(no subject)
Because I'm in that kind of mood....
She was fiesty from the beginning. The first time we kissed we were banging each other's heads against the walls. In the moment, I suppose it was exciting, but looking back it sounds terrible. The clunking of skulls against door frames, the hollow thud it produces, like banging a bat against a pile of large rocks. That's the way we were though.
She had braces. That sealed the deal. "This is the last chance I'm going to get at a girl with braces," I thought. If that wasn't reason enough to get on board.
"I love you," she said to me, early on, "and I shouldn't. We don't make sense. We'll never work."
"That's why ya love me."
"Do you love me too?" Her head was resting in my arms; we were laying naked in my bed, cigarette smoke twirling upwards through the stagnant air, sunlight bursting through everything. I didn't have a curtain in my window, and across the alley all my neighbors probably saw what had just taken place. They would probably need therapy. We weren't afraid to bite and scratch, to bleed, to turn fucking into an orgy of blood and sweat.
"I love everyone," I said.
"You can't love everyone. Not the same."
"I do. I love you. I love the mail man. I love my cat."
She sighed.
"You're just using the word love where you should be using the word like. If you love me like you love your mail man, then you don't love me."
"I just said I did. Maybe you're using love where you shouldn't. It doesn't matter. We're not about love. That's finished, over with. There's bigger mountains." I ran my fingers up the base of her neck and into her hair, like running your fingers through blades of grass, and I tugged hard. She gripped at my stomache with her nails.
"You can't love everyone. Love is precious, it's something special, something that consumes you. It's what we live for, it's why life is worth living. I love you, even if only for a little while."
"And I'll love you forever. And the mail man. It's not as heavy as you make it out to be. The TV tells you that love is all those things. They're trying to trick you into thinking life is more than what it is. Life is simple. You live, you die. In between you can either love or not. I choose to love. Loving is easy. You just do it. You look at someone and you love them. You feel the same thing towards them that you feel for the people that you have loved before. Pretend they're that person. It works. If everyone did that, there'd be no war, there'd be no harm. Everyone would be a vegetarian."
"I don't agree with you. It's different. You're just treating them like you love them; that's different than actually loving them."
"Is it? How so?"
"Because when you actually love someone, you can't help but be that way towards them, even if you didn't want to be. You couldn't shut it off."
"That's what makes love different? That you're compelled to do it? Love sounds less desireable than what I practice then. My love is logical, and more meaningful, since it's something I choose to share, that I give to you, instead of something that you are just forced to give. My love wins."
"You're being stupid."
"You're stupid," I said, and I reached over and tapped her face with my palm; a little pretend-slap, just enough to agitate her. She jumped from her relaxed position, all tense now, and punched me hard in the arm where she had been laying.
"Don't hit me." she said, her voice harsh.
"It was a love-tap."
"I don't care, don't hit me." She was angry now. The feminist came to the surface. I've never been excited by women and their barriers, their tests of your worthiness.
I sat up and squared myself up with her, looking into her eyes like I meant to apologize. I put my hands gently on her cheeks, holding her head like a ripe melon, and looked into her eyes. They were expectant; I could hear them saying, "well?"
I lifted one hand from her cheek and clapped it back against it, giving her another gentle one. The rage burst through her isntantly and erupted in a hard slap against my face, and she stood up, her toned body now catching the full sunlight.
"Don't fucking hit me!"
"But I love you."
"You're an asshole!"
I bit at her thigh, which was level with my head now. She kicked me with her other foot and backed away, and I collapsed onto the bed.
She loomed over me, her naked body swaying gently, stirring up the dust in the room. Her presence felt like a fire, ready to boil down onto me and devour me with hatred.
"Thought you loved me?"
"Not when you hit me!" she shreiked. I was starting to worry my roommates might think me some kind of woman beater. They'd at least be a little confused; I've ranted plenty of times to them about my objections to violence.
"I love YOU. Even when I hit you."
"That doesn't even make sense. You don't know shit about love." Her voice started to settle down a little bit. Bringing the beating full-circle, back to the love debate, seemed to justify it in her mind some.
"I'd love you if you hit me. You don't love me when I hit you? What the fuck do you know about love? I could watch Oprah for five minutes and be on the same page as you are. You're an idiot. Those braces suit you."
"I'm the idiot? You think love means you should love people who hit you! You're like the women who get beat up by their men and don't leave! Everyone knows better than that, except you for some reason, and you're telling me I'm the idiot! How did you become such a dick? Love is a lot more complicated than that. You don't just love whoever you want. And you don't hit the ones you love. If you ever hit me again, I'll kill you."
The rage had swelled back up in her words again, and she said the last three words in typical angry-female fashion, where if you didn't know any better, you'd believe she meant it.
Many thoughts ran through my head. I had an idea. I always have brilliant ideas, but often don't committ to them. They usually take more effort to implement than this one would.
I knew I had an opportunity to equip this poor woman with all the pieces of the puzzle. To give her a chance in this world, a chance to get a fresh perspective. It would cost her at first, of course, but she would have the pieces, and eventually they would come together. I was confident enough in that, that I knew it was worth the price.
I stood up and faced her. She backed up defensively, and half lifted her arms up like a boxer would, afraid I would attack her after just two little love taps. I turned my palms up, disarmingly towards her, and gently stepped toward her. She lowered her arms, but still stood with her feet braced, ready for the ground to rumble.
"What?" she said, curiously.
"I'm going to do you a favor."
She looked puzzled by this, her forehead furrowing angrily.
"What's that?" she asked, annoyed, still stand-offish. I gained her trust and her feet came back together. In a flash I clenched my palm into a fist and blew it across her cheek, following through, pressing through her face as hard as I could. She fell backwards, her head bumping into the wall and dragging across it on her way to the floor.
She sat there, slouched, dazed, her hands pressed against her cheek and staring at the bed with her mouth open, not making a sound.
"I love you," I said.
She was fiesty from the beginning. The first time we kissed we were banging each other's heads against the walls. In the moment, I suppose it was exciting, but looking back it sounds terrible. The clunking of skulls against door frames, the hollow thud it produces, like banging a bat against a pile of large rocks. That's the way we were though.
She had braces. That sealed the deal. "This is the last chance I'm going to get at a girl with braces," I thought. If that wasn't reason enough to get on board.
"I love you," she said to me, early on, "and I shouldn't. We don't make sense. We'll never work."
"That's why ya love me."
"Do you love me too?" Her head was resting in my arms; we were laying naked in my bed, cigarette smoke twirling upwards through the stagnant air, sunlight bursting through everything. I didn't have a curtain in my window, and across the alley all my neighbors probably saw what had just taken place. They would probably need therapy. We weren't afraid to bite and scratch, to bleed, to turn fucking into an orgy of blood and sweat.
"I love everyone," I said.
"You can't love everyone. Not the same."
"I do. I love you. I love the mail man. I love my cat."
She sighed.
"You're just using the word love where you should be using the word like. If you love me like you love your mail man, then you don't love me."
"I just said I did. Maybe you're using love where you shouldn't. It doesn't matter. We're not about love. That's finished, over with. There's bigger mountains." I ran my fingers up the base of her neck and into her hair, like running your fingers through blades of grass, and I tugged hard. She gripped at my stomache with her nails.
"You can't love everyone. Love is precious, it's something special, something that consumes you. It's what we live for, it's why life is worth living. I love you, even if only for a little while."
"And I'll love you forever. And the mail man. It's not as heavy as you make it out to be. The TV tells you that love is all those things. They're trying to trick you into thinking life is more than what it is. Life is simple. You live, you die. In between you can either love or not. I choose to love. Loving is easy. You just do it. You look at someone and you love them. You feel the same thing towards them that you feel for the people that you have loved before. Pretend they're that person. It works. If everyone did that, there'd be no war, there'd be no harm. Everyone would be a vegetarian."
"I don't agree with you. It's different. You're just treating them like you love them; that's different than actually loving them."
"Is it? How so?"
"Because when you actually love someone, you can't help but be that way towards them, even if you didn't want to be. You couldn't shut it off."
"That's what makes love different? That you're compelled to do it? Love sounds less desireable than what I practice then. My love is logical, and more meaningful, since it's something I choose to share, that I give to you, instead of something that you are just forced to give. My love wins."
"You're being stupid."
"You're stupid," I said, and I reached over and tapped her face with my palm; a little pretend-slap, just enough to agitate her. She jumped from her relaxed position, all tense now, and punched me hard in the arm where she had been laying.
"Don't hit me." she said, her voice harsh.
"It was a love-tap."
"I don't care, don't hit me." She was angry now. The feminist came to the surface. I've never been excited by women and their barriers, their tests of your worthiness.
I sat up and squared myself up with her, looking into her eyes like I meant to apologize. I put my hands gently on her cheeks, holding her head like a ripe melon, and looked into her eyes. They were expectant; I could hear them saying, "well?"
I lifted one hand from her cheek and clapped it back against it, giving her another gentle one. The rage burst through her isntantly and erupted in a hard slap against my face, and she stood up, her toned body now catching the full sunlight.
"Don't fucking hit me!"
"But I love you."
"You're an asshole!"
I bit at her thigh, which was level with my head now. She kicked me with her other foot and backed away, and I collapsed onto the bed.
She loomed over me, her naked body swaying gently, stirring up the dust in the room. Her presence felt like a fire, ready to boil down onto me and devour me with hatred.
"Thought you loved me?"
"Not when you hit me!" she shreiked. I was starting to worry my roommates might think me some kind of woman beater. They'd at least be a little confused; I've ranted plenty of times to them about my objections to violence.
"I love YOU. Even when I hit you."
"That doesn't even make sense. You don't know shit about love." Her voice started to settle down a little bit. Bringing the beating full-circle, back to the love debate, seemed to justify it in her mind some.
"I'd love you if you hit me. You don't love me when I hit you? What the fuck do you know about love? I could watch Oprah for five minutes and be on the same page as you are. You're an idiot. Those braces suit you."
"I'm the idiot? You think love means you should love people who hit you! You're like the women who get beat up by their men and don't leave! Everyone knows better than that, except you for some reason, and you're telling me I'm the idiot! How did you become such a dick? Love is a lot more complicated than that. You don't just love whoever you want. And you don't hit the ones you love. If you ever hit me again, I'll kill you."
The rage had swelled back up in her words again, and she said the last three words in typical angry-female fashion, where if you didn't know any better, you'd believe she meant it.
Many thoughts ran through my head. I had an idea. I always have brilliant ideas, but often don't committ to them. They usually take more effort to implement than this one would.
I knew I had an opportunity to equip this poor woman with all the pieces of the puzzle. To give her a chance in this world, a chance to get a fresh perspective. It would cost her at first, of course, but she would have the pieces, and eventually they would come together. I was confident enough in that, that I knew it was worth the price.
I stood up and faced her. She backed up defensively, and half lifted her arms up like a boxer would, afraid I would attack her after just two little love taps. I turned my palms up, disarmingly towards her, and gently stepped toward her. She lowered her arms, but still stood with her feet braced, ready for the ground to rumble.
"What?" she said, curiously.
"I'm going to do you a favor."
She looked puzzled by this, her forehead furrowing angrily.
"What's that?" she asked, annoyed, still stand-offish. I gained her trust and her feet came back together. In a flash I clenched my palm into a fist and blew it across her cheek, following through, pressing through her face as hard as I could. She fell backwards, her head bumping into the wall and dragging across it on her way to the floor.
She sat there, slouched, dazed, her hands pressed against her cheek and staring at the bed with her mouth open, not making a sound.
"I love you," I said.