For My Friends In West Virginia

Drink Your Milk

I walked around like a skeleton last night

Trying to find where you hid me

            The parts of me I liked

Confused and alone.

I fell asleep in the front seat.

            I’m too tall

I feel fucked, but in a good way

Cause not even you could chew through my bones

I've got very strong bones.

A Promise To Myself

You just cant turn the charm on

            Or find any of the right words

I know the drinks from your breath

If I don’t wanna do it

You’re probably just gonna make me

I can never tell when you’re fucking around

Everything im feeling is constant

And I’ve never felt so alone

But I made a promise to myself in the mirror

After the first purple flower you left on my skin

“Promise not to break, no matter how far you are bent.”

Similar To A Heart On Your Sleeve

There’s a gem on my right outer thigh that is perfectly opaque.

            You can touch it.

            It won’t hurt you.

Sometimes I mindlessly wonder

If I woke up one day and it was a color,

                                                            What would it be?

You think pink

            But I disagree.

Sure, from an anatomy stand point.

Perhaps pink or red would make the most sense.

                                                                                    But what if

Maybe

            This gem that is blinding in the sun

                        That people are afraid to touch

                                    That I try and hide so you won’t know my weakness

Is a piece of my soul?

Balls

I stared

at that ugly

flannel

skirt

that I put on this morning,

now bunched up,

maybe torn

in the corner with a collection

of basket, dodge, and other various balls.

The room smelled of sweat,

from both gym balls

         and Jim’s balls.

I kept my mouth shut

out of fear.

What if one of the sisters were to hear?

I wondered how many Hail Marys

I’d have to say for this.

‘Hail Mary (thwap)

full of grace (thwap)

The lord is with thee’ (thwap).

An Ode To the Robert E. Lee Book That Sat On My Bookshelf When I Was A Kid

I never feel more like me

Than when I sat up in that old tree,

Fantasizing about him.

Robert E Lee,

How you give me feelings in an area above my knees,

But momma say it’s not appropriate for a girl like me

To feel so strongly

About the scraggly beard and the confederate flag in your portrait.

In my room I looked at pictures of him and his men

And often remarked on what a handsome man he had been

I wished I’d been Barbie, and he my Ken.

I don’t care if I’m only five years above ten

Because back then,

Would it really have mattered?

Pink Lemon-aide

Im constantly finding myself coming back to this moment.

I stare at the lemon

Cursing the god I know doesn’t exist while I kick

 the fucking knife

I told Tim was unsafe

under the cooler to rust.

I hate blood.

            The smell curdles my stomach and

            The color, how it changes the more your body pumps out

the closest rag

covered in the sickly sweet strawberry syrup that the bees just buzz about

will have to do.

As the rag starts absorb

what my body is pulsating out I pretend

‘its just more syrup’ so as to save my breakfast from the floor.

The lemon has a pink tinge to it now

Tim shouts ‘Pollock you good?’

And I flip him off

Because my thumb is on the floor

Clean

It’s seven in the morning and I’m walking through my hall alone. A sight to see with tangled hair, puffy eyes, and some blood running down my left leg. No one in my hall is awake. I sneak into my room and see my roommate’s small body under her blankets.

            Robotically

                        Grab my towel

                        Grab my shower caddy

                        Open my door

                        Walk

                                    Left right left right left right left right left right left right . . .

I reach the unisex bathroom, ready to have it all to myself

avoid the mirror

I slowly take off my shirt and drop it to the floor. I pull apart the clasps on my bra, feeling the straps slip off my shoulders. I take off my shorts and toss them into the corner of the bathroom. I immediately throw away my underwear. They’re ruined by my own blood and torn beyond repair.

            Inspection

                        Bruises blooming everywhere

                                    I could almost see his fingers in them

                        Residue on my stomach

                                    Leaving a trail, leading to where the blood comes

                        Blood down my left leg

                                    Mixing with more bruises on my thighs

I hurt everywhere, but felt especially sore between my legs.

I turned the knob of the shower so the water would come out scalding hot.

            Soaps

                        Body wash

                                    Shampoo

                                                Conditioner

                                                            Face wash

The steam in the room made my skin flush. Finally, I stepped underneath the showerhead. My skin screamed and became an angry red.

It felt good to stand there.

                                    Body soap.

Loofah.

I felt the soap run across my arms and flow down my back to my legs. However,

            I only felt it was cleaning the surface.

                        I scrubbed harder.

All I could picture were his hands on me.

                                                                        Covering me.

I got more soap and just poured it in my hand, using my nails and really getting at the dried bits on my stomach.

I thought of his mouth covering my breasts.

I poured more soap into my hand and accompanied it with frantic scrubbing.

His hand covering my mouth and his legs crushing mine

More soap

More scrubbing

More scratching

I felt the welts from my own scratching and the heat working on getting him off my skin. I reached for the soap bottle again.

Empty.

I wasn’t clean.

He was still all over me.

Oh god.

I used all my shampoo and conditioner, as well as the soap in the bathroom dispenser. Finally, burning and raw from both the water and my nails, I felt he was off my skin.

But I still wasn’t clean.

He was inside me.

I could still feel it. I ran to the toilet and promptly threw up.

                        get it out get it out get it out get it out get it out get it out get it out get it out

I grabbed my tooth brush and tooth paste from my caddy and stood in front of the sink. I covered my brush and started to vigorously scrub at my molars.

                                    It’s not enough.

I squeeze more toothpaste onto my brush.

                                                This won’t do.

I grabbed my mouth wash and began to rinse. The stinging felt good in my mouth.

                                                            Killing germs.

It was more than just my mouth that needed cleaned though. I gargled in the back of my throat feeling more stinging.

                        I swallow.

It continued to sting. Like I said though,

                                                                killing germs.

I grabbed the mouthwash and tipped it.

            Sipping.

                                    Gulping.

                                                            Chugging.

I felt it slide down my throat to reach the pile of knots that was my stomach. I very quickly finished the bottle.

                                                                                    It still wasn’t enough.

I needed something stronger.

I picked up my clothes and threw out the empty bottles of soap with the bottle o smouthwash. I ti[toed out of the bathroom.

                        Left right left right left right left right left right left right left right left right left

Back down the hall to my room. My roommate was in the same position I’d left her in. I threw my clothes in the hamper and put on sweat pants with an oversized shirt. I looked back at my hamper to where I kept both my detergent and my bleach.

                                                My eyes lit up.

I grabbed the bleach by the handle and held it close to me.

                        Breathing in the chemicals.

I twisted the lid off and set it next to me on the ground.

I couldn’t help but smile.

I lifted the bottle to my mouth and teared up at the odor. I felt the liquid pass my lips.

                        Down my throat.

                                                Into my stomach.

                                                                        Pumping through my blood stream.

I liked it.

I kept drinking.

                        Every thought,

                                                Every feeling,

                                                                        Every trace of him was disappearing

With each gulp.

I finished half the bottle by the time I felt satisfied.

Eyes watering,

Chest tight,

Stomach lurching.

I had never felt better.

Aware of and exhaustion that overcame me, I crawled across the floor and pulled myself into my bed.

                        After everything,

I was finally clean.

How To Become A Slut

How to Become a Slut

            When you’re thirteen you’ll look up porn because you over heard boys at school talking about fingering girls. They’ll laugh at you when you ask “why do your girlfriends like when you them the finger”. You’ll realize the way he grabs her hair while she moans gives you a tingle you’ve never felt before. Do ‘further research’. After a while you’ll feel like you peed a little or your dad bumped the heat on and maybe you’re just sweating. You close the tabs and go back to your room to put on sushi pjs your grandma bought you last Christmas. When you take off your underwear you’ll notice they’re wet and where you felt that sweat is now aching. Pain is never a good thing so you worry. Confused about how this is happening you reach down to feel what you can only describe as a wet grapefruit. Rubbing around you’ll try to find a cut, feel a bump from a bruise, just anything that would explain what you’re feeling. All of a sudden, you start to feel a tingling that causes your knees to go weak. You’ll lay on the bed and touch where you remember the man in the video going. You feel like you’re going to pee until suddenly tremors rip through your entire body, leaving you both exhausted and exhilarated. The grapefruit that is part of you is bursting. The shaking slowly subsides and you’ll give into the heaviness of your eye lids.

The next day you avoid those boys. Fearing that they’ll take one look at you and know what you did last night. Fearing that they’ll take one look at you and know how much you liked it.

In the upcoming weeks your parents will comment about how the computer has a virus. Just in passing and your blood will run cold. Most nights before bed you had been logging on just to feel those tremors again. A couple days later your mom will be driving with you and your sister in the back and turn down the music. “Someone has been looking at your father’s personal stuff.” You honestly have no idea what she’s talking about and exchange a confused glance in the back seat. “His underwear?” it’s the only private thing of your dads that you can think of. “No.” She’ll say sternly. “Someone’s been looking at porn.” How could you have known that your dad owned porn? “Until someone confesses, you’re both grounded.” You’ll be confused. How could it be bad when you were always left feeling so good? This is when you’ll first wonder if something is wrong with you. So you stop.

When you’re fourteen you’ll meet him. He’s not ‘the one’, just the ‘for now’, but you don’t know that yet. He stirs up your insides and makes you feel that aching you’ve been trying for hard to block out and forget. You stay above the belt until the day his mom says she’s running to the store for just a minute. As the door closes his hand is going in your pants and you’re already shaking with the anticipation.

He has no idea what he’s doing and doesn’t really care because he’s already pushing on your head to pull down his basketball shorts that have turned into a tent. As you pull down the shorts his dick hits you in the face and he moans. Boys are fucking weird. Remembering all the videos of ‘research’ you put it all in your mouth and bob your head. He grabs your hair and helps you out while you reach one hand down and help yourself. A minute later when you feel you’re about to reach a tremor of pleasure he pulls out of your mouth and covers your face, burning your eyes, all the while moaning ‘oh fuck ohhh fuuuck’. Magical.

Three weeks later his mom needs another carton of Marlboro. She slams the door behind her. Again his hand is lost in your pants as he searches for your anything. You guide him, but when does he get there he only stays for a second before pushing you down again to his dick. You take it in your mouth like a champ and reach your hand down while he grabs your hair. This time he doesn’t pull out. You just start to tremor when you hear him moan ‘oh fuck’ and suddenly your mouth is full of hot salt, but you gag it down because he’s stroking your cheek saying ‘good job baby’. He promises he loves you. He wants to make your relationship official. He wants to talk about this. You have no objections, but know someone who will.

That night at dinner you’ll tell mom that you want to go to the doctor. “Why?” Can you tell her? Does dad own sex too? You tell her you have a cough and just want to go and get it checked out. She’ll say “I’ll think about it.” then get you an appointment for next week.

            When you do see the doctor you’ll put on the routine of a cough, even sniffle through the appointment to really sell it. Once you reach the end of the checkup the doctor asks “is there anything you want to speak to me about in private?” Mom looks at you as you tell the doctor yes. Mom will laugh, but then you just look at her and say “I’m serious”. Mom will leave the room, confused and probably a little angry. As the door clicks you look up at the doctor and tell her the truth for the first time in the appointment. “I want to be on birth control”, the words coming out as clear as you had practiced in the mirror. The doctor will ask if your cough was real and you’ll tell her no. With a swish of her pen and a rip off her pad of paper, you’ll be on your way.

            When you get home Mom will sit you down, telling you she’s not stupid. “You should wait until you’re at least fifteen so your hips would be ready to give birth.” This won’t make sense to you, considering the birth control should prevent birth no matter the size of your hips. “If you have any questions you can ask me.” However, the first question you ask she’ll refuse to answer. She ends the conversation with “You really shouldn’t do this. No one is going to buy the cow if they can get the milk for free.” You’ll think about that saying for years to come.

            You hold him off until July. It’s not hard because you don’t really have the time alone that you had anticipated at his house. Neither of you can wait anymore though. You’re barley fifteen and that’s all the permission you need. He’s staying with you and your family for the holiday. He’s sleeping down on the pull out couch, which is an irony that you won’t get until a couple months later. It’s four in the morning and you sneak down the stairs to lay next to him. You can feel the sleep in your eyes and taste his morning breath, but you love him. Nothing matters in that moment more than the pair of eager genitals you both have. He got the condom from his dad who told him “Be smart about it”. Later you’ll wonder why he didn’t hear about the cow, but right now your hand is rubbing his dick and he’s opening the condom that makes the whole room smell like rubber. You have to help him put it on in the dark. Then he’s on top of you and it happens.

            You feel like you’ve been stabbed, it really fucking hurts. He’s immediately throwing his head back with pleasure, while it’s all you can do not to ask him to take it out. It hurts more as he pushes deeper inside of you. You let out a little whine, to which he responds “me too baby”. It’s hurting him too? How do people like doing this if it hurts this much? You don’t understand. He eventually rolls off you saying “that was great.” You lay there. You don’t know how to feel. Do you feel closer to him? You want to so you tell yourself you do. All the movies show girls cuddling up afterwards so that’s what you do.

            After a couple minutes you get up and go pee to feel like a dagger is between your legs yet again and see blood on the toilet paper before you flush. Grabbing a glass of water you invite him outside to watch the sunrise with you. It’s beautiful, just the same as yesterday, but you are different. He wants to do it again. Right now? This time he wants you on top. With the sun just peaking over the trees you pull off your panties and slide yourself onto his still hard dick. It still hurts, but not as bad this time. This time it’s almost a good hurt. You don’t cum, but you don’t hate it this time around.

            As you get more and more opportunities to have sex you realize how it is as great as they say. Yes it still hurts, but if he’s gentle at the start and you push through it everything is okay. You’re asking for it more than he can keep up with. Nothing has been this good before. Your fingers suddenly aren’t what you crave to satisfy that ach. For a minute, everything seems good, and you don’t feel like there’s anything wrong with you.

Five months pass and you’re crying in your bed while the moon watches. How could he utter the words “I hate you” when you had given him everything you had to give. The only word you can think is Cow.

His friend was always kind of a perv when you dated, but now you don’t fight it. One of his comments about wanting to help you get over him stick with you. One day after school you get in his passenger seat to go to his house. When you get there you meet an excited border collie and about 35 different versions of him growing up on the walls. He takes you by the hand to lead you down to the basement. A card table is in the middle of the room and there’s a futon in the corner that catches your eye. He takes notice, leading you there where you both sit a little too close. He’s waiting for you to talk, but honestly you’re just tired. You’re tired of talking because it only brings out tears and make you feel worse. So you do the only thing you know to make a guy not talk.

His lips move different than you’re used to and his hands are almost too cold against your cheek as the travel to your breasts. The ach in your heart is all of a sudden in between your thighs, so strong you gasp. He climbs on top of you while pulling at the button of your pants. You help him out and slide them all the way off while he takes care of his own. The condom comes out the pocket of his as the crumple on the floor.

            He doesn’t hurt you. Taking it slow and kissing your neck makes you want him more. Suddenly he’s thrusting so hard you feel that you’ll tumble right onto the floor if he keeps going. You’re enjoying it so much that you actually feel a little ripple throughout your body and grab his shoulders for stability.

            When he’s done he rolls onto his back and just breathes. You look at him in the basement lighting and he says “Well that was unexpected.” You think about how the condom was already in his pocket when he took his pants off. “Really?” You’ll be a coy as possible about responding. “Ya.” He stares straight at the ceiling “I didn’t know you were that easy.” All you can think about is cows. 

Lucky Penny

            It was a warm sunny day when I fell tails up onto the rough hot cement. It happens to every penny in their life time so I knew I shouldn’t be too upset, but Harold’s pocket was my home. At first I held out hope that he would turn around and find me. “There you are Lincoln”, he would say. He would then pick me up and we would go on our merry way. No such luck. I laid there for six days.

            The first day was the loneliest. The second day was essentially the same, but with people stepping on me. The third day a piece of chewed gum landed next to me and his name was Joe. The fourth day it just rained and Joe turned into more of a puddle. On the morning of the fifth day someone flipped me over. With my head up I could better see Joe and where I had landed. We were in front of a diner named Nick’s Family Diner, which was squeezed between a real-estate agency and Starbucks. That afternoon I watched Joe stick to the shoe of a lanky boy wearing glasses and disappear. On the sixth day a gentleman nervously stood above me at the entrance of the diner. I could see his knees shaking. Then he looked down at me. “Find a penny pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck”, he whispered as he picked me up. His hands were very sweaty and just as shaky as his knees. He looked up into the diner and took a deep breath.

            As I slipped into his pocket I immediately bumped into something. I figured it was a wallet of sorts, but I didn’t hear the buzz and chatter that usually came with it. It’s impossible to find a quiet wallet when there so many things inside. It was a box. I tapped a little against it and found it to be pretty hallow. I found a crack in the side and slipped halfway in.

“Hello?” a frightened and soft voice whispered from inside. I didn’t respond.

“Who’s there?” the same soft voice. I took a deep breath.

“I’m – um – I’m Lincoln.” I managed to stammer out.

Silence.

“I’m Tiffany.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Just today. I usually hide in his underwear drawer.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Are you actually good luck?”

“What?”

“I heard pennies are good luck. I’ve never actually met one though so I’ve never had the chance to ask.” Who hadn’t met a penny before, I wondered

“I’d like to think I am. We’ll just have to see though. Are you, erm, lucky?” a soft giggle rose out of her.

“I don’t know, but David sure seems to think so. He goes on and on about how much Emma will love me.”

“Are you a present then?”

“In a way I suppose so.” At that moment David sat down. Tiffany and I were suddenly thrown at each other and became very still.

“Sorry.” I said while backing away. I knew rings didn’t like to be touched by anything to low down.

“Oh no you’re okay.” She was clearly no ordinary ring. I looked at her real close. She was silver with a single diamond on the top. Very simple, but one of the most beautiful I’d seen.  She was looking at me as questioningly as I was looking at her.

“What are you thinking about?” I was curious if her mind was as beautiful as her appearance.

“Well,” she started, “a lot of things. When will David ask Emma? Will she really like me? What’s she like? Those kinds of things.” She worries a lot. “What are you thinking?”

“I was wondering how I got so lucky as to end up in a pocket with you.” At this moment I could have sworn I felt her band warm just the slightest bit.

“Right place at the right time I suppose.” She sounded as if she was smiling. How I wished to see that smile. David adjusted his leg causing another shift of us bonking into each other. This time I wasn’t so quick to move away. Tiffany didn’t seem to mind my proximity.

“How long do you think you’ll be here?” She seemed genuinely concerned that I might leave.

“I don’t know. Until I’m used or forgotten.”

“That’s terribly sad.” I heard a slight tremor in her voice as it grew softer.

“It’s just the life of a penny.”

“Well what if I refuse to forget you?” I felt butterflies and the corner of my mouth raise.

“That would be an honor considering your standing.”

“I don’t have much of one to be perfectly honest. I’m nothing gaudy or high priced. Just simple and just me.”

“Well you are beautiful and I consider you worth much more than a pretty, well, me.” A soft giggle emerges from her.

“You’re sweet. No one’s said that to me before.”

“Well you’re hanging with the wrong crowd then. Just stick with me. I’ll tell you everything you deserve to hear.” I hadn’t noticed, but we had moved closer. So close I could feel her smile against me.

“Lincoln. . .” she was whispering now.

“yes?”

“I hope you stay here for a while.”

“Me too.”

A sudden jerk from David tossed me to the other side of the pocket. A familiar sweaty hand came in and grabbed Tiffany inside her box. I reached and clung to the velvety side only to fall heads up on the floor of the diner in the process.

“Tiffany!” I shouted, but she couldn’t hear me. David began to speak.

“Emma, would you do me the honor in becoming my wife?” He looked so happy and they were both crying as she said yes. David then took Tiffany and slipped her on to Emma’s finger. I saw Tiffany’s mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear her or lip read what she was saying. Her eyes frantically searched the ground and finally laid upon me. David and Emma then started to walk to the exit of the diner.

            “No!” I tried to shout and get their attention, but there was nothing I could do. They were gone. I’m distraught. She wanted me to stay.

            “Oh look! A penny!” Suddenly I’m in the air and in a pocket. I can’t tell what kind of pocket I’m in. I can see a face and feel a heartbeat. I guess a shirt pocket. I can’t stop thinking about Tiffany. How can my life only be me leaving those I grow attached to? I want to scream at this man to take me to find David. I want to cry so that I might feel better. However, I can’t do either of those things. I’m too tiny, too insignificant. All I want to do is close my eyes and sleep.

            I wake up, what feels like minutes later, to the sound of bells ringing and a machine whirring. I look out through the pocket and see a conveyor belt with metals. Out of curiosity I inch closer and closer to the edge of the pocket, until I get a good view. The metals seem to go down this belt and then fall into an abyss at the end. What’s really at the end though? I try to inch just a bit more and then find myself smack in the middle of all the metals I was once looking down on.

            “What’s going on?’

            “Where are we going?”

            “How did I get here?”

            “What’s happening?” There was a thick fog of confusion over everyone, but underneath it all I could feel nothing but fear. What was going to happen? As we all got closer to the end we heard screaming and felt a lot of heat. I knew that there must be some sort of melting pot at the end. This was it. I would never again find Tiffany. I pictured her smile and the way her diamond shown in the dim light of the pocket. She said she wouldn’t forget me. I won’t forget her either. So with her name as the last thing on my lips and my mind, I fell. . .

            Many months must have had passed before I became conscious. People had winter coats and scarfs with them. I felt warm though. There was a bright light shining down on me. I heard murmuring all around me.

            “Where am I?” no answer to me as I’m being lifted from the box of light and into a small dark box.

            “There you two are. Have a good one.” So I’ve been bought?

            “See Em? That was easy. No big deal.”

            “I didn’t say it would be hard David. I just thought that we should have bought your ring more than three days before the wedding.”

            “It’s fine. It’s done now.” Those sounded like familiar names. I just couldn’t quite place where.

            For the next three days I sat in the dark box. There was no one to talk to and nothing to see. Finally on the fourth day I saw light. I was picked up by a familiar male face and then immediately handed to a tiny snot covered hand. From there I was tied to a pillow and carried around a house while listening to this child sneeze and cry for his mother. Not the best company, but better than that dark box. Finally someone grabbed the kid and pulled him into a line where everyone was quite. All you could hear was a piano. Doors opened to a large room where people were seated and watched the boy and I move down the aisle. Then everyone looked back. I saw a women in a beautiful white dress walking slowly towards us. Then it hit me.

            “Tiffany!” David had Tiffany in his pocket and he gave her to Emma. That’s Emma. “Tiffany!” Oh god what if she did forget about me? What if she doesn’t even recognize me? She’s coming. She has to remember.

            Upon reaching the end of the aisle I could really see Tiffany, but she wasn’t looking at me. I tried to wiggle but the string holding me down was too strong. “Tiffany!” Emma then started to reach for me. This was my chance. Her hand was right there and with Tiffany on it.

            “Tiffany!”

            “How do you know my name?”

            “Tiffany I tried to stay! I fell! I need you to remem-“

            “Lincoln. . .” she said it quietly, almost as a question.

“Yes.” Oh my god she remembered.

“Lincoln!”

“Tiffany.” We just smiled at each other. Not knowing what else to say as Emma slipped me onto David’s finger.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife” the preacher announced as many people applauded. When David and Emma clasped hands to walk back down the aisle I looked at Tiffany.

“I hope I stay here for a while.” I said.

“Me too.” She replied.

What A Gem

It’s just past 2 in the morning and the only light to be seen is the end of my cigarette.

            “You know those things will kill you.” Patrick said between swigs of Natty Light. After a long drag I responded

“Not soon enough.” The smoke coming out, curling throughout the space between us. A sickly sweet smell that Patrick had told me before was enticing to him. I reached my hand in his direction with the butt clamped between my pointer and middle finger. He leaned forward, taking his own drag that left him with a mild coughing fit, solved only by another gulp of Natty. I held back a laugh, but still felt the smile pull up the corners of my mouth.

“Shut up Liz.” He had finished coughing and opened another beer. I took another drag and leaned back while I blew it out. Leaving a sort of trail as I lay back down on the warped wooden deck. Patrick stared out into the yard, listening to the crickets.

“What are you thinking about?” I’d found a nail that was slightly up out of the wood. Not up enough to hurt you, just to snag your shirt.

“I don’t know.” He usually didn’t, but that never stopped me from asking. I didn’t want to miss the one day he would give me something thoughtful or outrageous. Peeking over his shoulder he met my curious eyes “What are you thinking?”

            “I’m sad that I can’t see the stars. Didn’t the clouds know we had a tradition to uphold?” All day had been clear and blue, perfect for back to school star spotting. My mom had always let Patrick run across the street to sit on our porch point with me. She had always liked him, or at least the idea of the guy next door that’s been tirelessly conveyed through all her hallmark movies. To me, Patrick was just Patrick.

            “Ya it’s a shame. I like stars too. They must not have gotten your memo.” Patrick was propped on his elbows now, head tilted up in hopes that his eyes would shine with something.

            “Do you think the stars are ever wanting to look at us?”

            “Stars are literally balls of gas. So no.” Patrick rolled his eyes, causing me to put my cigarette down in the ash tray, reach over, and knock him off his elbows. He laughed, rolling his body over onto mine, in hopes he would make it difficult for me to breathe. His back was on top of me and his neck near my mouth. “Jeez Lizard. Your deck is so lumpy. How do you even walk on it?” He squirmed a little on top of me, trying to prove his point.

            “Get… Off…” was all I could gasp out between giggles. He continued to wiggle on top of me, until knocking himself off with one good hip thrust. I quickly took action by grabbing his wrist and rolling on top of him so we were face to face. I grabbed his other wrist, pinning him to the wood and leaving him vulnerable.

            The energy was different with me on top. I felt a butterfly in my stomach and felt a bead of sweat start in the small of my back, even though it was only fifty-eight degrees tonight. Patrick’s mouth was in his familiar smirk, but his eyes didn’t match.

“Sorry.” I said as I swung my leg back over his hips and brought it up in front of me.

“I didn’t say Uncle.” He seemed almost hurt that I had moved. “You were fine.” He placed one hand on top of mine and with his other lifted my chin so my eyes would meet his. Those green pools before me matched the grass in my backyard. Reminding me of all the times I had flung myself into it to feel millions of blades tickle my sun kissed skin.

“What are you thinking?” His response was just to lean forward and plant his lips against mine. It was only for a second and right when my eyes closed he was gone. I blinked to focus in on his own eyes in the dark. They were scared. I tried to listen for his breathing, but was too distracted by the thump-thump that had jumped into my throat.

“What are you thinking?” his voice just barely louder than the crickets. I was thinking about everything. Patrick is my best friend. I was thinking about when we were five he pushed me too hard on the swing in his backyard and I fell off, gaining a scar on my knee that I can still trace. I was thinking about when we were ten building blanket forts in my bedroom only to fall asleep in the living room watching movies. I was thinking about when we were fifteen sitting on our stomachs with pens in our hands, a map in front of us, and nothing, but wonder in our eyes because next year we could take a road trip with our new freedom. I was thinking about how now, at twenty-two, everything and nothing had changed. Wouldn’t my mom be pleased? Patrick was still staring at me.

“Are you drunk?” He turned his head so I couldn’t see his face.

“No. I’m just barely buzzed if anything. I’m sorry, I just thought,” he trailed off, moving his hand from my chin and picking up his half empty natty. “I was wrong. No worries dude.” He lifted the can to his lips for several seconds and then crushed it. I wanted him to be happy, I always did. Even more than I wanted it for myself. Maybe if I just gave him a chance, I don’t know. He tossed the crushed can into the yard.

“Pat?” He looked at me with eyes that were foggy, either from a start of tears or maybe his mind had already left this porch. I reached a hand behind his neck, bring him closer to me.

He tasted of beer and the burgers that we’d bought from McDonalds for dinner. His lips seemed to say thank you. I focused on my breathing. Patrick put a hand around to the small of my back as he pushed against my lips enough to lay me down. In and out, in and out. Hands traveled from my back to my own face and neck, then made their decent. I could feel my heart quickening. Down my side and under my shirt I felt his unseasonably cold fingers make their way to the clip of my bra. I could feel my breath hitch in my throat. Patrick, who I had known forever, wasn’t looking like Patrick, wasn’t smelling like Patrick, wasn’t acting like Patrick. While one of his hands cupped my breast the other brought my hand to the zipper on his jeans.

I shot up off my back.

“Are you okay?” Patrick was still touching me. Brushing the hair off the nape of my neck to plant a kiss. I don’t know how he didn’t notice every hair there on its end.

“Why don’t I meet you inside in a minute? You can go up to my room.” He forced himself to hold back a smile. Kissing me sloppy on the cheek he bounded up from his back to the front door to feel his way in the dark through the house he knew too well.

I was shaking, hyperventilating, there was a weight on my chest that I couldn’t remove. I could see the black closing in around my eyes. I reached for a cigarette that took me several tries to light, as opposed to my one strike wonder. I took the biggest breath I could, but this didn’t help. I was being crushed, I couldn’t breathe, fuck fuck fuck. I just needed to count to five. Like I had practiced in therapy, but had only used twice during an actual panic attack.

One. One thing you can taste. The tobacco was prominent and I tried to take another drag to ground that taste. It wasn’t bringing me back. I was still shaking. I was feeling the hot tears spring and run down my cheeks.

Two. Two things you can smell. Again I can back to the cigarette with the smoke dancing up from the end that was slowly diminishing with none of my help. I could smell the backwash beer still sitting in Patrick’s empty cans next to me. Beer was all I could smell in His house. Beer in the air, on his breath, in my mouth…

Three. Three things you can hear. Crickets. There was only their singing, but it sounded more like a dead silence. Like there was nothing around or “no one around to hear you scream…”

Four. Four things you can feel. I feel my hair knotted around me and the tears making it stick to my face. I feel the soreness in my arms from pushing and the bruises from fingers. I feel the ghost of His hand on my mouth while His other pulled down at my jeans. I feel pain, pain so intense and prominent that it rips me away from His clutches. Back to the porch at 2 in the morning looking into the black of the yard.

Five. Five things you can see. I see that my own hand has twisted against me. I see that my still burning cigarette is melting the flesh on my left forearm. I see the white knuckles of my hand staying tense, despite the pain radiating up my arm. I see the pink, red, and ash that is left behind when my fingers do loosen enough to let the butt fall down by my toes. I see the somehow still burning butt flicker twice then die.

The smell of burning flesh was stronger than the actual smell of the cigarette. I never thought I’d know what that smell would be like. The pain was still there but I could already feel the weight on my chest creeping in and the smell of beer bringing to overpower me. I quickly lit another cigarette. Breathing in deep to start it off. His voice was back in my ear “tell me, is it big?” I held my breath, taking the end of this cigarette and plunging it into my forearm, about an inch from the other mark. Two burns like eyes bleeding and screaming at what they’ve seen.

I flicked the butt away to sit at my foot with the other when I felt my breathing normalize and my chest free of anything on it. Patrick was upstairs. I hope he’s asleep, but I know better. I stand up. Taking a deep breath I stare out into the darkness before turning my back to enter through the front door.

*

            The light peaking in through my curtains highlights the balled up socks on my floor and the boxers still inside of Patrick’s jeans. I felt the heat of his breath on my neck while his right arm pulled me closer in his sleep. I had watched the sun rise from where my head rested on my left arm, as a replacement pillow. I was staring at eyes I had burned into myself the night before. The ash covered blood spots that would bear witness to the horrors I was committing because of others. The painful reminders that I was always going to be damaged inside and out. They were now glittering in the sun like blue eyes filled with tears ready to spill over.

            Patrick rolled over with a groan when the sun reached his eyes. I slowly got off my twin sized mattress, grabbing panties and a large t-shirt, I padded to the bathroom as quietly as humanly possible despite the ever creaking floor. The bathroom light hummed in the background as I closely inspected my new, well, I don’t know. In the dingy light I could make out the brilliant blue, entranced by the beauty of it I rubbed my fingers over the bump of growth. A jewel? A gem? I don’t know what to call it. There was a soft tapping at the door that made me jump. When I creaked the door open I was greeted with Patrick’s face.

            “Can I come in?” He had wicked bed head and sleep still in his eyes.

            “Uh. Ya.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him in quickly. “can you look at something for me?” I could tell it was too early for him to register my question by the look on his face, but he nodded. I lifted my arm to him. The blue was bright and made me feel like two eyes were staring.

            “Jesus! What the fuck did you do?” My arm was in his clutches as he dragged me to the sink. He ran the water warm and dipped my arm under for him to scrub. “Fuck. What the hell Liz?”

            “It’s weird right? Like. What are these things?”

            “They’re burns. What are you talking about? How did this happen? Did you-“ Patrick was stammering.

            “They’re blue! Blue what I don’t know, but – “

            “What are you talking about? Blue what? There’s ash and blood all over your fucking arm!”

            “No, Pat–“

            “How did this - Did you do this to yourself? Don’t fucking lie to me.” Patrick was steaming. I had only seen him this way once before.

            “Patrick why are they blue?”

            “What? Liz what the hell are you talking about? Can you just tell me what happened?”

            “Look!” I held up my arm as evidence, causing the blue to sparkle and throw light onto the walls.

            “Ya Liz! What the happened?”

            “I don’t know! I burned myself last night and-“

            “Why would you do that?” Patrick’s hands were raking through his hair as he paced the small bathroom. I could see tears starting in his eyes, which scared me more than anything. The only time I had seen him cry was at age ten. He fell out of a tree in his backyard and broke his arm. When his dad came out to see what the yelling was about he’d grabbed Patrick’s broken arm and said “boys don’t cry” with a completely straight face. I’d ran across the street and through the front door of my home so fast my mom thought I was on fire.

            “I didn’t mean to! Not the first time anyway, I just. I couldn’t breathe Patrick. I-”

            “What are you-“

            “Are you going to let me talk?” He studied me, then seemed to deflate to sitting on the edge of the tub. I took a deep breath. “I hadn’t planned on hurting myself. It just happened. We were kissing and then it was like an elephant was on my chest. I sent you upstairs. I just tried to get it under control, but I was somewhere else and, I don’t know. The next thing I saw was that my cigarette was digging into my arm. I didn’t consciously do it.”

            “That’s the first one.” Patrick’s voice came out as a whisper through his hands, balled up against his lips in a weird almost praying position.

            “Yes.” I looked at Patrick, but he was staring straight ahead, trying to memorize the seashell pattern on the wallpaper. “The second time I felt myself slipping again. I didn’t know how to bring myself back and stay. So I just.” I leaned against the door with my arms crossed to hide my shame. “I needed to know what was real in that moment and the pain helped.” The tension in the bathroom made the room seem so much smaller. I worried Patrick would hear how loud my heart was beating. Finally, he looked up at me. His eyes seemed to be darker.

            “Why didn’t you tell me what was happening?” I couldn’t hide my confusion to this question and made a face that prompted Patrick to go on. “Eliza. You are my best friend. You have been since I could remember. Last night. I needed you to know how I felt, but I didn’t have the words. I didn’t know that my kissing you would have caused this. I wouldn’t have done it if I knew these spells were still happening. Clearly they’re getting worse too!” Patrick pointed at my arm, even though he couldn’t see the burns through how i'd crossed them.

            “Patrick, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I was overwhelmed. I didn’t expect that to happen. I just wanted to make you happy. You know I always do.” Patrick was on his feet and in front of me in two quick steps.

            “How would having sex make me happy if you were panicking about that piece of shit the whole time?”

            “It was fine Pat.” I glanced down at my feet, avoiding his gaze.

            “Liz stop.”

“Well what do you want me to say Patrick?” I was getting uncomfortable talking about this.

            “The truth! I just want you to be honest with me!” Patrick was tired of dancing around this topic and I couldn’t take it anymore.

            “The truth about what? You know everything thing! Patrick I don’t want this to rule my life anymore. I can’t let it. I’m trying so hard to get back to some sort of normal. I hadn’t had sex or even fucking kissed someone since him and it’s been a little over a year. I’m going to have to hurt myself and power through these things to be okay.” I was breathing heavy now. I hadn’t said any of this out loud before. I had just thought about it. How would I normalize sex again? “I just want to get back to normal and I know that’s going to be hard. I just have to do it.” I was running out of steam and just rambling. Patrick was avoiding my eyes and had backed up to rest against the sink now.

            “I just don’t want to hurt you like that Liz. I really-“ He cut himself off. I could see the tears on his cheeks. I moved forward to brush them off with my thumbs so his face would be between my hands

            “Hey. It’s okay. I know.” We stood like that for a while. Just breathing and staring at each other. It was almost nice.

“What’s all this conversation about?” My mom had pushed open the bathroom door and was staring in at us. Patrick shuffled in front of me.

“I stayed over last night. I was just looking for the mouth wash. It was a uh- bit more drinking than I had planned.

“You couldn’t walk across the street?” My mom was skeptical.

“I wouldn’t let him. I was worried he’d puke in his sleep or something.” Mom didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t press the matter any farther. She bent down to pick up a towel that Patrick had knocked to the floor and I noticed her wrists. They sparkled like diamonds. Shining rainbows all through the room. How had I never seen that before? Mom put the towel back on the rack.

 “Well come down stairs and eat some breakfast.” Patrick and I stared at each other as we listened to her footsteps go down the stairs.

            “What are you thinking about?” He asked me.

            “Diamonds.”