Choking Under the Circumstances

I wrote this story for an assignment in Creative Writing class. Its kind of a collage story because I did use some sentences from other stories I wrote.

     My head pounds.  I chew Tylenol to get it in my bloodstream faster.  I skip the cell phone and knock on your door to get you in my bloodstream faster.  While I wait for you to answer, my heart pounds and my head has stopped.  My neck can hardly support the imaginary weight in my head.  It's pressing on my brain.  The side effects...unplanned topics and humor-lacking jokes.  You open the door and I notice that you're simply wearing torn jeans, a t-shirt, and an unfitted hoodie.  Already you're making feel over-dressed and eager.  I'm your own disaster.  I see your television still on.  Maybe you think this date will be short and hold unhappy endings.  You hope that it will end soon enough so you can catch Miami Ink at eight.  Before the door closes I see an advertisement for Quik Stop gas-station in the newspaper by your packed bags.  I bit ironic, I thought.

    We walk hand in hand down the illuminated streets.  I can tell you don't want to hold hands but do anyways given the circumstances.  Your phone vibrates in your back pocket.  It's on that setting so I can't hear it, but it's obvious.  I shrug my shoulders yet continue to stare at the sidewalk.  You take that as an "it's okay" and reach for your cel, but you read my all wrong.  Muddy puddles of rain sit motionless in dents and cracks from the pavement under our feet.  I take notice of how black and deep they seem, but it's just an optical illusion, which reminds me a bit of you.  It's complicated and there's no need for me to go into detail.

    We both have our hoods pulled over our eyes; I believe it's because we are too afraid to meet each other's gazes.  That connection could possibly send me into shock.  The equivalent of having shock paddles hit my chest with deadly, reviving volts.  Tears start to stream down my face as I think about our circumstances.  These are the same tears that smear my makeup and stain my rosy cheeks black.  I leave my hood up, mostly so you can't see my tears, though I doubt you'd notice them anyways being as at the moment you phone is your main priority.  When did we turn out like this?  Detached, distant, and shy.  We both see the gap but don't do anything to patch it up.  At the moment even masking tape would provide relief.  Temporary, but stable, until we find some glue.  The sidewalk slams it's back to our feet as car silhouettes plow through our torsos.  Which, given our situation, probably wouldn't hurt as badly.  I'd pick death by car any day over your "Moto Razr" slicing through my still-beating heart.  You have no idea that's how I feel.  It's not the constant phone calls and texts, but the fact that I know who's on the other end of them.  The "Paris Hilton" of our town.  She offers everything that I, physically, can't.  The body, the hair, the face but she can't offer personality and most of all brains.  We both know that, so stop denying the obvious.  The more you deny, the more you lie.  I've always hated liars, and you know that, yet you still do it.  Are you trying to drive me away so you don't feel any guilt?  Half of me says leave, but the other side of the story doesn't want you to win that easily.  That half wants you to be miserable without me, which is asking a hell of a lot.  There's also that little part of me that still doesn't know why I'm here walking with you.  You cheated on me, yet i can't help but come back to you for reasons I can't and won't explain.

    We finally reach the nearest coffee joint, Java Java.  The air conditioning blew it's breath down the back of my neck, making me shiver.  I can see you react to my shivers by giving a quick glance in my direction.  At least I got some kind of reaction out of you tonight.  We step up to the counter and you order a French vanilla cappuccino and for me a plain black coffee.  I take notice how you order a drink that you despise, yet that size two tragedy adores, which struck me as a tad bit ironic.  We take a seat in the corner, next to the big front window.  Gnarled branches and selfish people pass by quickly, which hoods and umbrella's shadowing their faces.  The city lights are the only bright thing outside as well as in my life.

    "So how was your day?"  I glance in your direction to be positive that those words came out of your mouth, and were actually directed at me.  A look of shock flashes quickly across my face but disappears before either of us notices it.

    "Umm.  It was fine, how was yours?" I replied.  You don't answer, of course, and despair shadows my face once again.  I try again by telling you that you look so Laguna Beach.  You follow it up with a thank you, but I never meant for it to be a compliment.  You read me wrong, again.  We finish our coffees in silence, you pretending to enjoy you cappuccino and me pretending to believe that our relationship has never been better.

    We exit Java Java knowing full well that we left our only communication back at our table, back for someone else to hopefully pick up and put it to good use.  We clasp hands again, still without any meaning behind it and walk towards your apartment.  We'll stay here in dating limbo, hands connected through routine and not either love or lust.  On the way home, I decide that we need help.  The problem: we can't remember the good times.  The solution: a reoccurrence.  But who knows if that will ever happen, at least not while you continue texting Paris.  Silence surrounds us as we cover the last block before your door.  The silence is finally broken during our separation.

    "Goodnight Bells," you say to me, minus the eye contact.

    "Goodnight Ryu...I love you," I reply hopefully while I silently pray for your love in return.  But you stay silent, tight-lipped, and squeeze through your door.  My face cringes in hurt, but only for a few seconds, and you don't notice it anyways.  Your door shuts in my face, and I stare at its chipping paint exterior for a little while.  Just like our relationship, the paint is slowly chipping away until there's nothing left and then a new coat will be applied.  Unfortunately, that new coat will probably in a different colour.  I turn and begin to make my way back to my own apartment.

    When I get back to my residence I pop pills to break my headache, contemplate more, and then slip the bottle back into the drawer.  I barge into my bedroom and slip under the sheets, not even bothering to take off my shoes.  It's freezing and miserable, but I don't mind since the temperature fits my mood.  Like usual, once my head hits the pillow, I begin to think of you.  And after drowning in my tears, I drown in my dreams.

 

Author's Note

I'm sure there are some grammical errors because I always have some of those. If you could point them out I would be happy to fix them.
The story itself and it's sentences are supposed to be a bit awkward..so the reader get a feel of how Bella feels in her given situtation

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[Steffi]

"I chew Tylenol to get it in my bloodstream faster. I skip the cell phone and knock on your door to get you in my bloodstream faster."