1 post tagged “teen angst”

I've been working on this for a long time. I think its good, but needs alot of work. Its not done by any means and I'll probly take it down for editing in a few days. Lemme know what you think.

I love the way he looks at me. So open, innocent, like I am the one person he can trust. Hasn’t he gotten it yet? I mean Jesus Christ! You’d think he’d figure it out by now. Look at that happy face. Oh, he’s done talking for now, I should smile and laugh. Oh shit! Not that stupid joke again! Thank God I’m a good actress.

Ah…Here he comes, my pretty, pretty boy. He’s so cute, just look at that sweet smile, those dark eyes. They shine at me and our gaze meets only for an instant, but it’s enough to make me breathe in sharply. There is a flash in my mind’s eye; we’re tangled in white sheets with my back arched up and head back. I know he felt it too.

They party rages around us. Ace and I are seated on a porch swing, drowsing in the humid hot night, half stoned from fumes and half drunk on our very youth. I didn’t know whose house we were at, just that there was no one over 25.  Some moron friend of his does a keg stand and falls down. A cloud of smoke floats out from a bush where a blunt is getting passed around; I can see the ember and smell the sweet acrid scent mixed with tobacco. Ace smells the air and feels Mary-Jane pulling on him. A quick smile to me and a kiss on my cheek and he’s gone leaving me with my pretty boy, a.k.a. Donny.

Ace (stupid name but blame his dad, the man was a car freak/drunk and thought if it rhymed with race, his kid would be guaranteed happiness ) as you may have guessed is my boyfriend. I’m Glory. My parents are religious freaks who thought names like Faith, Glory and Purity would inspire their children to follow God’s way.

Needless to say they failed…horribly.

I believe in the Goddess, Faith is faithful to the parental teachings and Purity is a lesbian Atheist living in post Katrina New Orleans. Purity is my favorite of the two; she’s 19 and absolutely fucking gorgeous. I mean fucking gorgeous. Being pure is hard for girls who look like her (and I’m allowed to say this without being creepy because she’s adopted). So, yes I check out my sister but that’s a family matter.

Faith is like I said is a zealot for her God. She is strange. She has very intense Charlie Manson like eyes and long black hair. She prays for hours and hours everyday and fasts for days at a time. This would be perfectly fine if she didn’t attack me with the fucking Big Book to ‘repossess my soul from the Great Whore’s charms’. Not kidding at all. She does that about once or twice a week. Most annoying.

But back to the current situation, Donny had happily settled down beside me smiling like the Cheshire Cat. He has blue black eyes that smolder and thick black hair that hangs down almost to his shoulders in ripples. Women world wide, myself included, would kill for his hair. A song by Michael Franti drifts over the stereo called “Ganja Babe”. There is slow sweet acoustic guitar with heavy base and a divine, husky voice that lulls me into a sublime state of relaxation. I roll my shoulders and lick my lips like a cream fed kitten, stretching out my sharp red fingernails. I hum and sway along with the harmony, careful not to brush too closely to him to quickly. I’ve noticed in my time, men are like rabbits, move to quickly and they bolt.

(Now, here is a hint to guys out there. When a girl does something like I am about to do, she knows. There is no accident here. Women are aware of our bodies and assets and will use them for our own reasons, be they for good or….entertainment)

As I sway to the music, maybe it’s the Champagne from earlier, maybe it’s the contact high I was getting from the circle in the bush behind us or maybe it’s just those damn hormones they are always warning us not to give into at school but somehow I end up with Donny’s arm over my shoulder and my head on his chest. My left hand clutched his firmly and my right gracefully tracing circles onto his thigh.

This rabbit had bolted, but not away. Donny rushed right into my arms. He slowly pulls me closer to him, and as I shift myself onto his lap, the ground flips.

With a loud crack, a shower of splinters and the snap of a chain link we tumble onto the hard concrete floor. Actually, Donny is on the floor, I am on Donny.

Oh shit, what did I do now?

~*~

Ace wanders giggling out of the bush. His idiot stoner giggle quickly fades as he notices his girlfriend, me, sprawled all over his newest buddy.

“What the fucks going on here, baby?” OK isn’t there a better way to show that I’m going out with you then resorting to stupid nicknames? I mean really.

This would not be good. I know that tone. He is trying real hard not to get pissed.

So, up I hop. (That angel must have shown up on my shoulder for once, because otherwise I would have stayed down) In a flash I am standing a little closer to Ace and looking delicately confused.

“I’m not sure what happened, sugar.” I give him a ‘don’t you dare talk to me like that’ look. (That’s the great thing about long relationships; you learn how to read each other)

He glares; I smile my ‘I’ll eat you alive’ smile. That’s my favorite smile. It’s slow, steely, and, I’ve been told, sexy.

“I think the swing broke.”  A very uncomfortable reply pops up from the splinters. I had forgotten Pretty Boy was there. This is going to be a big fight and I don’t want to lose good eye candy over it.

So, I’ll just defuse the situation best as I know how. Hopefully, Ace is too fucked up to remember any of it.

“Brilliant deduction, Donny-boy,” I bent to pat him on the head. “It’s good to know you’re smart enough to realize when things fall out from under your ass.”

Ace watches me treat Donny with the disdain I use on so many other guys and visibly relaxes. What he doesn’t see is the tiny, little smile I give Donny, or the way I flicked my nails through his hair, or the way he smiles back. In truth, he should be more worried. Much more worried.

The old Ace returns. He swaggers over and wraps his arms possessively around me from behind. His lips press against my neck and the sweet smoky scent weed smell drifts up from his shaggy hair. I don’t understand why he’s making such a show of it. He never pays this much attention unless he has something to prove. Typical.

I turn around in his arms and press myself against him with a sweet smile.

“Take me home, honey.” I whisper in my very best ‘don’t you want me?’ voice. I yawn, stretching my arms up and letting them fall around his neck. My nails drag lightly on the top of his spine, twisting in his dark brown curls; tantalizing him. He grins.

Ace steps back from me. No words are exchanged between friends. Just arm around my waste and off we go. It’s a wonder he doesn’t notice me watching Donny (who is still laid out in the wreckage of the swing, stretched out comfortably) watch me walk away.

~*~

I’ll always love the long days and nights I spent in Ace’s room; whirlwinds of Polaroids, sex and laying, naked, on his bed while play guitar. We spend days on end there. I can’t imagine how we get away with it.

He’ll write a riff while I draw pictures or read or work on a short story. Then he plays for me and we end up fucking with the sweet urgency that can only come from being young. The sex is always followed by naps which are followed by pictures. I don’t know where this tradition started. Ace is a brilliant photographer and so when I am most agreeable (a.k.a. post coitus) he somehow manages to talk me into posing for him. I trust him with those though. You have to trust anybody who you have this kind of relationship with.

This time it isn’t right… let me explain.

Have you ever thought something that you shouldn’t have thought to begin with at a time when you REALLY shouldn’t have thought it? If you say no you’re lying.

The point is I can’t get Donny out of my mind. He is all I can think of. Every time I clear my mind and set myself on enjoying what’s going on, he pops up again.

 Everything Ace does feels like Donny.

Donny’s lips.

Donny’s hands.

Donny’s chest.

Donny’s arms, fingers, tongue, teeth, everything!

And this isn’t like fantasizing during sex; this is my brain turning against me! The worst part is its good.

Really good.

Better then anything Ace could have done without my subconscious urgings. I know it’s wrong to say so but I’m not pulling punches in this. You want honest truth, well you fucking got it.

I felt guilty and lightheaded when we were done. It’s not something I suggest trying out. Ace, being male and fairly dumb, lays back, lights up and basks in the glow of ‘his’ accomplishment.

“So baby, how you feeling?” He drags on his cigarette and puffs out a smoke ring looking far too much like a satisfied dog for my tastes. Eyes closed, I turn away from the skinny, mediocre reality towards a muscular, amazing fantasy that was miles away.

~*~

            I finally make it home. The ride to my house was tense and eerie; thick with the unsaid and the unknown. The whole ride Ace sat there like a rooster who just crowed louder than any other ever had in the history of the world, like he always does. I curled up in the passenger seat and feigned sleep.

 The most painful moment came at a stoplight before I got home; I was shivering from the air conditioner and Ace reached over and gently tucked a button down shirt around me. His touched almost burned me it was so tender. It was like a splash of molten lead or a flick of a scalpel. I love him; really I do. Things just aren’t the same. His touch once burned me for a different reason and in a very different way.

It’s about when I stumble in. There is a light on in the kitchen and I am dressed in a ruby tank top and khaki short-shorts with Ace’s shirt tossed over my shoulders.

Shoulders back, slow measured steps, that’s how you Sober-walk. I doubt I would’ve fooled anyone, so I guess it was lucky.

“Hey honey. Long night?”

My darling sister Purity in full lotus position is set up on her yoga mat in one of her skimpy tanks and some cotton underwear.

I wish I could show her but, since you’re just reading descriptive and illuminating language will have to do. You see, my freaky ass parents adopted Purity before Faith and I were born. She is Cherokee/Caucasian mix and quite possibly the second most beautiful person to walk the earth in the past forty years (the first being Angelina Jolie).

She has pitch black hair down to her waist. She is willow thin, almost anorexic looking, with glass cut features and high cheek bones. It’s her eyes that captivate though. They are emerald green and when she gets going on something, they glisten and flash like she has a light inside her.  

“Hehe, maybe.”

This is a time when I would love to say I was suave and charming, but I was drunk.

“Where did you get here, Purty?” The world is swishing around and so are my words. Whenever I do anything thought impairing, I feel like I’m watching one of those viral videos where some idiot is fucked up and acting stupid. I know what I’m saying and what I want to say, I just don’t connect that the two are different.

She laughs; it sounds like a bell.

“About , I couldn’t sleep so I’ve been meditating and waiting to see the sun come up. Wanna watch with me?”

I nod and Purity slips into her white cotton robe. With her arm firmly across my shoulders I was pulled back into the twilight, suddenly the warm kitchen comfort was gone. I was reminded of the ride back with Ace, the awkward silence in the car, and of course Donny.

Twilight blue. That’s what his eyes were. Goddamn him! Even when I was supposed to be sitting peacefully with my sister he won’t leave me alone.

Oh well.

~*~

Ok, so I’m sitting her at my computer in some god awful emo band hoodie and I just finished typing 75 definitions about fungi from my Biology book. You’d think that would get him out of my head. The past few days have been a blur. I’ve been trying to escape this whole “my relationship is being destroyed from the inside out thing”.

Bars were the cheapest way. Doing bars is like hitting the fast forward button. You take one and the thick lucidity that comes with all pills slips in. The, in a moment, your world tilts and you’re on the floor. Your speech slurs and words fill your mouth like eels. They squirm and flop onto the floor; oozing their cold-blooded traitorous way into the ears of passerby.

 I went through 2 days of school like this…..well not completely, just torn in the aftermath of it. The 2 days felt like ten minutes. I woke up, went to school, got bars, got barred and passed out. My parents didn’t even notice. (Lovely, right?)

Mornings after are hard. They are really bad if you have some place to go. In the jumble and rush, with almost zero motor functions and the dull titanium lighting from your burned out retina blocking you from your goals. You know the kind I mean, the kind they put in the rehab and asylum scene in movies. Your tongue becomes thick and heavy, polar opposite from the night before.

 This may seem like something that’s not worth doing, but bars are like heaven when you want to forget. You move through things like a puppet. Nothing bothers you much unless you can’t get what you need quick enough. Which in this case I couldn’t….so I was a raving bitch.

You see, most of the time all you need is more bars, but what I need…needed…. (I’m still deciding on tenses) was, go ahead guess. That’s right, ding-ding tell her what she’s won Bob! I needed Donny boy.