Just a Freak
Blue
You know, it's weird.
They say when you look into the eyes of someon angry, you can see flames dancing in their eyes. Something dramatic and angry.
When I looked in Dirk's eyes, all I could see were his eyes; blue.
The color blue.
Maybe that's supposed to mean something.
Maybe that's where the term 'blue' comes from. You know, how people say their 'blue' if they're sad?
Caleb has blue eyes.
I have blue eyes.
Blue people with blue eyes and blue bruises and blue souls.
Dirk and me were hanging out for the sake of hanging out; like always.
Just kind of sitting around talking about nothing.
Not not talking. Just talking about nothing.
I can barely remember how it happened. I just remember it did.
I guess we started kissing. I guess we started doing more.
Something made me want it to stop.
Maybe the child inside, trying to protect my innocence; terrified to lose it. Terrified to change. Terrified to be different.
It got scarier. Something inside him didn't want to stop.
I started panicking. God, I started panicking.
Pushing, shoving.
"Get off of me, get off!"
Me pushing. I'm shoving.
And now we're hitting each other. Grabbing and scratching and biting and he's pulled my pants almost all the way down and I'm screaming and choking and he's screaming and choking too and somehow, I don't know how, but somehow I managed to tear his shirt off.
And for a split second we both stopped and just stared at each other.
"God, what is wrong with you?" I demanded, choking on tears, choking on phlegm in my nose and throat. I can see my face in the mirror on the wall behind him. My face is red and all scrunched up and ugly. So's his.
His chest. Bruises; God, the bruises.
Blue bruises.
"Who does that to you?" I demanded again, pointing feebly with one finger. My voice was a shrill crack. I'm all bent over and trying to hold together my clothing. "Is it your Dad? Does your Dad do this? For God's sake, Dirk." I could barely say his name. My voice was a hiccupy stutter.
"My Dad?" He repeated, just as messy and ugly as me. "My Dad? You think my Dad did this? You think he pays any fucking attention to me? Hell, I wish he hit me. I wish he did. At least he would know that I existed."
I started crying even harder. The drooling, snotty, messy crying.
"Why the fuck are you crying?" He shouted at me. "You think you have a reason to be upset? You stupid, sheltered little bitch. You don't know anything." Screaming. "You...don't know...anything." Crying.
He slowly, slowly lowers to the ground and leans against the edge of an armchair, sobbing. Breathless, messy and angry.
Too real.
And I ran.
I ran out of that house, out of the tiny, wretched little house and down the street, trying to fumble with the button on my jeans, trying to pull up my bra strap, trying to figure out what's going on.
And then there I was, sitting on the curb. Trying to calm down and catch my breath.
The blue sky turned black.
They say when you look into the eyes of someon angry, you can see flames dancing in their eyes. Something dramatic and angry.
When I looked in Dirk's eyes, all I could see were his eyes; blue.
The color blue.
Maybe that's supposed to mean something.
Maybe that's where the term 'blue' comes from. You know, how people say their 'blue' if they're sad?
Caleb has blue eyes.
I have blue eyes.
Blue people with blue eyes and blue bruises and blue souls.
Dirk and me were hanging out for the sake of hanging out; like always.
Just kind of sitting around talking about nothing.
Not not talking. Just talking about nothing.
I can barely remember how it happened. I just remember it did.
I guess we started kissing. I guess we started doing more.
Something made me want it to stop.
Maybe the child inside, trying to protect my innocence; terrified to lose it. Terrified to change. Terrified to be different.
It got scarier. Something inside him didn't want to stop.
I started panicking. God, I started panicking.
Pushing, shoving.
"Get off of me, get off!"
Me pushing. I'm shoving.
And now we're hitting each other. Grabbing and scratching and biting and he's pulled my pants almost all the way down and I'm screaming and choking and he's screaming and choking too and somehow, I don't know how, but somehow I managed to tear his shirt off.
And for a split second we both stopped and just stared at each other.
"God, what is wrong with you?" I demanded, choking on tears, choking on phlegm in my nose and throat. I can see my face in the mirror on the wall behind him. My face is red and all scrunched up and ugly. So's his.
His chest. Bruises; God, the bruises.
Blue bruises.
"Who does that to you?" I demanded again, pointing feebly with one finger. My voice was a shrill crack. I'm all bent over and trying to hold together my clothing. "Is it your Dad? Does your Dad do this? For God's sake, Dirk." I could barely say his name. My voice was a hiccupy stutter.
"My Dad?" He repeated, just as messy and ugly as me. "My Dad? You think my Dad did this? You think he pays any fucking attention to me? Hell, I wish he hit me. I wish he did. At least he would know that I existed."
I started crying even harder. The drooling, snotty, messy crying.
"Why the fuck are you crying?" He shouted at me. "You think you have a reason to be upset? You stupid, sheltered little bitch. You don't know anything." Screaming. "You...don't know...anything." Crying.
He slowly, slowly lowers to the ground and leans against the edge of an armchair, sobbing. Breathless, messy and angry.
Too real.
And I ran.
I ran out of that house, out of the tiny, wretched little house and down the street, trying to fumble with the button on my jeans, trying to pull up my bra strap, trying to figure out what's going on.
And then there I was, sitting on the curb. Trying to calm down and catch my breath.
The blue sky turned black.
♠ ♠ ♠
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