she looks at me, all big doe eyes and cupid-bow lips, tells me, now i'm not trying to say i'm about to kill myself, but i'm about to kill myself.
the traffic light is glass. not that it's reflective, not that it's bright, but that it's so slow, a liquid, moving like a year. it's also what my blood has become with these words.
we're in my car but i'm scared. i know i'm the one behind the wheel, but i don't know what she's got in her purse. i don't know her name but i do know she's drunk. so am i. i know we shouldn't be driving but i couldn't leave such sad eyes at a bar. i guess, if i'm being entirely honest, i also couldn't leave such a beautiful body at a bar, either. especially if some guy with worse intentions than i couldn't pass her up.
talk to me, i say. i don't glance up from the road because i'm scared of what i'll see, and what i won't.
you're not my fucking therapist, she tells me. i know she's wearing red lipstick and i imagine it turns to venom with those words. i owe you nothing.
no, you don't, i concede. you're just too beautiful to leave this world. i like your face; your body, undoubtedly; and your soul. i can taste the sadness just in the air of my truck, but please listen to me when i tell you only a beautiful person could make such sorrow permeate the thickness of the alcoholic fog i'm in.
we're not in my truck anymore. my bedroom. she's on top of me, muddy eyes from crying and swearing and closing lids. i tell her i love her, she tells me she's forgotten my name and i tell her i never even knew hers. our lips mashed together and i know i'm wearing more lipstick at this point than she.
i love you, baby. i love you, i want you, let's go for it. just tonight.
she freezes up and her lips stop moving under mine. her eyes still blacked like raccoons, but frozen.
"you want to see all this--" she pushes up her sleeves, unbuttons her jeans to reveal her hips and thighs, "--naked in front of you? you want all this on you?"
i look closer, seeing angry red marks fading into military arrays of white scars. her eyes are welling up and turn into stormclouds as the rain begins to fall. i have very clearly just entered a hurricane and the lightning will strike me enough to kill me, but i surely won't die: since when does a body do what you want it to, anyway?
there are more ways to fall into people than with mistakes: i fell into her with love.