Two Ways Out

Two ways out.

From any given situation, I have two ways out, Plan B and the Emergency Exit. In a relationship, for example plan b is the simple, polite, "This really isn't working" and the emergency exit is more of "I've had this problem for a while," and then I explain how you developed exit strategies a few days after, say, his plane landed in Colorado and I just wanted him to enjoy himself. There's a problem though, I have the hardest time hurting him. So really the conversation would sound more like "I can let this go without a word, or we can try other options." of course meaning I'll ignore everything and stay with him, there's so much pressure around our relationship. I'm his first love, we have friends in common, hell, that's how we met, this wasn't ever something that was taken lightly even if in my original intentions it was. I never meant for us to end up dating, even as I asked him if he wanted to hang out sometime, I meant as friends because I just didn't

know him... At all, but, sure enough, his young heart was set on marriage on day four. Mutual friends loved the match, and I'm liking the words "go sin, then come back to me with someone I can love" because it's come down to me loving him like I love everyone. It's not fair to him that I love and hate his innocence. When we're together it's so much better, the phone makes me miss his hands and his breathing, his over sized smile and his unshaven mouth. It's not fair that we have so much lust and are so far apart.

Go. Just go, okay? Go fuck some girl you don't love, and come back to me. It hurts, doesn't it? Yeah. I know that feeling. How can I forget? It's happened to me before. I didn't deserve the perfect one. I always hoped you'd turn out like this, I never saw us having children, I never saw us being a functional relationship. It was all a lie. It was all a lie. It was. It was. You said your father was abusive, and I saw you as overprotected and I had to be your light. I wanted to save you. I wouldn't be surprised if you thought the same thing. I'm the one with the blackened heart, and you're the one with the love for one god. WE ALL KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE PUT ALL OUR EGGS IN ONE BASKET. I haven't slept since you turned 17. Not like I did when I was destroying things slowly. I'm not well anymore, I'm sickly and I'm probably dying, despite the novels that make me believe I'm immortal. I'm not worth the pain, no, not anymore. I could yell and scream about the things I wanted to do to you and they'd still just be subtle hints, you love me, you don't even know the ghost of me. The good and the bad alright. The good and the bad. "Nymphetamine nymphetamine, oh my darling nymphetamine girl." You broke my heart with that song you wrote me. Those words weren't there for you to say. I wasn't giving you my name, I wasn't! I wasn't! I've loved you once since then, and it's been nearly a month. Pretenses, pretenses, I miss my hole under a rock and honestly horrible men.

Something just wasn't right. We should have done something, ended what we were, I shouldn't have been so desperate. I hate feeling all this. I need you in my life to understand from first hand experience. It's not the same anymore. ITS NOT FUCKING GOOD ENOUGH TO BE EMPATHETIC WITH YOUR EYES. You can't see someone’s pain and think you know it. I can't go to the zoo without feeling like I'm one of those poor caged animals. So yeah. Go get some experience. Go be free. You can give me more of yourself than you think, after you betray morality. Morality is nothing once you know you're going to die with or without it. A perfect life won't make you live forever. I'm not afraid of dying. You shouldn't be either.

I planned this fight out in my head so many times before, always immobilized when you say hi. Hey. Hello. What'cha doin'? It hurts me, yeah, it hurts me and you know it, so shush! Don't say a word, and let me say this to you.

I GET IT NOW, WHY YOU TOLD ME TO LOVE BUT NEVER ATTACH. I get it. I'm sorry.

Eight minutes on the phone was enough for him tonight. I didn't want to answer in the first place. I've gotta tell him. I've got so much to say to him. Joshua, you don't wanna know what it's like to piss me off. Not right now. Not tonight. I'm too homesick.      

part 2

Every day, I get up, wishing I could be special to someone. Anyone. It’s been this way for a while, ever since I lost him. He who I was addicted to as if he cured some disease I’d contracted. In February he had me skipping lunches, the month before, I puked everything I ate. I started smoking again. I had quit for a long time, but life seemed sweeter with a cigarette held limp between my fingers or clenched tight between my teeth. I went from smoking only with him, to being a nicotine monster. It was an attractive look I’ve been told, but it’s caused a lot of pain.

All night my dreams keep me up, my past, my future, the lack thereof that pangs me. The events of the day, the ‘what if tomorrow is the same?’ the same endless bullshit that I'm surrounded by day in and day out simply because I'm a teenager, it all replays endlessly in my mind. I'm on my third pack of cigarettes this week, it’s Friday morning, and I'm a wreck. I was happier a week ago, when I could rub my belly and talk to myself without consciously realizing what was going on. I was uncontrollably happy, and I had no clue. The memory of whom I was before this happened is a mere shadow of the person I now am inside. Having seen those two little embryos, things are different. This little space of time that follows me around, that haunts me everywhere I go even as I try to move on with someone new, someone I can’t feel anything for. I cannot stop wondering what it would have been like to bear the child of someone I honestly care about. Someone to whom I'm just a friend.

It’s hard to justify the want for a child, especially acknowledging the ambitions I have, and all the other stock I have invested in my future, I know it’s stupid and I know I’d regret it, but I'm so alone these days. I was surrounded once, by people I was able to be completely open with about everything, now I'm a miniature fortress, selective about whom I trust, and people don't bother me about my problems anymore.

            It had been a long time since the relationship started, things weren’t what I’d call serious, but it wasn’t casual either. We’d been friends for a long time, and I trust him more than anyone, then we became something more than friends. Fast-forward a bit and I'm in a hot tub on a Friday night, over-thinking everything again when something stops feeling so simple. Suddenly all my milk and cheese whiz cravings, all my urges to hold my belly, my talking to my belly- to my ‘Nazi babies’ Lucifer and Gabriel, ironically telling him what we would name our children, it all made sense. I was shit scared and I wanted to hide from the world. Donna had been there, that night. She’d told me how we’d take care of everything, she’d made plans and set money aside instantly, and telling me it would all be fine. She took care of me. She mothered me. Donna is my angel in all this; I’d still be sitting in shock if she hadn’t been so quick on the draw that night. I prayed, I prayed to any god that would listen, begging, pleading for my fears to be untrue. I spoke words that I've never uttered to a soul that night, just speaking to my gods for what felt like hours. “Dear Maat, this isn't just, dear Hathor I'm not ready…” and the words came like vomit.

I regret these prayers, every minute of every day since the twenty-first. It’s unfair that the gods finally listened to me; it’s unfair that I thought I didn’t want this to happen.

Knowing I was pregnant that night, I slept so well, my body must have been glad I knew. Later, when my conflicted little soul climbed out of bed it played mother to eight of my friends, cleaning the kitchen, and making breakfast. I made pancakes and continued wondering what things would be like. I’d confided in one friend who had remained overnight, but it was safe to say she was avoiding me. Every hour at least one smoke break was implied, no matter the fights it caused, because it helped, at first.

I was already in love with my unborn child; I wanted to know what it felt like to have something growing inside of me, someone that would have to live vicariously through me for nine more months. I was already attached, even after so short a time. I've written this story eight times, and I still have difficulty saying “I got pregnant the first time I had sex and I suffered early pregnancy loss,” it makes it so final. Like I’ll never be able to carry a child to term. I blame it all on smoking too many cigarettes. I was on my second pack in three days; the night I found out I’d had thirteen, the morning after I smoked ten more. A few more hours and it was all over. At first I was overjoyed, ecstatic because no one had to know, but I was tired. I found out I’d lost two. Twins. I was drained of something and Saturday lasted forever.

Monday morning rolled around with tears, I’d realized just how much had been taken away. I would have been happy, I would have been loved, and I would have an unbreakable bond with someone who wouldn't leave me for years. By then I’d be ready. Unconditional love is what I lost.

            Swiftly my old friend Insomnia returned, my migraines, my inability to eat; I was an older version of myself. Throw in my new physical illnesses, constant doctors visits and frustration and I see that I'm in no place to be a mother. Madeline was right when she said “someday you'll want a child so bad it will haunt you,” she just didn’t warn me that the loss of one would bring it so soon.

I'm haunted everyday,

By the smell of ashes,

The smell of Jade,

The smell of him,

The lack of my best friend,

The loss of one because my secrecy alienated her.

Haunted because I'm admitting things so readily.

Haunted by my self-destruction and my self-loathing.

The wind,

The utter empty feeling I have while I lie there in his pajamas, waiting for sleep to take me, wondering if I love him or if it’s just a passing fancy.

Haunted by not talking to him, not knowing how his days are going, it’s like withdrawals, except, I've only got a slight cough.

[and that's the story of how I found out that I would always miscarry before my second trimester, forever]

Love is like

When I think about love, I think about pressed leaves. We stack things on them, we dry up all the life they could have had, we cut short what they grew up to do. We preserve them, delicately from decay, but they are never more than pieces of memories, when it comes down to what we have left. When I see leaves change color, I am reminded of my own mortality, I cannot pretend any longer that I may live forever. I cannot pretend that I will love eternally either. My whims are of the seasons, not the generation. I'm still a child, I just haven't acted like one lately. Sometimes I think about how much I cared for him, but it remains effortless, careless. I don't love him, I swear. I don't love anymore. Not like I did. Love to me is synonymous with limerance, its great fresh, but it wears off, so I guess I've never loved, only hated.

In high school, I was the girl that tore people out of her way to meet my ends. I tore friendships to pieces over boys; I tore them down over things they kept me from. Honesty, I think Fight Club planted a seed of nonchalance inside me. I never have given two bits of a care about what other girls thought of me. It's a dog eat dog world to me, and I'm the one with a stash of bones. They may hate me, but what to I care? I mean, no one’s going to be there for me forever, why prolong the inevitable? I've never been the girl who cares about those who stand in the way, I will knock anyone down if I have to, and vicious as it sounds it's only ever happened once.

I'm competitive, I'm determined, I play fair, but I will fight for my life if I have to.

I used to file his teeth into fangs, and buy him jars of blood from the shack shop by the river. I knew my blood was clean, and that the stuff I brought him probably wasn't, but when his family comes, Shaun is going to pretend they were together, they're democrats, they'll prefer that to the truth. Most people block out the existence of lifestyles they consider mythical, when the truth is, it's thriving under their stuck up noses. Animal found me in an alley just after he left home, he was 17, and I was 13, but that never mattered. What mattered was my mother was dead and no one knew I existed anymore. He introduced himself to me as Monster, but I saw through his ruse. He looked too kindly into my eyes, he loved me. He knew I was just a hungry kid. My mom was a fugitive and an alien to this country, and I was imaginary, I'd never been to school, never gone to the grocery store or a doctor and I'd certainly never eaten a hamburger, he fed me, clothed me and took me to a motel. Eventually he'd gotten an apartment, and gotten me an identity, but not before I'd grown tired of watching him file his teeth, of following him around at parties, looking for someone like him. I gave in, started filing them for him, finding people like him while he slept until he got sick of their company, even the best of them weren't good enough for him, he only wanted the blood, one day he stopped speaking. 

He communicated with snips and growls, no more until he got what he wanted. But it was never enough, he still wanted his teeth sharp enough to cut his own lips and tongue, and be refused my blood every time I tried to give it to him, no matter how careful I was. He always knew when it was me. He was so angry when I started boiling the blood, it changed the flavor, I knew, but it was safer for him, my Monster, my Animal. He was what I knew; I had to do something to save him. Two years he was silent, never more than a growl came my way when I'd make him eat his beans and rice, when I'd give him his blood. I knew he'd been leaving and getting his own when he actually said he'd had enough of me mothering him. He couldn't drink the cleaned blood, and he said he'd had some real bad drink that day. I knew what he meant, he meant he met someone dirty. He was scared. He was 17 again and realizing what he'd done wrong. "No, no," I'd said, "it can't hurt you without an open wound" and he flashed me a crooked smile with the glint of his filed fangs. My fault. I let him keep them that way. Oh how they used to bleed, everything I knew about him was flashing through my mind; he was going to die. I was just barely turning 18, he had taught me everything I knew, him and Shaun, and he was going to die. I spent four years of my life boiling blood because I loved him, and he was dying anyway. He was never scared; he believed unto his deathbed that he'd live forever. Right now, there's a thick layer of plastic between us, he's bleeding to death and I can't take it. Shaun's plan is to say they were lovers, to get the doctor to explain that some people are immune, and Shaun will say that their son had been acting strange and kept him from becoming infected, they would accept it, waiting years to ask questions. I couldn't even accept the truth when it was presented to me months ago. He picked me that day because he was lonely and he knew I would do what had to be done, and I did everything for him for five years. That was it. Five years. A long full life to me was 22 years at that point. Animal was my brother and my father and my keeper. I took care of him just as he did me, but I never expected him to die. Vampires were immortal, now they were infections and rogue cells eating his body alive. Shaun had been around for two years, he was my age and he loved me while I was devoted to Animal. He's sitting next to me, he knew

Animal was the only thing I really had anymore, of the girl I was in that alley. Shaun was going to save me; I could see it in his eyes. He wanted me to leave, didn't want to see my heart break when Animal was covered in a bed sheet, I didn't know what to do, I wanted to lay with him, one last time while he drifted to sleep, but the doctors said it was a bad idea. The baby, got to do what's best for the baby. Animal is dying, but another grows inside me. Shaun knows. I know. Animal has no idea. I have to tell him, damn it; he's slipping away.

I lay with him while he died his bleeding body next to my pristine skin, I took his hand and put it to my stomach, "you" I said, "you", and he died, with that stupid smile on his face. A nurse came running, scared for my baby, for me, and I let her take me away, I let her change my clothes, and clean me off while Animals family arrived. They're here now, she's crying, he wants to hit something, and I have to say something. I said how he saved my life, how he took care of me, they knew we lied to them, but they didn't mind. He nodded as if to say "whatever you're covering must be awful" and I fell to the floor. Four months pregnant, I was having another flashback. The day he said he'd flashed me that smile, that bleeding smile, that scared smile; there was a pregnancy test in my pocket. It was the day after my first date with Shaun. The disease took him swiftly because we stopped trying to save him. He eagerly drank everything I put in front of him, I never tried giving him mine, I'd given up in every way I could have, he would have licked dogs blood from the floor if I'd told him it was all he was getting. I was killing him, and he was panicking, struggling, grasping for the immortality his plan had promised him. I became cruel to cope but it failed. Up until he really started dying, I didn't want the thing growing inside me, but once I knew I had no choice. As far as I'd come, there was no going back. Not without losing too much of myself. It was hard enough to look in my mirror; I had age written in my face from fighting so hard. "Mommy needs you now," I whispered to myself almost expecting an answer, "Mommy is going to love you no matter what, little Ryan, little creature" I'll never forget how sick I was that morning, I felt like I was turning inside out, my insides were re-arranging, I was cuddling my stomach as if I could save the poor thing from myself, and then Animal's confession came and I thought I was going to throw up rocks, it felt like something was trying to escape, and I knew I had to keep it. Now I can practically hold a conversation with her. My little girl named Ryan. She was draining all I had, but I loved her. Annie the animal child. Calling her Ryan was so, reminiscent of watching him die. It was like losing my mother again. She was going to be so evil, I knew, but I would love her for it.

Emergency exit strategies.

So I'm sitting in a room, alone, three stories above downtown Nashville thinking about how every relationship has ended in one of very few ways. There's the "I can't be this close to you anymore" and the "I hate your guts" and

Of course, "I've been sleeping with someone else," which I've come to know as the most heartbreaking, most effective way out of any relationship. There's an art to leaving people, one day, I just found myself sitting here alone, waiting for Mr. Whomever to come home, wanting to know how my day was and why there was a gun on the table. This wasn't a tale of 'he had it coming' he was so innocent, so perfect, never done a thing wrong by me, but that was the problem. I was a drifter, and I'd met Mr. Right, Mr. Great Job and insurance policy with a luxury apartment, and I was really hoping he'd just smack me around and give me a reason to leave him. He was in line for a promotion, and I was looking for a ride out of town. What this was about to become was what scam-artists call the long haul, I'd been settled for two years with this one, and I was tired of sitting still. When I said all this to him, his only words where "oh," and "that's it then?" and only

After he handed me his keys to his beautiful muscle car that rode like a mid-life crisis, did it occur to him to ask if we could work this out? He said he'd give me anything to stay, when I said I wanted something to destroy, his eyes glanced back at the keys to his car. He knew better, but he questioned everything, he wanted me to stay, so I did what I always do when they are about to say those three little words that lose meaning after you say them on the phone too many times, I say "you know Bill? Your boss? There's a reason why you're looking at promotion," and I wink. Sometimes the eyes tear up, sometimes they say "no, no, you don't mean that" in a real solemn tone. There's always a chance for the words ' marriage' or 'counseling' red flags, I promise you. Girls like me hate all of that. At age 28, with 14 years of experience building guys up just to tear them down, I'm a professional.

I grabbed my suitcase, the keys, and I made him promise he wouldn't try to hurt me. I say "who gets the gun?" and start walking towards the door, a click notes the bullet sliding into place from the clip, and a sigh means 'you take it, you need it more' in the event of a small click, drop everything, break up sex is better than any other sex ever, and if he gives a small sigh, keep walking. There's no reason to look back at a man as weak as that.

Leave. Get into the car, drive east. Sleep in bar parking lots and stop at Love's truck stops when you need to. When you finally hit that coastline, you know you're free. It was a ritual I'd finished a few times; most relationships just weren't as great as the one I'd just torn down. It really wasn't much short of marriage. I don't know if I loved him, towards the end I hated him for being so good to me. I didn't know why, or if there was a reason at all. I just had to leave. There was someone on that coast I needed to see. The first guy I ever tried to destroy, I mean really tried. We were in high school, and he was posing a challenge, I had set my sights on my best friends boyfriend, and he'd set his on me. It was definitely a decent size problem, and was going to cause a great amount of destruction, both of us being like-minded we became best friends and eventually we were seeing each other on the side. He was the first guy I fucked, he was the father

Of the first thing that grew inside of me, he was perfect, because he never got attached. We never got attached. The sex was a waste of effort, I never saw a reason why to do it, or why not to, so sometimes we did, sometimes we didn't. I loved him, in a way. Not true love, just, like you love a close friend.  Going back to see him was like having a time machine, I always felt like a little girl again when he answered his door in boxers with that big grin on his face, but lacking the courtesy to invite me in or you know, put pants on. It wasn't hard to invite oneself into his house, or to make breakfast in his kitchen regardless of the hour, the hard part was the shock of the words "I've got a kid now" when I tripped over a Big Wheel when he was 24, or the wedding band tan he sported, though I knew he'd never been married. We'd play catch-up for days, telling about the latest conquest or whatever you want to call it. I loved the stories, the

Descriptions of the girls he tore down, he was always surprised I held up so well, the asshole he was. This time when I knocked on his door, a little girl answered, his baby girl of four years old, yelling for her daddy, and I scooped her up and took her inside, I'd always had a soft spot for children, when I looked at this little girl, it made me miss him. I went into the kitchen and made pancakes like I always do and fixed her a plate before Mr. Mom showed up, wearing jeans and a t-shirt just like he did in high school, I was surprised, honestly, he was 29 years old, a little old to dress like a kid, but I wasn't dressed much better, leather pants and half a shirt. What a pair we made, my beautiful 72 charger, and I wouldn't be surprised if he had a car seat strapped to a motorcycle in the garage. I asked why he had her, all he said was "suicide" he looked at her as if she was the only girl for him, he was in love alright. Knowing him, he considered her

his first love, that's just who he was. He was having a hard time being the single dad, he'd preferred split custody because it gave them both time to work, now it wasn't an option, he'd quit his job but his savings were drying up quicker than he thought. On one hand, I wanted to stay here and help him, on the other I wanted to be free. I cried at the thought of leaving this little girl. She tore at my heartstrings as if she was the baby I'd lost so many years ago, she was this tiny little black haired angel with her green eyes, I'd loved her instantly, I knew that. It couldn't last though. It was too good for me. My exes were funding my life, I didn't know if they'd notice a slight raise in my bills, or if I'd get cut off, but I had a few ideas on how to keep things up like I had, and things ran smoothly. I lived in the spare bedroom, I took care of her while he worked, her grandma came to visit us once a week and eventually decided she wanted custody.

We were "spoiling her" and "she'd never grow up to take care of herself" she called me a con and a skank and took my baby from me on her fifth birthday, I'd been living there for seven months, the same length of time I'd been seeing him in high school. The next morning when I woke up, there was a voicemail on my cellphone and his bike was gone, he'd done the same thing I'd done time after time. I cleaned the house, put a key under the mat, packed what I had left and left the next week. They call it running when it gets like this, the text messages that we traded, riddles to where we were, I wasn't sure if I was looking for him or trying to get away, but I was running. It was love and it was hate that kept us going, but I went back to check on her and her greedy grandma and I found him, holding her above her bed, his one true love, and when Grandma walked by and saw our silhouettes, she screamed her last breath, and fell to the floor. He didn't see me

Until I grabbed her bear and said 'let's go,' but that was all it took. We ran then, driving in no particular direction until I ran out of gas in Fremont, Ohio. We walked to a gas station and got a gallon, and I decided that it was a sign; we were supposed to be there, so we stayed. His girl was school age, I was tired of moving around for the moment, and it seemed like all at once we just sat down and relaxed, and we didn't have any more problems. We learned how to breathe. Something most people take for granted.      

“Can you do me a favor?”

I knew what I wanted before he even answered the question, which was rare for me.

“I know I said I wanted to wait, but I really just- can’t do it. I don't want to.”

"Why", he asked,

 I thought about the nicest way to say, ‘you used to make me great like Shakespeare, now I can only paint scribbles and memorize chords,

 “I want to be a writer again” I said finally, and he didn’t say anything for a long time.

“We ruined ourselves, didn’t we?”

  “No,” I said, “I don’t think so; we just messed up a little. I became dependent on your torture, unable to fight back and it just took so much out of me that we can’t continue on this way”

A normal day was a normal day. This girl had become so worthless to everyone that she turned him into a weapon.