doesn't it hurt so bad, standing in the sun?
Cloud nine, ten, eleven.. & only 10% of it has anything to do with the percocet & pizza humming on the tripwire of a blood/brain barrier. I like him, I reallyreally do.
Entry from 11-13-2001
When I got home from my appointment, I went to the Mall of Georgia with Cat. Saw the most beautiful blue corset that I want from Victoria Secret. Too bad it's $80 and I don't have a job. Yeah. Too bad. Me and Cat had our first real kiss. Actually, it was just us pushing the tips of our tongues together and then turning away, screaming. Me and Cat shared a delicious sandwich and even though I didn't buy anything...it was a very fun night. Oh. And Josh was there. He touched my hair.
Me: Hey. Will you try not to touch my fucking hair?
Josh: I'll jerk off in your hair if I want to.
Cat gets mad when the two of us fight. Oh well. The night would have been a waste if I didn't glare at him at least once.
Oh, youth & unbridled animosity.. where have you gone? Now I pine and shudder when he touches my hair.
How did this fucking happen? I think it would have happened earlier if I hadn't been clutching for dear life to the fact that I'm SUPPOSED to hate Josh Driggers.. but then I started to realize that what we really have is a decade of banter, & pain, & memories.. not hate.
He kept trying to talk to me, but after crying to him that first night I saw him back in September, I just didn't know what to say. I felt vulnerable, and if even freaked him out because he's always thought of me as some heartless bitchface. That's who I'm supposed to be, but he got through to me.
When I saw him again in December, I tried to avoid his pointed questions about whether or not I would go out with him. It was uncomfortable and strange, and come on.. I know who Josh is.. Mr. Fuck & Fight his way across 30096. Then, I think I got drunk enough that I told him he could call me, and I'd think about it.. I pulled out a pen to give him my number and he..
pulled out the bar napkin with my number on it from back in September. It wasn't in his wallet, he just carried it around in his pocket for 3 months.
I didn't know what to say, and turned away when he tried to kiss me at a table of his friends. I'm not going to be just another girl that you pick up in this bar, I won't be seen like that. So.. we went out to his bronco & kissed in between shivering admissions of, "I think I've needed this. I don't know what I'm doing here. I'm scared. I'm scared, too."
He cried to me about his son and his parents and his fucked-up life, and in that moment, I saw him as more than just a caricature of a fuck junkie punk or paragon of my discontent. He was real, and he was just as fucked up as me. So, really, this might be the worst pairing since Sid & Nancy, but..
I brought him home that night, and he didn't even want to sleep with me. Saying weird shit like, "I want to do this right, when we're sober.."
I can't remember the last time I slept with someone when I was sober. When we finally did, I cried to him, "I don't know if I can be like this with anyone but you." He kissed my tears away.
Last night at the bar, we whispered while at a crowded table of his friends.
"I feel safe with you."
"I feel safe with you."
Bonnie & Clyde. We have a rendez-vous point for when we have to run from the cops, should either of us get in trouble for fighting, as is pretty typical of us both in any public venue populated by jealousy.
He's the only person at that bar that could have had me, the only one. Now guys who I thought were my friends won't even say hello. Meanwhile, I get rust-cut glances from every other skirt he's touched.
I don't care. I don't care.
"I respect you," he said.
Listening to him play with his little boy on the other end of the phone is impossibly endearing. I know his son is the only reason he's still alive. Too many times he's dragged that shotgun into the bathtub.
"We're not bad people, just empty ones.." I told him, wiping away his grimace and his tears.
Mandy McBride's head went through a windshield. I didn't even know. He says it's the worst thing he's ever seen.
Entry from 11-13-2001
When I got home from my appointment, I went to the Mall of Georgia with Cat. Saw the most beautiful blue corset that I want from Victoria Secret. Too bad it's $80 and I don't have a job. Yeah. Too bad. Me and Cat had our first real kiss. Actually, it was just us pushing the tips of our tongues together and then turning away, screaming. Me and Cat shared a delicious sandwich and even though I didn't buy anything...it was a very fun night. Oh. And Josh was there. He touched my hair.
Me: Hey. Will you try not to touch my fucking hair?
Josh: I'll jerk off in your hair if I want to.
Cat gets mad when the two of us fight. Oh well. The night would have been a waste if I didn't glare at him at least once.
Oh, youth & unbridled animosity.. where have you gone? Now I pine and shudder when he touches my hair.
How did this fucking happen? I think it would have happened earlier if I hadn't been clutching for dear life to the fact that I'm SUPPOSED to hate Josh Driggers.. but then I started to realize that what we really have is a decade of banter, & pain, & memories.. not hate.
He kept trying to talk to me, but after crying to him that first night I saw him back in September, I just didn't know what to say. I felt vulnerable, and if even freaked him out because he's always thought of me as some heartless bitchface. That's who I'm supposed to be, but he got through to me.
When I saw him again in December, I tried to avoid his pointed questions about whether or not I would go out with him. It was uncomfortable and strange, and come on.. I know who Josh is.. Mr. Fuck & Fight his way across 30096. Then, I think I got drunk enough that I told him he could call me, and I'd think about it.. I pulled out a pen to give him my number and he..
pulled out the bar napkin with my number on it from back in September. It wasn't in his wallet, he just carried it around in his pocket for 3 months.
I didn't know what to say, and turned away when he tried to kiss me at a table of his friends. I'm not going to be just another girl that you pick up in this bar, I won't be seen like that. So.. we went out to his bronco & kissed in between shivering admissions of, "I think I've needed this. I don't know what I'm doing here. I'm scared. I'm scared, too."
He cried to me about his son and his parents and his fucked-up life, and in that moment, I saw him as more than just a caricature of a fuck junkie punk or paragon of my discontent. He was real, and he was just as fucked up as me. So, really, this might be the worst pairing since Sid & Nancy, but..
I brought him home that night, and he didn't even want to sleep with me. Saying weird shit like, "I want to do this right, when we're sober.."
I can't remember the last time I slept with someone when I was sober. When we finally did, I cried to him, "I don't know if I can be like this with anyone but you." He kissed my tears away.
Last night at the bar, we whispered while at a crowded table of his friends.
"I feel safe with you."
"I feel safe with you."
Bonnie & Clyde. We have a rendez-vous point for when we have to run from the cops, should either of us get in trouble for fighting, as is pretty typical of us both in any public venue populated by jealousy.
He's the only person at that bar that could have had me, the only one. Now guys who I thought were my friends won't even say hello. Meanwhile, I get rust-cut glances from every other skirt he's touched.
I don't care. I don't care.
"I respect you," he said.
Listening to him play with his little boy on the other end of the phone is impossibly endearing. I know his son is the only reason he's still alive. Too many times he's dragged that shotgun into the bathtub.
"We're not bad people, just empty ones.." I told him, wiping away his grimace and his tears.
Mandy McBride's head went through a windshield. I didn't even know. He says it's the worst thing he's ever seen.