To Steal, To Kill, To Destroy

January 2015

I wake up.  My eyelids are heavy but I can make out my surroundings just enough to be able to recognize where I am.  I roll over but my body doesn’t stiffen.  No part of me aches and my head isn’t screaming at me in pain.  I curl my toes underneath the rumpled, creamy blanket that wraps the heat of my body around me like a reassuring hug.  There’s a ceiling fan above me but its continuous motion doesn’t nauseate me.  Only my confusion can dizzy me.   The chilly air that the fan circulates whispers “good morning” as if I deserve a good morning, as if I am not disappointed by my comfort.  I’m in my own room, I think, in disbelief.  My heartbeat is slow and my breathing comes easily.  My thoughts clear and I realize that there are no traces of alcohol on my breath.  My hair is smooth and rests on my shoulder to where I can smell the freshness of my shampoo.  I feel the back of my head, but no hair is missing.  I sit up and look in the mirror.  I discover no hickeys on my neck, no bleeding lips or bruises on my arms.  Damn, no signs of the wonderful regret of a wild night.  I fall back onto my bed trusting that my mountain of pillow fluff will catch me and I shut my eyes.  I imagine myself pulling the source of my disappointment from my cerebral cortex. 

            I am walking in heels. I’m uncomfortable as I’m self consciously putting one foot in front of the other which tells me that I’m trying to impress someone.  I notice a hand on the small of my back, every molecule of my body igniting at the touch.  I lift my head from my shoes, hoping that when I look at the face that belongs to the hand it will be Matthew White, the quarter back of the football team.  He has a smile that’s worth five thousand dollars and eyes that are blue, the kind of deep blue that you can swim in but you can’t look at for too long or else you’ll drown.  Drowning has never seemed more desirable.  I want to be seen reaching up and running my fingers along his square jaw line.  Instead, I see Zach Thompson, the guy that lets me copy hs chemistry homework.  He’s no Matthew White, but he’s here and he’s touching me, so I am satisfied just because I have someone.  I wonder where I’m going.  A dance, I decide.  A homecoming dance.  A light flashes and I float away.  

            I’m inside of the school’s cafeteria.  The lights are dimmed and a spinning disco ball hangs from the roof.  I’m standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.  Surrounding me are all of these beautiful girls, the kind of girls I starve myself and disguise my face with make up to look like.  They dance gracefully to the music.  They elevate.  I become completely perplexed but I begin to dance anyways, copying their movements until I begin to elevate too.  When I reach their level I recognize some of their faces as members of our dance team.  Suddenly, I fall back down to the ground, to my level, but the whole school rushes to my assistance.  I am happy to have the attention, even if they are only helping me because I fell.  When I rise and brush myself off I take the time to assess myself.  I’m wearing a black dress that fits a little too snug.  The dress has sequins that catch the lights whenever I move, saying look at me, look at me. The dress probably costed somewhere around four hundred dollars, which will probably put my parents in debt, but I’m okay with it.  I look over my shoulder and see a girl wearing the brand new eight hundred dollar Sherri Hill.  It is the same dress as mine, only it is more beautiful.  My cheeks flush red as I burn with envy.  At least my face will have a little color, since I probably forgot to put on blush.  My hair is pulled up into an up-do, but there is one stray lock that falls on the nape of my neck, so with one quick jerk I rip it out.  My head fills with a stinging sensation but I appreciate the ability to feel physical pain.  My subconscious tells me that now I am good enough.  The girl with the expensive dress  notices me gripping my hair and asks what have you done?  I smile.  Another light flashes.

            I am sensation. My body is illuminated with orange light and smoke runs through my veins.  I cannot tell rather it’s the smoke that clouds my thoughts or the effects of the drink I’m holding, because my subconscious has vanished.  This is the after party, I figure.  There must be a hundred people here.  We are all here, with the same motives, staring at the same fire but I have never felt so alone.  Just as boredom begins to overtake me I feel a presence behind me.  Goosebumps uninvitingly take advantage of my skin.  I turn around and I am pleased to find that it is her.  The girl with the expensive dress.  Except she is now unclothed.  In her vulnerability I can tell now that she looks exactly like me.  We possess the same small figure and we both have noses that are slightly too big for our faces.  The only difference is that she is more beautiful.  She carries herself so angelically that just the way she brushes her hair behind her ear displays her innocence.  I look around, no one seems to notice the girl.  But everyone is looking at me.  I can either kiss her, or kill her.  I lean in and take her with my lips.  As I am tasting her I fill with guilt, for I know that I am stealing something from her.  I pull away and notice her lips bleeding.  A single tear streams down my face and to her I whisper thank you.  She vanishes and everyone is whispering to each other in disbelief that I indeed, kissed a girl.  I smile and mentally take a nervous bow.  I notice someone tugging my arm, and once again the molecules of my skin ignite.  It is him, Mathew White.  The way he is looking at me suppresses my guilt and suddenly my sin has worth.  He holds a drink up to my lips.  I hesitate, and wait for my subconscious’s input, but she is silent.  I drink.  The drink burns its way down my esophagus and sickens my stomach.  The tingle in my fingers tell me that I love this and I drink more.  I wrap my arms around Matthew’s broad, conquering shoulders and I

            Another light flashes.  When I come to I discover that I am on the bathroom floor. I am shivering from the coldness of the tile underneath me.  I run my fingers along it’s smooth surface.  My thoughts begin to clear and my anxiety reaches up and grabs at my throat as I realize that I blacked out.  My legs have never been more sore.  I feel the hickey that bruised my neck.  I smile.  I sit up and prepare to look at the damage in the mirror.  Instead, I see the girl with the expensive dress looking back at me.  Her beauty is gone and has left her face pale.  With her bleeding lips she asks me what have you done?  I smile.        

            I open my eyes again and finally separate myself from the blanket I reach up and turn off the ceiling fan.  As it slows to a stop I bring myself back to reality.  Reality is worse than a nightmare, I decide, wishing it would have been real.