About Me

Thursday, August 13, 2009

A Drunken Text

My new pillow-top mattress had become the most uncomfortable place on earth. My bed seemed crowded even though I was the only one in it.

Search as I may, there was no comfort zone to be found. Then I began sweating profusely. It was hotter than summertime in hell in that room; yet I was longing for his arm around my waist or his chest under my face. I missed him. The tears began to well up in my eyes again, or were my eyeballs sweating?

I checked the temperature and the meter read a cool 65 degrees. How could that be; when I was obviously burning up? I shrugged it off and quickly set the automatic dial to 60 and continued to navigate my way through the darkness to the refrigerator. I poured myself a glass of Bacardi...ok maybe it was 3 or 4 glasses, but no matter.

I maneuvered my way through the darkness and sat on the couch. I grabbed the remote and turned on the tv. I don't know what I was expecting see on the television, but I know what I got; teenage love stories and soft core porn. All those did was cause the tears to fall more, but I saw no point in fighting it so I let them flow. I picked up what had to be my 5th or 6th glass of Bacardi and drank it way too fast. Even the stray tears falling into the glass did not deter me, and within a matter of minutes the glass and the bottle were both empty, just like my spirit.

I looked again at the screen and saw the couple making love and it dawned on me, it had been nearly 2 months since I'd felt the touch of man or the pleasure of an orgasm. "Fuck him" I screamed at the television. No matter what channel I turned to there was some form of love or coital bliss being displayed. Even on telemundo there was a confession of love going on that even I, being the non-Spanish speaker that I am, could understand them clearly. From their lover's exchange to the first moment their lips touched, it was obvious there would be no sanctuary on the television screen for me. The eye waterfall began to flow like the Niagara and I let them. Finally, I hit the power button.

For a few moments I just sat there sniffling in complete darkness. Looking for some type of distraction, I focused my attention on a nearly full pantry. "I could eat myself into a coma." I thought. But considering all the working out I'd been doing that would not have been wise. Besides, the next time we meet, I want him to see what he's missing. At that thought a slight smile crept up on my lips. My head started to spin as the Bacardi was just now kicking in, in full force I might add.

I looked to my right and saw my Blackberry. I quickly grabbed it to check for any missed calls or texts...nothing. I went to my saved texts and read some of the sweet messages he'd sent me, which now seemed so long ago. My mouth was dry, my stomach was tight, I felt like I might vomit. But once I regained control of my senses, I hit the reply button and typed a text that read:

You fucking bastard, why did you do this to me? You begged me to trust you, promised you wouldn't hurt me, and here I sit broken, in mind, body, and spirit. I let my guard down and let you in and you hurt me. What did I do to deserve this? I gave you more than I've ever given anyone in a very long time and you used me. How could you? I would have done anything and everything for you don't you realize that? What did you want that I was not giving? What did you need, that I neglected? Why take from me if you knew you never intended to give back? Why bother with formalities, I would have fucked you anyway had you just been honest about what it was? I'm grown.
Why did you pretend to care for me, to want me, to want me to want you then take it all away from me? I told you what I'd been through, I shared my pains with you, but you inflicted a new pain of your own. I've cried a million rivers over you and I will probably cry a million more. I loved you, yes I loved you. So tell me what happened, you owe me at least that much.


Just then a flash of rational thought hit me. I was sure I was going to regret this in the morning. "What have you just done?" I whispered. But before I could fully think it through, sleep overwhelmed me and I passed out on the couch.

The Diary of a Brokenhearted Girl

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