Casey MacDonald
DSPW-0800
10/17/2007
No Love
People in the school are battering around, wondering what thing they love the most should have the privilege to go into their paper. I don't have that problem. I know exactly whom I should put in words. Not someone I love, but someone I love to hate. The fire that is bottled inside me that I wish to blow onto him will be sufficed in the next paragraphs. The identity of the person will have to remain anonymous though.
He is the complete opposite of all that is good, he is: brooding, no manners, sarcastic, and mistakenly makes me weak in the knees. There is never a moment of silence when he is around, not even the day when we admitted to it all. He sat in his favorite chair in the living room, the on no one else is allowed in. I was sitting on the sofa trying to finish my algebra as he turned the volume on the television to an extreme high, I still believe the speakers should've burst. He smirked at me, knowing he was setting me off, I believe he gets off on that. There was always something about making me angry that he enjoyed, he just seemed to have a fetish for it.
He stared at me, still smirking, coy dancing in his pupils. I took my belongings and tried to storm up the stairs, he then hooked his left foot with my ankle causing me to collapse into his lap. I could not even look at him. A mixture of detest and embarrassment flooded through me, I stumbled away, trampling up the stairs. It seemed he had followed me, he slammed my door shut behind him. My heart was pounding, flashes of the bathroom incident were pouring into my mind. I shivered as I heard him breathing behind me. Don't get me wrong, it's all completely voluntary, and not a stereotype of a southern home either. It's just afterwards it seems so wrong, too rash, and we still hate each other by the end of it. I shoved him out only to have him grasped my wrist hard enough to leave a bruise ring by morning.
I looked from his lust-filled eyes, to his taunting lips that spilled horrible remarks, finally to the hand that still had mine twisted in a lock. My own breathing was becoming erratic, not even able to swallow back the tears that were stinging my eyes. His eyes were beginning to fill with amusement, and when they did I clocked him right in the ear. It made the smirk and the merriment in his eyes fade off. We stood there for what felt about a hour just staring to him, to the ceiling, to the floor. In the distance I could hear the television still playing.
I wasn't aware I was crying til a tear hit my lip, the saltiness awakening my senses. I looked up at him, without warning I crashed my lips to his. I could tell he was startled at first, though he would never willingly admit to that. He then released my hand to place it on my back. It was then the pain began to throb in my wrist, I tried to ignore it at the time. His hands groped at me possessively, leaving marks, and scorches. Clothes were shed or torn leaving us both vulnerable. Our mouths started battling for dominance, though he had an upperhand. It was then a door slammed below, we separated, both of us disbelieving. We heard an oddly familiar voice coming from downstairs. He gave me one last smirk as he descended down the stairs, leaving me a crumpled mess.
I still cry over nights like these, because I don't know if there is any love involved. Though I shortly tell myself, "No, there wasn't." It still hurts me when I see him leave with another girl. It hurts me that he knows he can still drive me crazy. It hurts the most that I'm alone and waiting for him.