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do it all the time |
(respectfully: after Lea Deschenes and before her, Gordon Gano)
One: ‘cause you left me
Hey, wanna know the latest? My current scam is to get involved with someone and force her to keep it secret. Really make it stressful. Any reason but cheating, that’s too easy. You know, something to keep the bitch just a little bit on her toes. Let her worry I’m ashamed of her, ashamed of people knowing we’re together.
The more insecure a girl is, the more tail you get. Saves you a grip of loot, an unexpected side benefit. Didn’t think of that before I started, but it makes sense. This isn’t pretty, its just truth.
See Cait? Upshot, no fucking female is going to pull the rug out from under me. Not ever again.
Two: for my family
Donya is perfect. She’s got more issues than a medical library. Hates her body, thinks she’s ugly and stupid, massive abandonment hang-ups.
Always seeking approval, which means she looks smoking hot twenty-four seven, decked to the nines, trying too hard, attempting to make it seem effortless.
She could suck the chrome off a tailpipe and I can bend her like a pretzel. Crazy bitches are always the best in bed. Everyone knows that. You know that, Cait.
You’d love this: I told her that the reason we have to keep it under wraps is that my mother, who’s deathly sick, is living with me. That if she found out I was dating someone ethnic, it would kill her. Quite literally.
Poor Donya. I don’t even know what the hell breed she is so I didn’t specify. She didn’t question it. She ate it up, hook, line, and sinker. Hates herself that much.
Three: for my heartache
And what force conspired to amalgamate all these physical and mental qualities and quirks into one teeny tiny fragile package, Cait? I’ll give you one guess.
I’d like to personally thank Sasha or Sergei or whatever fucking enterprising Russian brought ballet to the US of A. I’d like to shake his hand. This shit will fuck babygirl up faster than playing hide the sausage with Uncle Chester. And keep her in better shape, too. But I don’t need to tell you that.
Four: for my headache
Everything happened out of order with you, Cait. Everything.
We were partying at my place junior year. My mom was out of town visiting her internet perv boyfriend, like she was for pretty much all of high school.
Nine or ten of us. We were drinking SoCo mixed with Sunkist soda and smoking pot out of the empty can. You were there with Natty, and she was trying to get with Brian.
I watched you get more and more tired and fucked up. You grabbed Natty and begged her to take off with you. But she was on a mission, there was no chance. I watched you sneak upstairs to go crash out in my bed until she was done. On your way, you told her what you were up to, and made her promise to come and get you before she left. I heard the whole thing.
I was sitting at the dinner table. The kitchen was spinning. I was thinking how I’d better drink some water before I passed out, because the jackhammers were already starting in my skull.
Five: for my lonely
Donya and I went to the Christmas party together at work. She waits tables at the restaurant with me. I told her nobody there could know we were together. I told her I didn’t want those fucks all up in our business. That I didn’t shit where I ate, thank you very much.
I spent the better part of the night chain smoking by the pool table, seething. Donya looked drop-dead. Dudes were hitting on her. Hard. And while she wasn’t flirting back, she wasn’t telling them to fuck off either. Chris, the manager who always reeks of Fahrenheit, was wearing this silky blue shirt, and had her cornered.
I wanted to beat the shit out of him.
But, see, I’d tied my own hands. I couldn’t say dick.
Six: for my sorrow
I’d watched your perfect ass stumble upstairs. Watched you go in my bedroom and close the door behind you. I thought about how me and you and Natty would drive around listening to The Femmes with the heater on full blast and all the windows rolled down. I’d never thought about that before.
I realized I was all alone in the kitchen with my spins, everybody was hooking up. Natty and Brian were in the yard macking, I could see them through the window. I felt myself flush with anger and wanting. I felt in the way, out of place in my own goddamned house.
I cracked open my door and silently climbed into my bed, spooned you from behind. You were out cold, and nuzzled your dancer’s ass into me. I put my hands on your lower back. Nothing. Reached inside your underwear, your flesh was colder than I expected. You didn’t resist. Who the fuck were you dreaming of? I slipped my fingers down and then up, inside your pussy.
Seven: no tomorrow
I moved two of them, in and out, slowly and gently, and you were getting wet. You were a slut in your sleep, bucking and moaning. When you snapped awake, you gasped, didn’t say a word. Scrambled up out of the bed, straightened your sleep-crumpled clothes, and stumbled out the door, calling for Natty.
I stared at the ceiling with my dick in my hand. By the time I went back into the kitchen, you and Natty were gone, and I knew you had told her what happened. You never spoke to me again, unless it was absolutely necessary. Like when it would have made more of a scene to not speak to me.
Eight: i forget what eight was for
Donya doesn’t mean shit. Nobody does. Nobody gets in now. Nobody touches me. Not really. I get laid, I laugh at these sluts, but every pussy I touch is yours. Every ass I spoon around is yours. Every back walking out the door in silence belongs to you.
Nine: for a lost god
Cait, after you left the party, it was like I snagged inside you. I have been unraveling ever since. You never confronted me. Neither did Natty. She was kinda distant for like a week, but then we kept right on kicking it like nothing happened.
Drove past the fields of lettuce screaming with the tape player, wondering why we couldn’t get just one kiss, just one fuck, never acknowledging that you weren’t there, or why. I hated Natty for staying friends with me and not sticking up for you.
I fucking hate chicks. I don’t get them. Why did you stay friends with her when you knew she was still cool with me?
The farther away you walk, the more I come apart. You’re still pulling me to pieces. Cait, I will be in love with you until the day I die. You took that part of me with you. I will die like this, a pile of shapeless unstrung nothing.
Ten: ten ten ten for everything
Everything.
Everything.
Everything.
copyright 2006
Rachel
Kann |
