Bug's Life

We met outside a restaurant and walked around for a while.
“At least your ass still looks good”, I said when I first saw her.
“You shouldn't say that sorta thing anymore...” she mutters as we walk up the viny road.
We sat down at a bench, dimly lit by a lamppost that projected an ugly white. It was past eleven pm and breezy.

“So how you doing?” she asks, and I turn around to answer.
“I'm on double dose of prozac. Doctor wants to give me more. Can't sit still I'm so happy. ”
It wasn't unlike her to detect the sarcasm in my voice and she was quick to make a remark.
“Don't fucking pin this on me! You didn't think of how limp your dick would be after having sex with that hooker in Thailand, did you?”
“Well there's a variety of ways I could answer that question..”
Cutting me off she slaps me in the face and stands up.
“You didn't think I'd be so fucking mean to you did you? Huh? Mr. Bigshot Hotshot I Took Her Virginity She Won't Leave Me Because I'm Better Than Her? Mr. I Fuck Around And Don't Suffer The Consequences Because I'm an Existential Writer Who Looks At Things From His Own Little Outside Stupid Fucking World!? Well news-fucking-flash Phoenix now you got nothing! Cards on the table, empty pockets, it's done, I'm gone, it's finished!”
I guess I didn't have much of a choice but to watch her lips move as she talked, and covered my face with my arms from time to time whenever she started wailing her arms around. When the tirade was over and her pretty face walked away, I thought “well, that's what you get for getting your dick caught in a Thai vending machine.” She didn't care if it was pure business, she only cared that I fucked another girl.

The relationship was dysfunctional from the get-go to say the least; fingered her on the first date, fucked her on the third and it all seemed more like a two-month-long fuck around than anything real or committed. That's why when I fucked another girl and asked mine if she cared, all unexpected hell broke loose. Two weeks later I found myself with a hand full of flowers and a dick full of HIV (this was not actually the case but it had been itching and burning like an infected mosquito bite. The penis guy at the hospital gave me the thumbs up though, thank Christ). I found myself standing on the corner with a piece-of-shit grin, clutching my presents for her.

We tried it for a long week and that didn't work; we fucked on every date and barely made the effort to talk. The stress of fighting about bullshit had worn me out, and she had realized she was pulling my leg. Her eyes looked even more gray than her natural color, and the wrinkles under her eyes that showed up when she smiled were getting scarcer by the day. When the break up finally happened it was neutral, but some gaping horrid wound opened up inside that stung me every minute. I break her heart and she breaks mine, fair deal, but at least we were never in love, I concluded.

When our meeting was over, or ended abruptly, I drove home and initiated the Bear Trap. The Bear Trap was a ritual-like activity I partook in whenever my warm and dark blood felt cold. I would lock myself in my room, smoke endless amounts of cigarettes and drink off a bottle of whiskey. I did this originally while listening to the most heart-shattering music to lure the demons out, and shut the cage with a sip and inhalation. The sting goes away for several hours, but once I sleep and wake up again it's a whole other story. Who knew the morning sun could make you feel so wasted?

This time the feeling was quite different though; instead of having a heart in two with a crack down the middle, it was cut up into small portions that pulled in different places. The pain stemmed from the fact that we wouldn't work in a relationship together, and I was glad everyday we were finished, but almost wished at the same time that I loved her and treated her better. Like my ex-ex-girlfriend, the fact that I wanted to be with her came rather from the fact that I wanted to treat her better, and make them feel better, but man, if I had to sit and listen and beg at her feet then the trouble isn't worth it, especially if she's gonna stick her nose in the air. I have done this before and it doesn't change shit. Although I felt like apologizing for the sake of making her feel better, I know she'll be hysterical and pissed off before I even get the chance to say “hey man... I'm not in this to win a medal”.

The trouble with this break up is that it is the best choice for both parties involved, though during sex we can convince ourselves in love. I never loved her though, and if I had, I would stitch a blanket around me and cut a hole out for cigarette smoke. This bed I would never leave, until the sun comes up or the curtains come down. If I feel better, I'm standing on my head, but if I don't I stay in the shade. No world today for this bug, I'd say, and roll on towards the wall.

The same old story I hear every time. “I don't regret that we went out though,” they say, the long pause, and then: “because I've learned a lot about relationships”. Phoenix The Bad Example I always was, the guy not to date if you want it to work out. The guy who sits around with a megaphone at the pool telling you what and what not to do. What's the big deal though? I'm making it easier for the next guy right? Especially since I was popping fresh cherries before anyone else did? And I do all this for what? Not a single thank-you letter from the next-gen boyfriend and yet I made the effort. Man, what a whack job I am. Anyway, pack it up, I'm gonna go watch porn.