During the course of my life, I've had various individuals attempt to analyze the inner workings of my mind and Johnny was no exception. He took part in any opportunity to transpire an accurate analysis for my being. The last thing I concretely recall is his lips, his arms, and the rest… The succession of events that led to the two of us in the same bed without our pants and undergarments on was a mystery but the chemistry between us was as strong as the mixture of francium and fluorine. The reaction was explosive. My body was somatically there but my mind was in the last place I left it, with Melvin.
I would like to say that i felt something, I want to say that some emotion came over me, sad, happy, angry, anxious, I didn't feel anything. "We need space," I was lost in his eyes, my mind got lost somewhere in his eyes, I was swimming in the ocean. His words registered into my brain and I stayed quiet. He began speaking, and I can't tell you exactly what about because those light blue eyes, I was drowning in the ocean. When he walked away, he took my mind with him, it was lost somewhere in his deep blue eyes. I was drowning on dry land, my carcass stood still, lifeless, emotionless, empty.
The next morning, I woke up and if I didn't feel anything yesterday, I feel it now. Every muscle in my body ached to clean the mess, i'm not exactly sure of which one, the one in my room or the one in my head. The bed, this bed it reeked of my past endeavors, my thought processes all led to it being confiscated of. I went into my drawer and ripped every trace I had of this horror story, i ripped everything. Oh my god, my bed, I couldn't even gain the strength to dispose of it. I grabbed my sheets and put it on the floor. This was a much better arrangement, and for the first time in the whole day, I felt sane.
My eyes were burning a hole through the side of his head, and I'm sure he felt the dissipation during it all. The bad habit of blankly staring while in deep thought was something I picked up at a young age and it never left me. When he asked what I was thinking about, my immediate answer was of course nothing. There was absolutely no way I was going to narrate the incessant number of questions in my head, he would have no answer for any of them.
I replayed the events of the previous night in my head continuously over in the shower trying to wash off my regret and my guilt. Suddenly, I started remembering my first date with Melvin and how reluctant he was to even hold my hand. I held his instead and this was the precursor of how things went throughout the discourse of our relationship; I was the first one to kiss him, the first one to touch him, the first one to tell him that his existence took place of a reason for mine, and then I remembered him saying I love you first, and walking away first; this was the omen, this was our liaison.
I wasn't sure what was worse, the walk of shame, or the unwanted text message you got the next day; I reckon that they equally weigh the same. The flashing red light in my phone, the scratching nails on the chalkboard. I stuffed my phone in my bag and smothered my face in the pillow and yelled, I could not contain the emotions I was repressing. Not that I exactly understood how I felt, guilt was what I felt now, but pleasure was what I attained that night, my body was indisputably pleased. Why should I feel guilty about that? I went in my bag grabbed my phone; I cut the scratching nails and began writing on the board.
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