Status: hopefully
Julius
BABY, YOU'RE NO GOOD FOR ME
Come on. We barely knew each other.
I fucking liked him, alright? What happened? Julius is probably the nicest boy I’ve ever met.
He’s also the biggest jerk in this world.
So what?
At the beginning, I tried to stay away, but God, was he persistent. From my hotel room window, I would look down and see him pushing drugs on the corner of the street, and once, I caught his eye and he smiled, his eyes melting and my cheeks flushing as I shut the curtains as fast as physically possible.
Already, I’d fallen apart.
It was pathetic how he made me feel, and I couldn’t be like that. I couldn’t get attached to some unemployed druggie who slept on street benches. But still, he was electric, waving at me, his fucking eyes asking me to come over.
I met him by the streetlight, he was high and I was laying low, and I asked him what it was like.
The drugs, I mean.
Leaning closer to the point where I could smell the cherries on his breath (his favorite food, I’m fairly sure they’re all he ever ate), he’d tell me quietly, how awesome it was and how much I would like it.
We barely knew each other.
I wouldn’t give in, but he kept finding me around the city, smiling and waving like we were friends, and I pretended not to know him.
Most nights I couldn’t sleep, I met him by the streetlight, and he’d ask me the meaning of life and feed me his other bullshit, whispering nice things and pretty words in my ear, and we’d talk for hours and hours. I never even told him my name.
He started all his stories with Once upon a time… Every time he’d smiled or even just looked at me, I liked him more and more, like poison, but I couldn’t let him know the kind of effect he had on me. I’d never met anyone so captivating and special; no one had ever made me feel so empty and insignificant. Sometimes, I’d only half listen to him, instead, watching his movements and his eyes sparkle as he really got into the story.
He liked to make up fairytales, calling me his “Princess,” asking me what secrets I was hiding in my tower, as he nodded towards my hotel room, flights and flights of stairs away. Always cautious, I ignored him. He was high and stupid, and I wouldn’t let him in.
But he smiled at me still, no matter how many times I’d shot him down.
And then I crumbled, excruciating to remember, I kissed him all over, and he laughed, murmuring, Slow down, and I blushed, telling him Shut up.
The night I gave in, I woke up hung over and worthless, finding the bed empty, wondering if I had just imagined everything.
I fucking liked him, alright? What happened? Julius is probably the nicest boy I’ve ever met.
He’s also the biggest jerk in this world.
So what?
At the beginning, I tried to stay away, but God, was he persistent. From my hotel room window, I would look down and see him pushing drugs on the corner of the street, and once, I caught his eye and he smiled, his eyes melting and my cheeks flushing as I shut the curtains as fast as physically possible.
Already, I’d fallen apart.
It was pathetic how he made me feel, and I couldn’t be like that. I couldn’t get attached to some unemployed druggie who slept on street benches. But still, he was electric, waving at me, his fucking eyes asking me to come over.
I met him by the streetlight, he was high and I was laying low, and I asked him what it was like.
The drugs, I mean.
Leaning closer to the point where I could smell the cherries on his breath (his favorite food, I’m fairly sure they’re all he ever ate), he’d tell me quietly, how awesome it was and how much I would like it.
We barely knew each other.
I wouldn’t give in, but he kept finding me around the city, smiling and waving like we were friends, and I pretended not to know him.
Most nights I couldn’t sleep, I met him by the streetlight, and he’d ask me the meaning of life and feed me his other bullshit, whispering nice things and pretty words in my ear, and we’d talk for hours and hours. I never even told him my name.
He started all his stories with Once upon a time… Every time he’d smiled or even just looked at me, I liked him more and more, like poison, but I couldn’t let him know the kind of effect he had on me. I’d never met anyone so captivating and special; no one had ever made me feel so empty and insignificant. Sometimes, I’d only half listen to him, instead, watching his movements and his eyes sparkle as he really got into the story.
He liked to make up fairytales, calling me his “Princess,” asking me what secrets I was hiding in my tower, as he nodded towards my hotel room, flights and flights of stairs away. Always cautious, I ignored him. He was high and stupid, and I wouldn’t let him in.
But he smiled at me still, no matter how many times I’d shot him down.
And then I crumbled, excruciating to remember, I kissed him all over, and he laughed, murmuring, Slow down, and I blushed, telling him Shut up.
The night I gave in, I woke up hung over and worthless, finding the bed empty, wondering if I had just imagined everything.