Clouded Minds

I leave John's apartment before either of them wake up. After John fell asleep, I just laid there, letting that entire scene replay in my head a million and one times.

He was drunk; if John were sober, he never would have tried those things, he never would have said all of that. If he doesn't have to say something, he simply doesn't, regardless of whether or not it's the truth. Oh gosh, which just means there's a possibility of him actually thinking all that he said. Alcohol always gave him the courage to say what was on his mind.

When I got back to the dorms, I went straight to the bathroom. No one was awake yet, so the best shower was open. I turned the water on as hot as I could stand, got undressed, and jumped in. The heat calmed me down, slowed my mind down enough for me to understand what was going on.

First thing that was true: John and I almost kissed.

Second thing that was true: he liked and missed the taste of my skin.

I thought back then to the first time John had given me a hickey. He looked down at it, his eyes filled with mischief and care put together. I'd freaked out over the amount of people who would see it. Later on in our relationship, I'd stopped caring about that. I just loved the thought that the hickey had marked me as his.

And that's something I should not be thinking about right now. I leaned against the wall of the shower and slipped down into a sitting position. My hands covered my face and I wondered why this was bothering me so much. Why would one small encounter with my ex cause me to flip out like this?

I wanted my pocket knife. I wanted my pocket knife with me, right now, so that I could carve away my good tasting skin.

I must have been in the shower for over an hour, because people began to fill the bathroom, the sound of hairdryers and make-up bags filling the big room. I decided that leaving would be a very, very good idea.

_______________________________________________

I opened Andy's door loudly, a frown on my face and dripping, wet hair. He leaped up in bed, awoken from the noise, and stared at me.

"What? What's wrong?"

"John? Me? Take your pick, Bro."

Andy frowned, "What happened?"

I told him all about last night; I made it quick, keeping a close eye on Andy's facial expressions and how they changed.

"He told you that he loved the taste of your skin?" I nodded a confirmation, which just lead Andy to burst into laughter. I glared down at him, angry and frustrated and just in no mood for this.

"It's not funny," I snapped.

Andy continued to laugh, "Yes it is!"

I let out a frustrated groan and fell onto his floor. My head bumped a little harder than I'd meant it to, so I said, "Ow."

"Quit being a little b***h," he told me. "But you said you stopped him, right?"

"Yeah," I muttered into the floor.

"So it's no big deal. I mean, you said he was drunk, so it could be possible that he doesn't mean any of what he said."

I pushed myself up from the floor and yelled, "The point is that he was drunk!" I let my head fall back down on the floor and said "ow" once more.

"Lift your head up and explain this thought process to me."

I rolled over onto my back. "Alcohol always made him speak his mind. It was like it removed his filter or something."

Upside-down Andy nodded. "So you're wondering which parts of it were true."

"Exactly!" I screamed, flailing my arms and legs.

Andy kneeled closer to me. "Think back to your break-up; is that something you want to go through again?"

I mumbled, "No."

"Then act like the song and blame it on the alcohol. Over-thinking his actions when he's shitfaced drunk will not help you in any which way."

I frowned. "What if it happens again?"

"Then don't be a stupid f*****g b***h."