Our Pasts Will Be Our Secrets
Blaine
April 19, 2005; 9:42 p.m.
She was dancing again. The song, however, wasn't anything from this decade...this century, even. Not really. Somehow my friends managed to drag me to a disco of all places, and I was glad -- at least for a while -- that they had, because that's where I met her. The beginning and the end of my happiness. First the peanut to my butter, next the near end of my life. Dramatic? Yeah, maybe, but that's how it is.
It took me a few songs and many more shots -- underage drinking much? -- but I finally got the confidence to talk to her. Well, if you could call it that...
"Hey there, stranger," she spoke loudly over the thumping bass and hippie vocals. ABBA blasted throughout the club and everyone -- except me -- was out on the dance floor showing off their moves. "I haven't seen you around here before." A dangerous glint shown in her eyes, and I only wish I'd looked deeper into those emerald beauties and realized the dark intent she had behind the lust but hey, what can you do when you're a horny sixteen-year-old boy that hadn't gotten laid in a while?
November 18, 2008; 6:03 a.m.
She was puking again, straight into the porcelain seat. A sweat had broken out on her forehead, and though I wasn't supposed to be in here, here I was holding back her hair in the girl's bathroom as she puked her brains out; the things we guys do for our idea of "love". I didn't even know why she was here; she knew I wouldn't do anything with any other girl, so she must obviously know that I wouldn't cheat on her and she was pregnant with my child...had been for two months now, yet here she was in a jam-packed room filled to the brim with secondhand smoke, the stench of sweat and vomit everywhere, and too much heat. Not good for a pregnant woman, and certainly not good for the baby. One last heave and she was up on her feet steady enough to clean her teeth and get back out on the dancefloor. Guess I should've known she wouldn't miss an Elvis song for anything.
June 4, 2009 1:54 a.m.
They told me, but I wouldn't listen; all the words I thought had been nonsense of the child not even being mine turned out to be true. She went into labor about ten -- yes, ten -- hours ago with the child I had once thought was mine. It seemed to me she truly thought the same thing before the kid came out a caramel color instead of the usual fair skin that came with caucasian babies. The nurses stood around awkwardly, the doctor had cut the umbilical cord, looking all smiles. I was shocked, to say the least, and so was she. My hand slipped from her grasp, I could feel my face get pale, and without a word I walked out of the room.
I went so far as the entrance to the hospital and stepped out, already dialing his number. "Can you come get me?"
Present Day
"You have fifteen new messages. Message one: Blaine, dude, you gotta come out of that house sometime. Seriously, it's been too long. Call me." The rest of the messages went on with some variation of the first with both male and female friends calling. I was surprised; it's been six months and they haven't given up on me yet. Just as I took a sip from the bottle of Cuervo, a knock on the door sounded loudly and resonated through the empty house momentarily. When there wasn't another knock, I figured it was just the mail man dropping off a package. With a sigh, I got up and opened the door to see a small package sitting on my door step. Curiosity piqued and I picked it up, turning around and shutting the door behind me as I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a DVD. This thing obviously wasn't going to play itself so I popped it in my Blu-Ray and hit Play.
A man appeared on the screen, all dressed up nice and organized in a suit pressed to perfection. My eyebrow rose and I leaned back, curious as to what this was. If it were some sort of porno, I'd-- "Hello. I'm Fredrick Mason. You, Blaine Maddox, have been selected to come to a newly discovered island and stay at our hotel for one week by yourself. We really would be honored to serve you and cater to your needs. On this disc you will find a printable brochure and information to contact us if you would like to come. Thank you."
I didn't have to think twice about it, he relayed the number which I then punched in my phone and hit the call button. "Hi, I'm calling about this one week vacation I just received in the mail..."
She was dancing again. The song, however, wasn't anything from this decade...this century, even. Not really. Somehow my friends managed to drag me to a disco of all places, and I was glad -- at least for a while -- that they had, because that's where I met her. The beginning and the end of my happiness. First the peanut to my butter, next the near end of my life. Dramatic? Yeah, maybe, but that's how it is.
It took me a few songs and many more shots -- underage drinking much? -- but I finally got the confidence to talk to her. Well, if you could call it that...
"Hey there, stranger," she spoke loudly over the thumping bass and hippie vocals. ABBA blasted throughout the club and everyone -- except me -- was out on the dance floor showing off their moves. "I haven't seen you around here before." A dangerous glint shown in her eyes, and I only wish I'd looked deeper into those emerald beauties and realized the dark intent she had behind the lust but hey, what can you do when you're a horny sixteen-year-old boy that hadn't gotten laid in a while?
November 18, 2008; 6:03 a.m.
She was puking again, straight into the porcelain seat. A sweat had broken out on her forehead, and though I wasn't supposed to be in here, here I was holding back her hair in the girl's bathroom as she puked her brains out; the things we guys do for our idea of "love". I didn't even know why she was here; she knew I wouldn't do anything with any other girl, so she must obviously know that I wouldn't cheat on her and she was pregnant with my child...had been for two months now, yet here she was in a jam-packed room filled to the brim with secondhand smoke, the stench of sweat and vomit everywhere, and too much heat. Not good for a pregnant woman, and certainly not good for the baby. One last heave and she was up on her feet steady enough to clean her teeth and get back out on the dancefloor. Guess I should've known she wouldn't miss an Elvis song for anything.
June 4, 2009 1:54 a.m.
They told me, but I wouldn't listen; all the words I thought had been nonsense of the child not even being mine turned out to be true. She went into labor about ten -- yes, ten -- hours ago with the child I had once thought was mine. It seemed to me she truly thought the same thing before the kid came out a caramel color instead of the usual fair skin that came with caucasian babies. The nurses stood around awkwardly, the doctor had cut the umbilical cord, looking all smiles. I was shocked, to say the least, and so was she. My hand slipped from her grasp, I could feel my face get pale, and without a word I walked out of the room.
I went so far as the entrance to the hospital and stepped out, already dialing his number. "Can you come get me?"
Present Day
"You have fifteen new messages. Message one: Blaine, dude, you gotta come out of that house sometime. Seriously, it's been too long. Call me." The rest of the messages went on with some variation of the first with both male and female friends calling. I was surprised; it's been six months and they haven't given up on me yet. Just as I took a sip from the bottle of Cuervo, a knock on the door sounded loudly and resonated through the empty house momentarily. When there wasn't another knock, I figured it was just the mail man dropping off a package. With a sigh, I got up and opened the door to see a small package sitting on my door step. Curiosity piqued and I picked it up, turning around and shutting the door behind me as I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a DVD. This thing obviously wasn't going to play itself so I popped it in my Blu-Ray and hit Play.
A man appeared on the screen, all dressed up nice and organized in a suit pressed to perfection. My eyebrow rose and I leaned back, curious as to what this was. If it were some sort of porno, I'd-- "Hello. I'm Fredrick Mason. You, Blaine Maddox, have been selected to come to a newly discovered island and stay at our hotel for one week by yourself. We really would be honored to serve you and cater to your needs. On this disc you will find a printable brochure and information to contact us if you would like to come. Thank you."
I didn't have to think twice about it, he relayed the number which I then punched in my phone and hit the call button. "Hi, I'm calling about this one week vacation I just received in the mail..."
♠ ♠ ♠
Here's a little visual I've got for Blaine.
Hope my entrance didn't suck too much. :P
Comment? :)