i don't make a sound even when i come around
i don't even make a sound when i come around
original. inspired by some random tv show.
To experience the bittersweet
To taste defeat
Then brush your teeth
forward motion | relient k
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Madison feels like she's been standing in this exact same spot for years - stilettos arching her body into painful angles with the wind whipping across her cheeks until they're raw and pink and cold and painful.
And she's drowning and air is too heavy and so cold that it crystalizes her lungs with each breath. And all she wants him to offer a hand. But she's just standing with silk curling in the wind at her thighs and her feet aching with blisters.
Don't make a sound, don't show you care.
------
He got to tell her what he really thought of her. How disappointed and devestated he was by her betrayal.
All she got were runs in her nylons.
And perplexity on her face, of course. Afterall, it took him three years and a "break" from his new whore to confess his hidden feelings on their destroyed marriage.
All Madison can think is Riighttt. Three fucking years?
------
"I need a drink," she heard his voice state, behind her as she glanced down at her now empty glass.
She doesn't turn around. Avoidance is bliss.
"And she'll have a refill," he continues, as she feels his presence at the barstool next to hers. The bartender takes her empty glass away to refill.
So much for avoiding...
"What's new, Carl?" she finally felt the need to ask. "Not much," he replies.
And she knows he's lying. (Because she's that good -- or maybe, just maybe she knows every tone and facial reaction that he ever had.)
Liar. she thinks, and wonders whether she should say it aloud. What the hell?
Her now-filled glass arrives, and taking a sip, she whispers, "Liar."
He throws her a slight smile, as he stares at his filled glass..before turning his full attention to her. Still smiling, he places his hand on top of hers.
And she starts to think, Oh crap.
------
They had met at a mixer in her freshmen year of college. She was the freshmen, he was the older, resident advisor.
There was an instant attraction, a spark...whether it be because Carl was a typical playboy, or because she had been rebounding. Either case or not, there was a spark.
She ended the evening of her first social in college -- with his number & a run in her nylons.
How classy.
------
Madison breathes deeply as she digs her fingers into the notch in the bar until a sliver slides under her fingernail and she bites lipstick-stained lips to fight the pain-laced fuck itching her throat.
{and that was on purpose -
getting that sliver under her nail -
because feeling something will maybe serve as a reminder of this when she's convinced he's indifferent to her.}
As she wipes her mouth slightly to take some hard liquor off, he's laughing.
Laughing and leaning onto her.
She feels her fingers pause, as she rethinks her next step. But he's faster.
Carl runs a thumb along her lower lip - looking dangerous and oh oh god - and he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks some of her booze from her mouth to his.
She reaches to her lips and is convinced there's a fingerprint there - a subtle brand burning through whatever lipstick she has left to remind her of something he thinks she should know by now.
------
She remembers the second time she saw Carl in college. It was a few weeks after the mixer, and she hadn't called him. She would avoid him whenever she saw him heading in her direction. And yet, he found her.
Found her in the storage closet, ripping off her lab partner's shirt.
Greaattt.
Wrapped in the other guy's arms, she knows that he was looking at her, she felt herself aching in the inside of her skull.
He muttered, "Sorry," and walked out, without saying another word.
She later found him in his open-doored dormroom, sitting at his desk; writing away. When she entered, he began to drum his fingers against the hard wood surface.
He didn't turn to look at her, but he had a feeling that she was dangerous for him at that precise moment.
------
Dangerous.
That was what she called this current situation. Dangerous, without nothing happening - yet.
But she's not elaborating. She doesn't want too, but she's fighting an urge to see if there is still sparks.
Snap, crackle, pop.
Nothing ever gets said, so she doesn't feel bad leaving him at the bar, alone. She has a smug smile on her lips until she's changing shoes to walk to her car and pushes a toe through her nylons.
He follows her out to her car, and holds his breath when she turns to face him again.
------
After they divorced, he always dreamed that she would find a new someone and the dreams feel the same way that reality does - like a knife tearing down through his chest scraping and whittling his sternum down and then moving lower letting his insides outside.
And the word "fuck" finds its way to her diary on every page.
He lets his mind hide his envy, despite the fact that she is alluring in his presence.
------
She stops wearing nylons because summer's almost here and it's fucking hot outside.
------
Madison walks into his apartment, as he says, "Your shoes look like they hurt."
She shrugs and slips them off at the door and follows him to the kitchen still arched up onto her toes out of habit. He stuffs a wedge of lime into the neck of a Corona (coincidence is when the man {insert new boytoy's name: mike} who fucks you against the wall and the one who never could fuck you against the wall drink the same thing) and passes it to her.
"Air conditioning is dead."
She shrugs and adjusts a bra strap (red). "Always keep limes around for beer?"
He shrugs back and places his half-empty (and fuck! that must be pessimism because that bottle is certainly not half full) bottle on the counter. And she's not drunk, but she's still doing this.
She turns and slips out of her tanktop as she walks out of the kitchen and to the bedroom. When he arrives behind her having lost his own shirt in transit, he looks at her like he's fucked her in his head a thousand times. Because he hadn't, he always made love to her.
------
After several glances from across the study group table, Madison found herself making conversation via glances with him across the room...and in the process; ditching her lab partner to fog up the windows of the unisex restroom at the back of the library.
it's dangerous to love, isn't it?
------
She tastes blood and guilt and her own bad beer breath as she lets her skirt find her feet and her fingers slip her underwear to her ankles.
Madison knows this is rock bottom for both, especially him. Doing what he said he would never do.
He can read her thoughts, and whispers, "We are on a break."
As her eyes meet his, she finds herself looking for the dry tears on her face as she replies, "We're not."
And two hours later, she's pulling her skirt back on with sweaty hair in her face, as she walks away from another bittersweet memory.
------
Two months later, she learns that Carl and Wendy, the whore, are engaged, and she thinks, it is dangerous to love, desire, and lust for.
Still with Mike, she pastes a fake smile as the whore shows her the ring, and Mike rubs her shoulder as he congratulates Carl. She looks away before his eyes can meet with hers.
So now the situation is reversed. All of them are.
Mike was chosen because she was least likely to fall in love with him. (But she feels something for him anyway {perhaps guilt from that night.}).
Madison was chosen because she was the most likely to fall in love with Carl (again? {perhaps it was just the beer that night}) and Wendy might just be a pawn in Carl's life until he finds the urge to walk in on Madison in a closet with someone esle sometime soon (or just caress her once more).
Sometimes broken things are more interesting than perfect things.
End-of-summer sun is burning cancer deep into her cheeks until they're raw and pink and hot and painful.
Now that they are engaged.
Now that it is all over (is it really?).
Now that she has what she wants (even if it's a jumbled version with sharp edges and going home to sleep with - no, fuck Mike every night), she'll start wearing nylons again.