 4:56 pm Reply

        I think you’re right on pretty much all accounts: that I’m isolated, that my guitar teacher is my primary outlet for emotional and sexual feelings, that my marriage is sexless and I don’t know if I can find the courage to leave, and most of the friends I have are not nearby — the main ones here are my husband’s family — very awkward). I’m looking at taking a trip to Japan to visit my best friend, but I’m also worried about leaving my husband and son alone together right now.

        I think it will get easier when I’m not seeing him every week. I hate that I won’t be seeing him every week.

        As far as feeling stalkerish, it really is hard in this Google world to not find out things you want to know about someone who interests you. I don’t think it makes you a creepy weirdo. It’s not like you’re snooping into things that anyone else can’t find.

        • petrichoric September 24, 2012 at 5:20 pm Reply

          It is hard to find the courage to leave. I don’t know if I would ever have got out of my marriage if what went down hadn’t gone down (I’ll blog about this soon). As hard as it is to be alone now, I am excited to be free and single again. I am perhaps a little too excited because I can’t imagine having a relationship with anybody ever again. Honestly, part of the reason I’m into RG is because he is so emotionally unavailable. I would probably freak out if he wanted a relationship. Every time I see him, I always go round to his. I just don’t want him in my house. It feels too intimate. That’s pretty telling, don’t you think?

          I think that a trip to Japan sounds like a great idea. Also, have you ever reached out to your far-flung friends via chat? I mean, something like AIM? Sometimes I just don’t feel like calling somebody, as it might have been months since I last spoke to them, and it feels weird calling up out the blue and being all “Helllllpppp!”. But, somehow, I don’t have that hang-up with chat. Also, it’s easier for me to talk about emotions when it’s via chat.

          If you want to chat with me, I’ll give you my AIM name.

          • vicariousrising September 24, 2012 at 6:42 pm Reply

            Very telling that you don’t want him in your house. Perhaps you have better self-protection instincts than you thought.

            I’ve never used AIM before. It probably would be a good idea to do that some with my friend — the only trouble being he’s got a toddler and wife now that I know take up his free time. We’ve been friends 20 years, though. He’s always been there for me when the shit hits the fan. His is the only shoulder I’ve ever really cried on.

            I’d love to have your AIM name and figure out how to use it. I know we’ve never met, but I’ve long considered you a friend.

            • petrichoric September 24, 2012 at 7:29 pm Reply

              I don’t know what it means that I don’t want RG to come into my house. It might have more to do with wanting to avoid intimacy than with self-protection instincts. To be honest, I hate having anybody in my house.

              You should definitely contact your best friend. Sure, he’s busy with his family, but a true friend will always be there for you.

              And I will email you my AIM details right now.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s