chapter seven - break, break down
Desperation and being in love are so alike, it's actually scary to think about. You would do the impossible to snag a guy like Michael Phelps, but what exactly would happen once he's within reach? You would do the unthinkable to make this man happy, even if you are the last person on his list to care for. Why would anyone want to be beat like this, crushed to a pulp because they think they love a man they will never have? When you're in love with someone, all of these thoughts vanish into thin air. When you love someone so deeply, the impossible becomes the possible. I wish I didn't fall for Michael so quickly.
Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding dong.
"Just a minute," mumbling to myself, I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror upstairs. How could Michael Phelps fall for a short, skinny Korean girl like myself? The credentials that followed my name were associated with underage drinking and cereal bingeing. There wasn't anything remotely special about me; I was not intelligent, nor was I superbly beautiful. I'm kind of quirky, but I am a freak in the sheets...
"Do you mind?" Calmly placing my hands on his hips, I pull him toward me and bury my face into his chest. The smell of day old chlorine permeates through his cotton blend collar shirt. Inhaling the familiar smell, I gasp for air as he pushes me into the house to cut down on suspicious activity.
"Madison, Madison, what's going on?"
My world is upside down, and I can barely breathe. It's like someone is pushing my head down in a pool of water. No, this is even worse. Cinder blocks attach themselves to my ankles by thick chains; I fight, but there's no point. Not anymore. What's done is done, and there is no rewind button in life.
"My heart is breaking," I choke out. The pain is unlike any I have ever felt in my life. It was physically and emotionally draining; I can see my life fall apart right before my eyes.
"What are you talking about?" Michael took my face in his large hands and tried to get a good look at my face. He is staring straight at me, but I swear he isn't looking at me.
"Michael, look at me! I'm a mess! Just, just look at me, I'm begging you. What do you see? Nothing! Just go, get away from here. I don't want to see you," my head retracts in an instinctive manner, "ever again in my life. You've brought me so much hell these past two weeks. I'm feeling so reckless and worthless, thanks a lot."
We sit in silence for a few moments. He was staring at a specific speckle in the carpet. I had my eyes closed, trying to remember what I yelled at him moments prior.
"You don't mean that. You don't meant that at all, and if you did, then you sure as hell need to explain a few things to me." He gingerly wraps his arm around my shoulders, but I shrug them off, pushing him away.
"Stop it, don't even try to touch me. I don't, I don't want you to touch me right now. I'm so confused at the moment." My head falls into the palms of my hands. When I tell him to stop touching me, the touching becomes worse, almost as if...
Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding dong.
"Just a minute," mumbling to myself, I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror upstairs. How could Michael Phelps fall for a short, skinny Korean girl like myself? The credentials that followed my name were associated with underage drinking and cereal bingeing. There wasn't anything remotely special about me; I was not intelligent, nor was I superbly beautiful. I'm kind of quirky, but I am a freak in the sheets...
"Do you mind?" Calmly placing my hands on his hips, I pull him toward me and bury my face into his chest. The smell of day old chlorine permeates through his cotton blend collar shirt. Inhaling the familiar smell, I gasp for air as he pushes me into the house to cut down on suspicious activity.
"Madison, Madison, what's going on?"
My world is upside down, and I can barely breathe. It's like someone is pushing my head down in a pool of water. No, this is even worse. Cinder blocks attach themselves to my ankles by thick chains; I fight, but there's no point. Not anymore. What's done is done, and there is no rewind button in life.
"My heart is breaking," I choke out. The pain is unlike any I have ever felt in my life. It was physically and emotionally draining; I can see my life fall apart right before my eyes.
"What are you talking about?" Michael took my face in his large hands and tried to get a good look at my face. He is staring straight at me, but I swear he isn't looking at me.
"Michael, look at me! I'm a mess! Just, just look at me, I'm begging you. What do you see? Nothing! Just go, get away from here. I don't want to see you," my head retracts in an instinctive manner, "ever again in my life. You've brought me so much hell these past two weeks. I'm feeling so reckless and worthless, thanks a lot."
We sit in silence for a few moments. He was staring at a specific speckle in the carpet. I had my eyes closed, trying to remember what I yelled at him moments prior.
"You don't mean that. You don't meant that at all, and if you did, then you sure as hell need to explain a few things to me." He gingerly wraps his arm around my shoulders, but I shrug them off, pushing him away.
"Stop it, don't even try to touch me. I don't, I don't want you to touch me right now. I'm so confused at the moment." My head falls into the palms of my hands. When I tell him to stop touching me, the touching becomes worse, almost as if...