Trigger Warning. Might continue this, I'm not sure yet. Just dumping it here until I can figure out what to do with it. XD .
That feeling--that emotion--was there again, a soft pulse of rage that simmered into a dull, aching heartcry; she gasped in tangent with this sensation and swallowed the lump, her misery, down. "S'all right," she reconciled with a froggy tone, hugging her knees to her chest as she thought of that place, her place, where the lump was nonexistant and she was tastefully coquettish and the grass was green and the sky was blue and he was there with her, a love she hadn't met yet. "W-we will meet at the movie theater," this was nothing short of a prayer in disguise, a demand she had to meet, lest she feel the lump
She slipped on her jacket in the dark--(have to wear this, you can see my, dare I say it, love handles
if I don't)--and avoided her reflection in the mirror, slinking out into the night, a stray cat searching for the warmth of the sun.
"Sorry I'm late," she apologized frantically, twirling her hair around her finger, twirling, dropping, and curling again.
"It's alright," her friends had consoled. (S'all right. S'all right, they say, but i know what they think, they're mad because i kept them waiting they hate me they must they-
"Hiya, Kool-Aid!" Her name. Her nickname,
anyways. How had that came to be? It was some inside joke, wasn't it? Made back in the day(back when I was whole)
when she would burst through the door, cool and confident, caterwauling "Oh yeah!" like the Kool-Aid man, now she remembered, it was--
"Yo, earth to Kool-Aid!" She turned to the speaker, and it was him, her friend Mike, waving his hand in front of her eyes, and instead of responding, she gasped.
(too close. don't touch me, I might fall in love.)
"So, we're all excited about prom and we're glad you can make it."Twirl, drop, curl.
"A-as am I," she stammered, and there was the lump again, slithering up her throat like a serpent, and she swallowed it down. (pretty dress can't hide my...what did he call it,muffin top, dress can't hide the...the pain i feel when someone looks at me, how pathetic am i how pathetic
) It came back up, she swallowed it down, not realizing she was walking behind her herd of friends, and there were nine of them hooting and hollering, save for her, the meek sheep tailing blindly in the back. (act like nothing is wrong, dammit)
"Woo!" she interjected, pumping her fists skyward. No one noticed her. She clamped her fists back to her sides. "You alright?" asked Alyssa, the leader, the shephard, when she saw her foggy, glassy eyes.
"S'all right," she said. The words felt funny, tasteless in her mouth as she spoke them. She had already said those same words too many times. She almost forgot what their definition was, what alright truly felt like. (i haven't felt alright since...since...)Touch.
Twirl, drop, curl. Twirl, drop, curl.
That motion continued, even in her saddened daze.
The cinema became filled with more and more people--the movie droned on in the background of her racing thoughts. "Touch," said one of the characters on screen, and the word boomed through the speakers, rattling her squeamish. And it resonated through her mind like an echo.
T o u c h //"Touch," he had commanded, his words harsh and demanding. "This isn't right, I don't want to," she had said, no, complained, because that's what he had called it. Declining his wishes was a complaint, and complaints meant she was a whiny, pathetic--
"BITCH," he chastised again, his lips curling like they did when he was furious, his irises hardening into a icy cobalt, his pupils dilating, his...his...
His. His his his his HIS. She repeated the word in her mind, turned it over and studied it, a word she had once idolized. It was now the reason for her suffering, he was her plague. And she couldn't admit it to herself before but it was all his fault. She thought back to all that propaganda she had seen before all this, (oh, it's never the victim's fault, no never,
and he made me think he was the victim because I always disappointed him, what had they called it;
gaslighting, that thing where he makes me think I'm going cookoo, I'm cookoo, I'm crazy, I almost like it, the anger pulsing, I'm crazy, I'm...)
"I'm done!" She exploded in a deafening scream, her hands flailing like a feral cat, her eyes ablaze, and she shook as a new sensation took over and her moral compass overturned. "You've done this to me! You've broken me! I'm BROKEN!!"
"If you leave me, I'll kill myself," he threatened again, his words smooth and polished, as if he had recited them over and over in the bathroom mirror before he flopped into bed, and his eyes, oh his eyes, the crazed, wild cobalt, she remembered he almost looked like Pavlov's Dog, waiting to see what she would do, see if it would satiate him, see if she would really do it.
She walked out.//
The lump returned, but this time, she didn't swallow it down. In the middle of the theater, in front of all of her friends, she sobbed. And ever so quietly, they sobbed too, holding her, rubbing her back, consoling her as the world fell away,(and all it leaves is the lump and the memory of who i once was.)