We live in a grey world. The concept of black and white was etched out sometime ago as a direct consequence of the choices we make. The rules have become so flexible it’s best to play without them. Nothing is just as it’s supposed to be anymore. They tell you up is up and down is down when you’re growing up, that’s absolute. Then you finally grow up realizing up isn’t up at all, it’s just a state of mind that differs from individual to individual. When it comes to human beings it becomes intensely difficult to distinguish what’s black from what’s white. Or so I’ve found. The concept of right and wrong has been reduced from guidelines to limitations. And in cases more common that one would hope for, even fictional. A man does what he can to try to make ends meet and provide for his own but can’t catch a break. He has to resort to less than honorable means on the internet to feed his kids and keep a roof over his head, at the expense of someone else’s hard work. He’s lavished with praise and admiration for breaking out of the shackles of poverty. All of a sudden kids going to school are told to look up to that person and be like him. The kids listen to their elders and become links in this chain that started out as a need to provide, it’ll be turned into an avenue for revenue for people who just want to flex without putting in the work right? All of a sudden the rule of hard work always pays off gets thrown away? Wrong. Remember it’s not black and white anymore. The one who wants to flex is hypothetically born in a less than ideal situation, it’s not uncommon. The desire that’s born from seeing other people just like you living their best lives imbues them with motivation, they just need one shot and boom. He finds his way into this chain and becomes a major source of happiness to some people. Even goes as far as helping out their community, all from a desire to flex. All for a sense of happiness. Thing is these days happiness is usually at the expense of someone else. Like some sick twisted sense of balance. So in a system where majority wins the vote is vital for equity, the party that suffers along with their sympathizers will see this act as a bad one naturally. However if the party the benefits from so called wrong doing outnumber the offended party, then there’s no issue really. Now take this idea and generalize it, that’s the world we live in today. And really who are you to judge? When in reality given the opportunity, you’d jump at it too. Deviants and saints have a lot of the same attributes; need for control over action, consequence, other people but mostly themselves. Sound familiar? The system is flawed.
These are the thoughts that course through my mind at this exact moment. Usually I don’t think about these things, maybe passively. The world at large isn’t exactly my concern. And it’s not the blunt in my hand either. I mean it is, but it isn’t. it’s just a catalyst. These thoughts are like the results of an infection or a disease. It targets one area or organ and sets of a chain reaction affection other parts of the body as well. Still reeling from the events that had occurred about two months ago. On some days I’m more angry than sad, on others I’m more sad than angry. It was hard. Like being caught in yourself, all the mistakes, choices and memories that brought you to that moment. An all consuming state of mind. Constantly irritated, having to keep constant temperament checks so I don’t go off on someone undeserving. The distractions don’t seem to come quick enough or last long enough. A pain you can’t cure, an itch you can’t scratch. Even the herb doesn’t take it all away. Granted the weed seems to help me shed the physical toll this state of mind seems to have on me, temporarily at least but also gets me in tune with my pain. Shows me the depths of its influence. How far in me it’s spread, corrupting as it roams freely. I feel violated. I know I should talk to someone about this. I don’t know if it’s pride or shame stopping me. Or am I just hiding my true nature behind the pain and the sad songs? Am I running away from myself?
Somehow, I find myself using real world global issues and relating it to the things I’m experiencing. Maybe as a means to remind myself that I’m not in this alone? I can’t figure it out. Suddenly there’s a cross between my heart and my head. Even though I should’ve known better. I can’t help but wonder, even if I’d managed to keep my head and my heart separate would my choices have been any different? Would I have been less hurt? More importantly, would I have fallen from grace for nothing? If I’d kept Titi a secret piece on the side would it not have blown up in my face? Is this the price I have to pay for actively trying not to be like my peers? Like any other man? Or do I pay this price because the second I laid eyes on Titi I’d made my decision? Endless questions plagued me at any given moment. A long time ago someone helped me understand my mind to be the body that governs the decisions and my heart to be the conscience behind the scenes, never letting them cross paths because the mind is the state and the heart is the church. If you know anything about history then you would do well to know that you should never mix up affairs of the state and the church. It’s a recipe for disaster. I never really understood the implications of this warning, until now. Here I am relating real life global problems to something as simple as a heart break. But not all heart breaks are simple. Again individuality is the fan that feeds this flame. Pain and its intensity vary from person to person. Some people walk away from my current predicament unscathed, others don’t. I’m learning that the hard way. My mind tells me to keep my head up and take it a day at a time, it’s impossible to feel this way forever. However my heart keeps doing its best to help me experience an evolution of the different sides to the same pain. On the days when the anguish isn’t so bad, it turns to regret. On days when the regret is tolerable, it turns to outright sadness. I guess that’s why the heart is an organ and the mind isn’t. One can cause you unbearable pain. Going through the motions I realize I’m in the worst phase of it all, the beginning. The grief, the constant ache from the sadness, the pining for what you can’t have because you threw it away yourself. Ironic, who’s trash now?
I recall vividly the first night I had gained a bit of insight as to how far my heartache had infiltrated my mind. I’d been wallowing in the bosom of my misery for some time. It had been one of those days work took up more time than usual because of the work load. I’d been working late and rounded up for the day. My mind had been hounded with work dilemmas and solutions all day, it was blissful distraction. Reinforcing the idea in my head that one form or source of pain or stress can take precedence over another. Even as I closed up heading home, work was still on my mind. On the drive home it was all I could think about. Pulling up to the gate of my apartment building I noticed something was off. I knew I was distracted but not enough so to not recognize my own gate. Or so I thought. I figured my headlights must not be at their brightest and it’d been a long day, I hadn’t really eaten. The fatigue was probably getting to me more than I had anticipated. I increased the illumination of my headlights and the sight before my eyes threw me into wild disbelief. Not being able to fathom or comprehend my own shock, I undid my seat belt and slowly exited the vehicle to further examine what had presented itself before my eyes. Utterly unbelievable. I walk around to the hood of the car, the reality of the situation seemed to set in as what was in front of me remained unchanged. The weight of the realization of where I had wound up seemed to break my spirit itself as I clumped to a heap seated on the hood of my car. The headlights in full flare now beaming all revealing full bright white lights on the scenery before me. Is there no escape? I asked myself. Is this what I’ve been reduced to? A dependent shell of a human being. The memories held behind this gate flooded my mind immediately as I sat broken on the hood of my car, recalling the first time these gates had opened for me. The pedestrian portion of the gate opened. I remember seeing the familiar silhouette of a particular female emerging from behind the gate. My heart began racing, I could feel my body tighten. My skin grew cold as I broke out in goosebumps. Only for the image to take full form before me revealing itself to be the security guard stationed at the gate. He greeted me as he made his approach. I paid no mind as my excitement dwindles. He proceeded to inform me that the occupant I had wanted to see had moved out of the residence. I stared in his general direction, drifted off in some unknown head space in the name of trying to make sense of what had unfolded before me, frantically searching my mind for the answer to a simple question. Why the fuck am I here? There’s nothing for me here now, there never even was. Times like these you realize that thinking something isn’t the same as admitting it. While I remained lost in my thoughts the security guard mentioned I’d been obstructing a vehicle behind me. I hadn’t even noticed. I got back in my car still pondering why my subconscious mind had taken me back to Titi’s place. I didn’t even know she had moved. How could she not tell me? Then I wondered if I would tell me if I were in her shoes. I consoled myself thinking I wouldn’t do something like that to her. Titi was a hell of a roller coaster, took me so far up just to bring me crashing down hard.
‘This house is not a home to you’. The lyrics from the song twenty eight by the weeknd had never resonated so deeply within me before. I was really astonished at how far my feelings were willing to take this. Like my emotions themselves had betrayed me at my own behest. It was utterly frustrating. It was bad enough that I had no control over my emotional state and moods, but now even my actions are dictated by a vacuum yearning for her touch. It was unbearable, being a slave, a puppet to desires that you know are unrealizable. My mental projection of it was like falling into a hole in the sky. Endlessly tumbling and falling, no control or signs of a bottom. It’s just falling, I don’t think I’d ever prayed to hit rock bottom so hard. I needed a release. No sooner than I’d thought it a bar came into my view. I guess I’ll try finding my solace at the bottom of a bottle tonight. My time at the bar had been somewhat entertaining. I must have left the bar at about 3am after a couple bottles of Jack Daniels, an old favorite of mine. Apparently, I had a companion and for the life of me I cannot remember her face much less her name. It didn’t take me two seconds to decide to try to use her as an outlet, to be honest anybody would do. I just needed to transfer this aggression for the night, just this one night. Thankfully she had been a willing participant and we decided to leave for my apartment when I remembered for some reason I’d made up my mind to spend the night at a hotel. I failed to recall the reason at that exact time, I couldn’t concentrate because of the swirling mess of alcohol and pain currently throwing a tantrum in my head.
Getting through the elevator ride up was no easy task. I was behind her leaning on the wall of the elevator. She stood just a few inches in front of me. I was like a child desperate to try out a new console, I couldn’t wait to get plugged into her. The entire ride up I objectified this lady and defiled her in multiple ways, a lot of them seemed violent. I attributed it to the state of my mind at the time. We got out of the elevator, walked a bit and got to the door of my apartment. She was just standing there, my gaze was locked on her but I was lost in thought. I had her pinned against the wall already, hands over her head pressed down against the wall as well as I bury my head in her breasts biting hard and licking.
“Aren’t you gonna open it?” she asks as she chuckles a bit. I look around confused for a bit, until she gestures to the locked door.
“Oh my bad, I hadn’t noticed we were here already” I said in response to her as I unlocked the door. She went in first not because I was a gentleman, I was in a bit of a tussle with the keys in the lock. My female companion asks where the bathroom is, she needed to freshen up. I directed her to my bedroom, no point in her seeing much else I thought. The moment I step over the threshold and into my apartment I heard a slight whisper, that’s what it sounded like. I’m surprised obviously but then again I’m pretty hammered too, I must be tripping. Better get to business before I pass out, I thought. I decided to take a second to get my shit together before I went into the bedroom. Headed towards the guest rest room, as soon as I’d opened the door I heard the whisper again, this time much louder. This caused me to frantically reach for the lights on the wall by the entrance as fast I can and rushing in in anticipation of what I might see. I know, typically it makes no sense. I must’ve seen enough movies to know not to go towards the voice in the dark. I knew that much. Despite that I jumped in because I’d know that voice any day and anywhere. I’d spent too much time listening to it not to recognize even the most minute decibel that crossed my path. The lights come on to illuminate an empty rest room. I can literally feel disappointment etch itself right across my face. I step in and run water in the sink watching it go down the drain, of course my brain chooses to relate my emotional mind state to that. The continuous sound running sound of the water hitting the surface of the ceramic sink in somewhat soothing. I cupped my hands and placed them underneath the flow of the running water, brought them back up splashing the water on my face in the same motion. I heard it again. The same sound but even louder this time, like it had just passed right by me. I scuttered towards the door again attempting to intercept the source. The effort was futile. The toll from the excitement that caused me to move from a resting state to that level of activity spared no seconds in catching up with me in my mostly drunken state. I had to count on the walls for support. That’s when I felt it. Seemingly coming from within the walls, reverberating. In a matter of seconds the sound grew louder and echoed from other parts of the apartment. I know it’s not possible cause she’s not here. It’s not like she was a ghost, last I checked she was still alive. Echoes of indistinct words and chuckles seemed to surround me as I leaned against the wall still trying to collect myself. I mean I remember trying to talk myself into seeing the facts here. I’m sure my mind knew that Picasso was gone and no matter what or how I try to beg she wasn’t coming back, she might as well have been dead to me. So why then? Why was I hearing her voice everywhere around me? Why can’t I teach my aching heart these simple facts my head understands? I felt like I was in some twisted version of attack on titan. For a second I even entertained the thought of titans within my walls. I was in a hazy and frantic enough state of mind with just the right amount of alcohol to let it scare me, but it was the motivation I needed to get me off of those walls and into the bedroom. I finally made it to the bedroom. I shut the door and pressed my back up against it. As if that would make a bit of difference. It didn’t stop Picasso’s voice from filling up the room. It was even louder in here.
‘Oh come on! My apartment is haunted by someone who isn’t even dead yet?’
That was the thought running through my mind at the time. The voices continued so I went straight to the bed, kicked off my shoes and pressed a pillow over my face as I lay down on my bed. Determined to do my best to ignore what was going on with me as the voices continued to eat away at me, at this point I just wanted to lose consciousness. Then it hit me for the first time, the pillow smelled just like Picasso did. What level of hell have I sunken to? I wondered. The sensations it gave me plus the voices all around me were enough to form a vivid visual representation of her face in my head. We’re just strangers now. This hurts. I heard a door close. It reminded me that I’d come back home with someone but my anguish had a strong hold on me already. This situation threw me into a little internal conflict at the time. I had briefly thought that if I remained still as I was she might freak out and leave. I was in no place to do the deed tonight, not with all this turmoil in my head. But who was I kidding? I could feel my boner already. I wanted to do it. The problem now was would I be doing it because I wanted to or was it because that’s what the pain demanded? Either way the result would be the same, but it was the principle that mattered here. My pain had already deprived me of control one too many times today. Besides going to the bar was a whim, I just happened to see it. My dear sweet agony couldn’t have planned all that out. This was my attempt at trying to regain some control over myself and the situation before it got too late. I threw the pillow off of my face and there she was, completely naked at the foot of the bed. I quickly made up my mind noting that wasn’t the time to think. I got up off the bed and went to her.
“I thought you’d passed out. I was basically trying to decide if I should just leave or not.” She said. Even this close to her the voices swarmed around me. I was completely enchanted by her physique. I made my way to her, eyes fixed on her naked body. Taking in every inch.
“Lie to her. Lie to her just like you did to me” I heard the voices say
“Yeah I’m sorry. I’m tired from work and we had quite a bit to drink, it’s been a while for me” I said. I lied. Unprovoked. Just as Picasso’s voice had asked me to, without a second thought.
I didn’t give her any time to respond. Just as she was about to say something back I leaned in completely and kissed her. I honestly wasn’t trying to listen to whatever it is she had to say. I had enough voices in my head already. She was a little tense at first, I could tell from how rigid her body was.
“Stop kissing her lips. Move slowly to her neck, kiss down to her breasts and then take her nipples in your mouth. You know how momma likes it.” Picasso’s voice instructed. Once again I did as I was instructed, following each direction to the letter. The results were encouraging. She let out soft moans as I sucked on her breasts. She held on to my neck firmly. I’d sneak a glance up to watch her biting her lips. Her body was much more relaxed now, slumping backwards with my arms for support.
“Good. Now take your right thumb and place it on her clit. Your other fingers should be just on the lips of her pussy. What you’re gonna do now is play with the clit with your thumb. As you do that apply just a little pressure on her pussy lips from your free fingers and give it a gentle massage, moving them back and forth”. Picasso’s voice said. I proceeded as advised. Again, the results were encouraging. I didn’t need to be told that twice. She let out a loud moan as she fell towards the bed. I had no choice but to go with the motions. Then it occurred to me. I’d been following all these instructions from Picasso’s voice without question. Not that I could’ve even questioned it if I had tried or wanted to. I’d decided to try to regain control in a spur of the moment situation only to find myself relinquish it just as easily as before. Just who exactly did I think was in control here? The thought of that forces me to break protocol as a form of rebellion. I stop massaging her pussy lips as I’d been instructed to and put two fingers inside her instead. As soon as I pushed my fingers passed her pussy lips into the soft, moist partition that opens into her pussy, she instinctively closes her legs as she scratches across my back with her nails. This didn’t stop me though. I continued rubbing on her clit, this forced her to spread her legs back apart a little more, giving me room to quickly curl my middle and ring fingers and finger fuck her. It didn’t take a few minutes for her breathing to intensify and as I felt her pussy throbbing around my fingers, for the first time I noticed the voices had faded away. This realization gave me a new boost of energy. Clarity and purpose. This is my release. I stop sucking on her breasts, remove my fingers from inside her and pulling away. I stand up and go back to the foot of the bed. I knelt just on the edge, placed my hands behind both of her knees picked her legs up and pushed them backwards. Her breasts jiggled a bit as I did so. Picasso had big breasts as well, just like this lady. Coincidence?
My dick was as hard and as erect as could be. I drew her closer to me, so close that I just slid her pussy towards my dick as soon as it came in contact with her.
“Fuck” she gasped. As I began thrusting away something was nagging at the back of my mind. It bothered me so I decided to put it to bed once and for all. I closed my eyes. And she felt just like Picasso. I had found my release. I had found it at the root of my pain. She might’ve been the one. I threw it all away for something that ultimately amounted to nothing. i lost the pieces that held it all in place. I chose a lie, I let it go for a little fun. Now I’ll never see your face but it’s ok I’ve adapted anyway. For now at least.
As soon as it was over, while lavishing in my moments of peace my companion lay right next to me. The voices had stopped. I had hoped to get some sleep possibly because that was quite the work out. I’d shut my eyes and was prepared to let sleep take me off to somewhere I wouldn’t remember by the morning. Memories of her ran through my mind, it made me somewhat restless. Then I noticed it again, the voices had returned. Just as mysteriously as it had begun before. It was unbearable. I opened my eyes to catch a glimpse of my companion dressing up. It was about 6am now. She noticed I was still up and had started speaking to me. Problem was I couldn’t hear a word she was saying. The voices running amok in my head drowned out every other sound. Infuriating as it was, there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. While she was still speaking I didn’t realize when I’d gotten up from the bed and left my bedroom. Grabbed my rizzlas and stash, I headed straight for my balcony. I was holding onto the protective railing on the balcony when I noticed the voices start to fade out here. It was weird, it was almost silent out here. Maybe cause this spot represented the beginning of the end? Or was it because she rarely came out here. Ironically the place I spent my last moments with her, this very balcony held none of those reminders. I roll up my joint and spark it up. Each drag was reminiscent of time spent with Titi. It didn’t take long for me to start pining for her again. She’d drape herself all over me while we smoked in bed. We’d talk for hours on end about pointless little things that never managed to escape our notice. I knew she had a ruthless side to her, but I never thought that she could do this. Not to me. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was with her fiancé right now fucking her like I used to. I wondered if he made her feel the same or could she have just been faking it all. I couldn’t still bring myself to delete her number hoping she’ll come to her senses and call me. I also wondered if Picasso was thinking about me fucking Titi like I use to fuck her. I wondered if she was fucking someone else as well. In the end I played myself. I could feel the anger and sadness welling up inside me again. I wasn’t ready for the resumption. I took my blunt back inside the apartment. Damn these voices. I raced to my bedroom barging in the door. It was empty. My companion had disappeared. I checked the bathroom and called out to her. I was alone. I was so lost in myself I didn’t even hear the door. I needed to channel these emotions since I couldn’t control them. I needed an outlet, another release. Like an addict looking for another quick fix. I had but one choice. I make a quick call.
“Hey I know it’s early but I need your help, I’m in a really bad place. I’m on way over.” I said hurriedly.
“Sure just bring me weed” the response came back cold and swift. Truth be told I wasn’t expecting much else. It was natural she’d be awake at this the time. She never slept much. That much hadn’t changed since I’d known her. I hadn’t seen or spoken to her in some time. That too was expected between us. Our conversations always came alive during game of thrones season though.it was our favorite show.
Her apartment was about thirty minutes away. I had started on my way as soon as the phone call was done. I tried to remain calm and unshaken as I drove. The voices had gone away but they had served their purpose despite my efforts to buy some time and keep them at bay. They had stirred up this gaping void left in me as a direct consequence of my own choices. I hadn’t even given myself proper time and space to wrap my head around what had gone down with Picasso. For as long as I could remember I never actually allowed myself much time after a relationship ended. It was my adopted philosophy to get right back in it. I’m not very clear if it was my excuse for being something of a whore back in the day or just trying to be a romantic. None of these things had prepared me for what occurred with Titi though. It was entirely new territory. A whole new world of hurt. And I didn’t know how to escape it. I just knew it had to end at some point and I was more than willing to wait for that.
I called her when I had arrived at her place. She said she’d left the door unlocked. I rushed up to her door. I was quick to open the door and step in. I flung my shirt over in a corner as I made my way through her living room. Kicked my shoes off in the hallway that lead straight passed her dining area. Making a bee line straight for her room. I undid my belt and kicked her door open. While I walked up to her I let my pants drop from my waist as I begun to jerk my dick into a full erection. She was laying on her stomach covered up underneath her duvet. I pulled it off with no hesitation. I found that she had pulled the length of her night gown well above her waist. Her long thick braids covered most of her back. She didn’t utter a word. Neither of us did. She didn’t move. I stepped out of my pants and placed my knees on the bed. This triggered a reaction from her. One that almost made me go feral. I watched as she tucked her arms in close to her body like she was about to push herself off the bed. Simultaneously spreading her legs apart and putting the lower part of her legs in the air. Then with her arms tucked instead of pushing off the bed, she pushed her upper body backwards. This made her lower legs come down resulting in protrusion of her ass with her pussy spread open and glistening from catching small reflections of light, towards my hard and erect dick. Her arms were now laid out straight on the bed. As the protruding ass came closer to me I couldn’t help but see all this as some sort of offering. I reached out with both hands and took her firmly by the hips, inching my knees forward as soon as my dick makes contact with her skin. I penetrated with the guile of a man with conviction and purpose. It forced her to clench the sheets and throw her head backwards. I snatched at a handful of her braids of her braids, pulling as I thrusted slowly. The other hand still gripping her hip. Oh I remember how wet she was. She had started before I even got there. Typical of Sarah. As I closed my eyes, just as I had suspected it began to feel like Titi. This was my release. Just then the lyrics of the song I had just noticed playing in the background of Sarah’s room sunk in;
“We’re not lovers, we’re just strangers with the same damn hunger to be touched to be loved to feel anything at all”
I had climaxed and collapsed on the bed next to her. She got up and went straight for her my pants. She found three rolled joints. She unrolled everything on the spot and proceeded to roll them again into five joints with filters this time. Another typical Sarah move. I should’ve known better.
I remembered when I’d first met her. It was her final year in my school. My room mate at the time and one of my closest friends until this day Dera and I met her on the same day. We went over for a party thing at a friend’s place. We vibed and everything. She thought I was cool and I thought she was some sort of mystical fallen angel. She oozed copious amounts of sex appeal. She had the biggest pair of breasts I’d seen at the time and she was skinny. Dark skinned and stood about 5”6. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who noticed. In the following weeks I made numerous sexual advances towards her. She turned me down everytime. A year after she graduated I did as well. We got back in touch and started hanging out a bunch of times since we stayed in the same state. I couldn’t help myself and I asked her why she had turned me down all those times. She went on to explain that it was entirely my fault. She would’ve been into if I had asked her before my friend Dera did. She had a rule about not sleeping with two guys who were cool with each other like that. We had a laugh about it. Now that was typical of Dera. He was a god among men. The supreme whore who couldn’t stay alone. A serial cheater. Public enemy number one of monogamy. We soon came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter anymore. We began our arrangement. This was way before I met Picasso. We became fuck buddies. Nobody had to know. Just hit me up whenever. Those were the rules. I watched her pick up all the joints and bring them to the bed with her. I watched her naked body as she strolled. Her most obvious features; her breasts jiggled elegantly with each step she took. She had thin legs of average length. No ass. I chuckled at how it reminded me of the capital letter ‘P’. That’s why I had her number programmed on my phone as P.
She sparked up the first joint. Took three deep drags.
“Oh hey what’s up?” she said with ever innocent sounding voice of hers. It’s damning to the wrong ears. Like a siren song.
“I’m good” I said plainly.
“Ok dude, how long have we known each other?” she asked
“Going on five years now. This is weird. You’re not the sentimental type.” I answered
“And you’re not the defensive type.” She snaps back. “Which confirms my theory. Something is eating at you bad man. Your poker face is pretty good but right now it looks like you’ve got a boiling pitch fork up your arse son. No homo.” She continued
“Work has just been really stressful, that’s all” I lied. She was right. Something was eating at me. Eating hard and deep. Creating emotional cavities that corroded my judgement. It’s not just the heart ache now. It’s also what the heart ache seemed to be causing. I had built a home with someone only to burn it down with my own hands and make someone else my home. In the end that home ripped itself from me. Both events weighed heavily on my psyche. Like some internal vacuum that just kept up expanding. Swallowing up my ability to do something as basic as recognize the broken thing that stares back at me in the mirror. I instinctively flashback to my childhood memories of making certain personal complaints to those meant go guide me in life. They would often respond by reminding me that others had it worse than me. So I wasn’t special, everyone suffered one way or another but they get over it. How was that supposed to help? My pain is my own. Is that so hard to understand? Growing up I realized this was the first instance of witnessing people use the collective to try to deal with an individual’s problem in the wrong way. Over time I had gotten to understand that people use the collective and individual issues comparatively in the wrong ways in most instances. The responses to other complaints were ‘be a man’ or ‘you’re a man, men don’t feel such things’ or ‘being a man makes you strong’. In the end I felt alienated. I even wondered if I was going about being a man the wrong way. My experiences leading up that point had taught me that complaining was a sign of weakness. I’m not saying they were bad people. They just didn’t understand. So I decided to bury all my burdens. That was my own way of becoming a man. Someone else’s notion of a man at least. Owing to that doctrine there was no way I would cave. Not to Sarah. I couldn’t risk being seen as weak or spoiled. Especially when I thought about what I was already going through. I’d rather die, I thought.
“Lie to me all you want but the sooner you let it out the better for you” she said back.
“Well that’s what I came here for isn’t it?” I asked her
“Oh my God. It’s terribly clear you’re not thinking straight. And that’s because it involves the fatal feelings/pussy combination. Come on dude, I thought I taught you better. You never let the church get involved in the affairs of the state man.” She said
“Fuck off ok, this cleared my head” I snapped back
“Well it didn’t clear your head enough to see this is a doubled edged sword for you” she said
“What do you mean now, Gandalf?” I asked
“You feel like the sex helps you forget for a while right?” she asked
“Yeah, so?” I asked back
“That’s how I know your head isn’t clear” she said
“Elaborate” I demanded
“The sex is either supposed to help you forget as in move on. Or it’s other effect which feels very much like the former. It makes you feel reconnected to whoever it is that stopped fucking with you. You stop missing them cause you literally feel them in other people.” She said. I was stunned. Absolutely speechless. But she wasn’t finished.
“That is toxic and you don’t even see it. That’s how it’s gonna turn you into some shit bag you won’t recognize eventually. Well I don’t care as long as I get dick. So fuck me like whoever. Cause lord knows you really brought it this morning. What a way to kick off my day. Morning blunts and morning cum. Breakfast of champions.” She laughed as she concluded her speech.
Looking back I think that was the first time I really felt caged. My chosen method to try to escape it was ignoring Sarah and doing whatever I wanted. When the itch came I would scratch it. That itch came often. Driven by the haunted feel my apartment gave off with Picasso’s very essence seemingly infused into it. My heart had somehow convinced my mind that Titi was the only escape. Only to amplify my agony reminding myself that she wanted nothing to do with me anymore. It broke me continuously. Over and over. I was caught in some sick loop. My contingency plans were becoming less and less effective. Forcing me to do even more deviant things to compensate. On the nights I would strike out and Sarah was unavailable, probably fucking someone else for all I knew. Since that seemed to be the new trend with me. Nights like those I found myself paying for sexual services. I had resorted to these measures in my desperation for my fix to ease my suffering. We create our own hell, I thought. I knew I had to leave.
That’s why when the job offer from another state came in, I didn’t hesitate. A fresh start. It was exactly what I needed. Why didn’t I think about it sooner? This was the answer I thought I sought. An added bonus was that it was a place where my three closest friends were based. In fact they were my only true friends. They still are. I couldn’t wait. This place was done with me. I offered it everything I had yet it still threw me into the abyss. In reality I knew I took the leap myself. All that was over now. Time to hit the reset button. But this wasn’t a game. I would find that out soon.
Those were my last thoughts on the way to the airport. Going down the road my memories haunt me. All I was packing up and leaving behind. Reminders of who I used to be. It’s hard to swallow my pride hoping my troubles won’t follow. I wondered if this would make right all the wrong turns I took to get here. I can’t help but stare at a picture of Picasso. I switch screens and read the first message Titi had ever sent me. Who would’ve known it would turn out this way? I wouldn’t have guessed my pride would be so hard to swallow. Looking in the rear view as my former life faded away. I can’t help but feel like I’m some sort of quest. I don’t know what it is I desire. Or how I’m supposed to get it. I guess I should just keep driving.