Stop.

“Stop.” He said. “You’re stunning.”
“What do you want?” I shot back.
I didn’t intend to make my words stab him but it was an ugly disposition.
I wanted to see him how I usually did. Funny, respectable, strong, kind, whole.
So I forced myself to look.
I looked past his swollen skin, past his heavy eyes, past his unbalanced stumbling and watery words.
He was 19 but still a boy and I wondered on him.
Who he really was, what really ate at him and whether or not his misery was drowning in the liquor and drugs.
He was handsome, behind it all.
But his inhibitions were shattering around him;
quickly whirling away but lingering behind him waiting in anticipation to strangle him in the morning.
The whole situation was draining.
It was twisted and not what I expected and for some reason sympathy boiled beneath my skin.
It was his choice entirely to be so ugly but maybe not to be that broken.

~ by carik on March 6, 2008.