In Need of Lithium
There Was *** Afoot
I stared lazily out of the window, watching the fiery sun paint the horizon a bright shade of orange. My eyes felt incredibly heavy after such a long and exhausting night. What had happened? Even I didn't know. As I turned on my bed, my foot felt his cold leg right next to me. I had finally scared him stiff.
Henry Moores was the lucky guy that lay next to me. Gazing at his face, I looked into his glassy blue eyes specked with bits of sunlight. How well I remembered our reunion last night. Oh, he remembered me. I was the little blond with the pigtails that he made fun of in elementary school. I was the awkward teenager that he threw spitballs at and nicknamed "Stonewall." But last night, I was the most beautiful person he'd ever laid eyes on. I'd remembered how dual his personality was with me. In everyone's eyes at school, he was the hunter and I was the hunted; many times was I used as verbal target practice for Henry and his cronies. Out of sight from anyone he knew, however, Henry never let me forget how important I was to him. We'd shared the adolescent type of love, puppy love as some might characterize it. As he went out with the popular girls and did what he did with me in private, I let my blood boil and simmer away as I plotted. Sweet comeuppance was all that would console me from suffering the wrath of his love bipolarity. Now that he was with me, I knew he was going to feel the same way I'd felt for years.
"Oh, Henry, why couldn't you make up your mind?" I purred to him. "It was either me or them, but you can't have both." My fingers traced his marble sharp features. Funny feeling, really, sharp. Sharp like the adjectives Henry used to describe me in front of his friends. Sharp is what I used to silence those mean words. "You know I loved you, right?" I asked his lifeless form. I knew I wasn't going to get an answer, so I kissed his ice cube lips instead.
Oh, how I loved Henry Moores. The face of Adonis with a touch of Narcissus in his soul. He must have understood that I meant him no real harm in seeking my revenge. for his neglect. I was just Echo, cast aside as Henry became consumed with his affairs. But unlike Echo, I was not going to let myself fade away into eternal silence. I wanted Henry to know how much I loved him. I wanted Henry to know how much I hated him for tossing me aside like last week's garbage. I suppose now he knew.
I met up randomly with Henry a month ago, five years after I bade him farewell at graduation. It wasn't the type of farewell I had expected of my boyfriend of six years. Instead of tossing his hat in the air, he tossed it at me, giving me a black eye. The same damn eye he tried to heal with kisses the day before I left to college. He greeted me with a gut wrenching hug and wanted to rekindle the torch that he'd carried for me all these years. It was amazing how true and sweet his recycled words still sounded in his tenor brogue. Aside from waxing poetic, Henry told me how drastically his life changed after our separation. He apparently married a girl in France, but in true Lothario style, he left her when his interest disappeared along with his money. We'd spent weeks together, getting to know each other again and we were lovers once more. As if nothing had happened. But there was no way that I would forgive. So I began to plot how I was going to end the cycle of bipolar love once and for all. Teach him a lesson.
"Amor vincit omina" was a phrase Henry picked up during senior year in Latin class. I found this ironic cause another of his chosen words was "corpus vile" for me. Henry told me this as we came to the apartment last night.
Henry proved to me that he still loved me...and then some. I was in a state of euphoria as Henry dominated me, over and over again. If there was one thing that I was not going to forget about Henry Moores, it was the feeling his smooth hands gave me as they caressed me all over. And the feeling of his lips as they grazed my skin.
I remembered the taunts, the schoolyard insults...I gathered reason in my head as I finally ended it all. Henry finally lay in a pool of his own suffering, pleading for mercy like I had when he pulled my pigtails.
"Hurts, don't it, Henry baby?" I said, turning back to him. I'd chosen to leave him a little message written in his bright, red blood on the bed sheet. As I got up to leave, I reveled in the sheer fact that I was the last thing that Henry saw as he reached the end of the tunnel. The sun was finally high up in the sky. I took one last glance at the love of my life. I finally helped him make up his mind. I read the message I jotted down to make sure he would take it with him as he reached the end.
Amantes sunt amentes. Lovers really are lunatics.
Henry Moores was the lucky guy that lay next to me. Gazing at his face, I looked into his glassy blue eyes specked with bits of sunlight. How well I remembered our reunion last night. Oh, he remembered me. I was the little blond with the pigtails that he made fun of in elementary school. I was the awkward teenager that he threw spitballs at and nicknamed "Stonewall." But last night, I was the most beautiful person he'd ever laid eyes on. I'd remembered how dual his personality was with me. In everyone's eyes at school, he was the hunter and I was the hunted; many times was I used as verbal target practice for Henry and his cronies. Out of sight from anyone he knew, however, Henry never let me forget how important I was to him. We'd shared the adolescent type of love, puppy love as some might characterize it. As he went out with the popular girls and did what he did with me in private, I let my blood boil and simmer away as I plotted. Sweet comeuppance was all that would console me from suffering the wrath of his love bipolarity. Now that he was with me, I knew he was going to feel the same way I'd felt for years.
"Oh, Henry, why couldn't you make up your mind?" I purred to him. "It was either me or them, but you can't have both." My fingers traced his marble sharp features. Funny feeling, really, sharp. Sharp like the adjectives Henry used to describe me in front of his friends. Sharp is what I used to silence those mean words. "You know I loved you, right?" I asked his lifeless form. I knew I wasn't going to get an answer, so I kissed his ice cube lips instead.
Oh, how I loved Henry Moores. The face of Adonis with a touch of Narcissus in his soul. He must have understood that I meant him no real harm in seeking my revenge. for his neglect. I was just Echo, cast aside as Henry became consumed with his affairs. But unlike Echo, I was not going to let myself fade away into eternal silence. I wanted Henry to know how much I loved him. I wanted Henry to know how much I hated him for tossing me aside like last week's garbage. I suppose now he knew.
I met up randomly with Henry a month ago, five years after I bade him farewell at graduation. It wasn't the type of farewell I had expected of my boyfriend of six years. Instead of tossing his hat in the air, he tossed it at me, giving me a black eye. The same damn eye he tried to heal with kisses the day before I left to college. He greeted me with a gut wrenching hug and wanted to rekindle the torch that he'd carried for me all these years. It was amazing how true and sweet his recycled words still sounded in his tenor brogue. Aside from waxing poetic, Henry told me how drastically his life changed after our separation. He apparently married a girl in France, but in true Lothario style, he left her when his interest disappeared along with his money. We'd spent weeks together, getting to know each other again and we were lovers once more. As if nothing had happened. But there was no way that I would forgive. So I began to plot how I was going to end the cycle of bipolar love once and for all. Teach him a lesson.
"Amor vincit omina" was a phrase Henry picked up during senior year in Latin class. I found this ironic cause another of his chosen words was "corpus vile" for me. Henry told me this as we came to the apartment last night.
Henry proved to me that he still loved me...and then some. I was in a state of euphoria as Henry dominated me, over and over again. If there was one thing that I was not going to forget about Henry Moores, it was the feeling his smooth hands gave me as they caressed me all over. And the feeling of his lips as they grazed my skin.
I remembered the taunts, the schoolyard insults...I gathered reason in my head as I finally ended it all. Henry finally lay in a pool of his own suffering, pleading for mercy like I had when he pulled my pigtails.
"Hurts, don't it, Henry baby?" I said, turning back to him. I'd chosen to leave him a little message written in his bright, red blood on the bed sheet. As I got up to leave, I reveled in the sheer fact that I was the last thing that Henry saw as he reached the end of the tunnel. The sun was finally high up in the sky. I took one last glance at the love of my life. I finally helped him make up his mind. I read the message I jotted down to make sure he would take it with him as he reached the end.
Amantes sunt amentes. Lovers really are lunatics.
♠ ♠ ♠
Judge for yourself.