Narcissistic Tendencies (Chapter 4)

‘I hate you with the heat of 1000 suns!’ Is the first thing I hear when I pick up my phone.
‘Actually its the firey passion of 1000 suns,’ I deadpanned
‘Oh my God! you’re such a dick!
‘Shouldn’t be hard to swallow then,’ I replied. Jeez, now I was impersonating a rapper?
She hung up and I felt relieved. Oh and a tiny bit of guilt. To be fair she knew of my view on relationships. Perhaps she thought she’d be the one to ‘change my ways’ Hah. I was changed infinitely a long time ago. A sudden wave of bitterness washed over me. Fuck Andrea and her fuckery. I would have liked to attribute my callous behaviour to her actions but my pride gave me a hernia every time I tried to do so.
However, just because I had a long time angsty romance crap going on with her did not mean I was dead below the waist. The joys of discovering what another woman can offer you sexually kinda makes it hard to remain celibate. Didn’t mean I was a total slut though…I had 6 months of nun-like behaviour to erase.
Which was why I decided to attend Amy Lee’s party. Yes I smoke a lot of pot like every other young adult. Your early twenties were for fucking up your body. If you survived that into your late twenties/early thirties, then you’d have to start pretending to give a shit about responsibility.

I could hear the heavy thump of the bass all the way down the street. By the time I reached Amy’s house, I felt like I was inside an aeroplane hangar because the house was literally vibrating from the loudness of the music. When Amy Lee threw a party, she made sure the whole god damn street knew about it. Neighbours had long given up on calling the police on her. The thing is, she came from old money, and old money’s influence went beyond society; it was the law. Which is why Amy’s parties were famous. No trouble and a veritable amount of drugs that could make a Colombian drug cartel pale in comparison.

The first thing I saw when I entered was Andrea doing a keg stand. She had removed her shirt so that it wouldn’t get in the way. I’m only human, of course my eyes zeroed in on the expanse of skin that had been revealed. Now if you think this is where I’m going to wax poetic about how incredible her body is, then you’re probably right. Five years on the basketball team had certainly given her upper body definition. I’m a boob girl, and hers were certainly clamouring for the attention of my eyes. A lush C cup pair barely contained in a red lacy number had me reaching for the nearest drink. Wait…why was she wearing a sexy bra? I shook off that thought and continued with my thorough perusal of her upper body.
My progresssion continued only to be stopped by a pair of dark, if not slightly amused eyes. Oops, busted.


Delilah Incarnate

I think she liked the fact that I paid her a lot of attention; that I was willing to tell her what she wanted to hear and do for her what she wanted to be done. Fuck if I knew whether her feelings for me were genuine. She probably got off the thought of how gullible I was. It started out small like all other disasters do. Little requests here and there; which upon fulfilling, I’d be lavished with praise that hinted at more than admiration and gratitude. Before I knew it the bitch had her claws buried so deep inside me that attempting to remove them would result in pain akin to excoriation. I could barely recognise the creature I was turning into…stalking her facebook wall, watching out for potential competition for her affections and catering to her every whim lest she fell into a bad mood. Obsession is a dangerous state of mind; infatuation even more so. I knew that I wasn’t in love with her but she had this disgusting control over me. It was like being a willing rape victim. If I were to use a song to describe her, it would either be Crazy Bitch by Buckcherry or Eat You Alive by Limp Bizkit. Yeah, she literally sucked out my soul like a modern day succubus. I just don’t see why she had to destroy my trust in humanity along the way too. Now I’m stuck here with this anger that shifts and roils inside me like a living thing. I can barely contain it inside, the pressure is making my ears ring and my head spin. My body finally gives up and spews my stomach contents. There on the floor lays a veritable amount of vomit. I’d almost say it is a bastardized version of her.

Shit happens. Literally.

I am in awe after witnessing one of the unstoppable forces of nature in action. As I was playing grownup today in a banking hall, (making that horrendously long line everyone makes for petty stuff) the man in front of me began to sweat. Thinking that the cause was the weather combined with the length of time he’d stood on the line, I sympathised with the dude. Shortly after, the nigga started shaking like he was being electrocuted. Seeing this I moved off to the side. And in time too, because he let a huge fart rip followed by the sound of someone taking a serious shit. Poor guy crapped his pants in public. Yeah, diarrhoea is a bitch that owns your ass. Literally.

Broken Succubus

It was no secret that I had more than a “thing” for her. She was all red lips and smouldering eyes; dark sensuality was an art she
mastered and she wielded it with the finesse of silk caressing your skin on a cool summer night. And God… that voice, smoky and raspy like she’d spent the whole day inhaling a pack of cigarettes; would seep under my skin, right into my fucking insides where it would twist up my intestines and freeze my brain. I was only a mere distraction for when her complicated love life was out of her control. And she sure liked complications. Simplicity was a dirty rumour in her world. Barely tolerated and never verified. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so bitter about the situation between us. I was never known for my verbal eloquence. I was inured to subtlety for so
long that the mere thought of direct honesty had me reaching for my inhaler. Like the coward I am, I convinced myself that friendship was all I could offer her. In reality, I was scared of how easily she’d be able to shatter me if I let her in. I wasn’t even with her and she already made me unravel. I was not ready to lose control. At least not yet. She lived and breathed drama. The original femme fatale. Dramatic storm outs and heated ultimatums were her forte in an emotional war. Projecting an aura of invincibility, she appeared indestructible. So you can imagine my surprise the first time she confessed a weakness to me. I had never seen her so defeated and subdued. It was as if all the energy she normally possessed simply vanished. Soon her appearing at my doorstep at odd hours became less surprising; it was expected even. So here she was again standing in front of me; dark mascara running down her cheeks, hair in disarray, swollen red eyes. Fucking hero complex. Always wanting to save the girl but no one to save me. Before I could ask her what was wrong, she choked out three words.
“I killed her.”
Shit. This was going to be a long night.