Needle and Thread Situations

Disclaimer: Elaborate bullshit ahead.

I think my story will be incomplete if I don’t tell you what I am about to tell you but as you read, remember that beggars can be choosers if they are good at their jobs.

Moving on.

I was 25 and ran completely on food, rum (yes I gave up whisky) and broken hearts.

I had recently broken up with my boyfriend and I shamelessly agree I felt more bored than hurt after he was gone which is quite cold even by my standards. We went out for one and a half years, he was an engineer tall dark and handsome. He had a sense of humor and good hygiene. For 90% Indian women of my age that calls for tagging him as a husband before another bitch rest her eyes on him, fucking shaadi that bastard ASAP. To be precise, he was a catch and plus point he had low self esteem and mommy issues, hence worked extra hard to please me. I don’t complain.

It was all good but it had no passion, it got constant. We never even fought. I would try to start an argument to make him angry, sad, anything just to break away from the routine but that goes down the potty cause he would give in after two minutes.

“You are probably right babe, I’ll get to it as soon as I can”. He will say.

Sometimes I used to get completely unreasonable on purpose just to piss him off, to get something out of him, something human.I even used to raise my voice and use harsh words to encourage raw, unfiltered projection of emotions on his side but nothing, the man was a vegetable and I was a hard core non-vegetarian. Speaking of non vegetarian the sex was good. But sex seemed like such a stupid reason to stay with someone, orgasms only last for 22 seconds and insecurities will come rushing back on the 23rd.

The most exciting part of the relationship was the break up. I kept it short and painful.

“I want to break up. We don’t click.” I said after drinking a considerable amount of rum.

It obviously sounded like an excuse for something more complex and tangible, who the fuck takes 18 months to figure out if it clicks or not but it felt like a better option than just saying, “you suck homeboy, you is boring as fuck”.

It came as a shock to him. He thought of me as someone with whom he could have a future with he told me later. I was a 25 year alcoholic Indian woman with passive aggressive tendencies and a history of depression and self abuse, working among other condescending worthless bitches to pay for my bare minimum necessities which were mostly weed and alcohol all the while keeping my past in utter secrecy. That’s great thinking. My middle name should be “mangalam bhagvan vishnu” I am such wife material.

Our break up was the first argument we ever had, a full fledged argument with swearing and honesty and tears (all his obviously). He was like a crescendo of rage. He tried reasoning with me but I would not bulge, then he got irritated and asked me to be reasonable, finally he lost it and gave it to me fair and square. Which includes calling me a bitch and hoping that I would burn in hell’s fire. I usually don’t take this kind of an insult but it was well deserved.

What came next was comparatively more bizarre.

My ex boyfriend called me up three hours after the break up, that is after he had called me a bitch and asked me to go burn in hell. He said he wanted to speak to me face to face, now I insisted on meeting him in a public cause just in case if he decides to go all dramatic and starts throwing shit around at least there would be other people there ready to call 911.

But for some god forbidden reasons this guy insisted strongly that he would rather drive up to my apartment so I had to agree.

While he was on his way I break-up-proofed my new two bedroom apartment ( A few of my papers got published at the time, money issues were getting resolved) and by that I mean I got rid of the expensive stuff and the break able stuff and by that I also mean that I got rid of the pointy sharp stuff, the ‘can be used as a weapon stuff’. Now it may seem I was being little paranoid, but I out of all people knew that broken heart can turn people into nasty blood thirsty bitches and I don’t want to get bitten.

The bell rang and I opened the door slowly, I waited cause I expected him to storm in and call me more names but he just stood there waiting for me to ask him to come inside like a normal sane person, which was very confusing.

He came in and sat down and started staring at my floor. He did not look angry, he did not look sad either, he just look tiered.

I sat down in front of him and very politely asked if he would like to have anything to drink.

He looked up at me with big watery brown eyes and said “Its only been a few hours and you are already treating me like a stranger”.

“I can’t really treat you like a boyfriend either now can I? Its harder to dwell in the grey areas trust me”. I said quietly taking a seat in front of him.

“You always like pretending you know everything don’t you?”.

“Guilty as charged”.

“No quick wits come back?”.

“No, not today”.

“Why because you are taking pity on me and my broken little stupid heart?”.

Obviously I was.

“Obviously I am not. I am not a bad person, I don’t want to hurt you, I am doing this for the both of us. I am thankful for every moment I spent in your company you have no idea how grateful I am that you came into my life”.

He looked up at me with more love than a Nicholas Spark’s novel.

“But my feelings for you have changed, I did not want them to but they did. what can i do? feelings are stupid. its unhealthy for both of us to stay together in these circumstances, there will always be something missing, something incomplete. I wished we had some other way out but we have to let this go. but that does not mean that we have to hate each other or hurt each other”.

He broke down and I gently wrapped my arm around him and rested my chin on his head as he sobbed silently. Aim and shoot, that’s what I just did.

I felt his tear and snort run down my shirt for a while and finally I pulled away.

I lifted his chin up and gave him a choreographed smile that I had perfected over the last few years.

“I’ll get some water for you ok?”.

He nodded.

I walked away lighter than ever. I was really proud on my self about how well I had handled it. I went inside the kitchen doing a little dance when I felt him creep up from behind and wrap his arms around my waist while he buried his face in my hair while still sobbing a little, you know those post sobs sob.

Startled? Yes I was but I was more irritated, how was I supposed to get him water when he was clinked on to me like a koala bear.

I turned around to face him and gave his arm a little compassionate squeeze before breaking away from his arm lock and walked away.

I went to the kitchen counter and he walked up to me until his nose touched the back of my neck, now did I mention that I had a terrible temper?

Well if I didn’t before already I’ll tell you now. Its really easy to piss me off and I am not safe when I am angry, I am lucky I don’t have a criminal record. No exaggeration, I had so much unresolved anger that if harvested it could power a small city. He should have known that out of all people, it was his laptop I had smashed when John Snow died in the Game of Thrones.

I filled the cup of water while he sniffed the back of my head, he might as well have wiped his snort in my hair how would I have known?

Do you notice I was more prepared for violence than I was for compassion?

I turned around and gave him the water and walked to the sitting area to get some breathing space. I didn’t really like cuddling even when I was committed which was 3 hours back but what was he trying to do following me around the house like a puppy. I had made it perfectly clear that his presence in my life was no longer needed what made him feel like it was normal for him to put his face in my hair and shit?

I sat down on my chair cause I knew we had a little to discuss before we end it completely, basically returning gifts and money I owed him.

Now I have a chair for him placed in front of mine, perfectly aligned all cushion-y and shit so he would sit there and we could talk like civil man and woman but no, this ‘genius’ sits down on my carpet and rests his head on my lap and not just that he takes my hand and places it on top of his head. Now not only should I act like a pillow but I was also supposed to stroke his fucking hair after a break up?

“What are you trying to do?”

“What?”.

“Why are you coming on to me?”.

“I am not coming on to you” he said loudly getting up.

“Then what is the touchy feely stuff huh? Last time you hugged me was like 3 weeks back because I gave you Friends Season 1-5 on blue ray dvd I know you are no cuddle bunny so what is up with this jazz?”.

“You are leaving me. I just wanted to feel you in my arms for the last time, I will never have that again, I will miss you”.

He was lying. I could tell he wanted to emotionally blackmail me into staying or taking him back. He wanted to show me that maybe I am human somewhere and I have sympathy tucked away in some un reachable corner in my heart. His actions were leading on to a vendetta against my emotionlessness and it got me really pissed.

He was lying.

“Thank lord that was it. For a moment there I thought you were collecting DNA samples from my body so you can later clone me in your secret laboratory in the basement! I agree to meet you, I am kind to you that does not mean you get to act like a fucking victim to squeeze that last hope for break up sex out of me you perverted little filth. Stop treating this break up as this is my fault! I should get a Nobel prize for putting up with your boring ass and for 18 months! Don’t you ever dare drag your pathetic self into my business or my life ever again and get the fuck out of my place before I make you cry again”.

I took a breath and made the final blow.

“ I don’t love you okay? Now fuck off”.

I hurt him. It was not like I hadn’t already, I did break up with him but this time I really hurt him.

“ So what was that about you being grateful that I was in your life?” he asked in a tiny voice.

“ I was sucking up to you to get you out of here”.

But it didn’t feel good, I never hated him he was a good person but this had to be done, I just cared more about myself than I did about him and also I had severe anger issues. I was not a bad person, yet; selfish maybe, but not bad.

But he was lying.

He was no better than me, none of them are.

He was lying.

He looked down at the floor for a few moments. Ladies and gentleman in that moment I realized that I had killed this man.

He slowly walked towards the door and out of it. He turned around to face me and it was the second last time that I ever saw him. He had tears filled in his eyes but his face showed no emotion, I can never forget that look. What he said next crippled me.

“You know, you are sick. No one is going to stay with you and you will loose everything. You will loose everything and everyone. You will grow old and miserable and your ovaries will dry up. Who would want you then? You condescending cunt ”.

Was he not lying?

His words broke the membrane of my ego. People don’t usually talk to me like that; I am scary in my own way. I took the bullets with grace.

No matter how wrong I was I needed to have the last words the unquenchable thirst to satisfy my forever big fat self erected ego.

I took a second to bow my head to rectify my damage. I raised my head slowly and gave him my iconic smirk.

“ Condescending cunt you wanted to mother your child just a few hours back. As long as the world has underachieving insecure parasites like you, condescending cunts like me will have nothing to worry about ”.

I shut the door and heard his foot steps getting fainter. I went back to drink myself to sleep. It was a dreamless night.

But just for the record this is something I only realized much later in my life, he was NOT lying.

Rock Bottoms Up.

Before you go any further and try to absorb my profound fuckery I will have to request you to refrain from all sort of judgments. Don’t rush to conclusions; there are loopholes in hell to divinity. Let it be vague. Ignorance is bliss.

Moving on.

You don’t just become a ruthless sadist. There are stages, fist you loose respect for yourself, then you loose regards for the world and finally you feel better cause you realize that nothing will last forever and finally and constantly you feel bad cause you realize that somethings do last forever.

Before the realization of this had set in, I was 23 and a raging alcoholic.

I was a content writer earning enough to be able to afford really cheap liquor and an Internet connection.

I lived in a rented studio apartment with the overview of Bangalore’s lower middle class on the 5th floor.

I had charmed the securities’s son into making my liquor runs for me. In India it is still very unconventional for a woman to be seen anywhere near alcohol. Obviously there were days when I had to go there my self in the absence of the alternative. I would try to be as quick and as invisible as I could possibly be but chances were I would run into one of my male colleagues. The odds of that happening were amazingly high cause we just had one liquor shop within the 5km radius of my company and people from my company all preferred staying near work.

“I did not know you drank, you should stop by my house some times you know. Share a glass or two with me and the boys”. One of them once said.

Obviously I would do that, get drunk with random perverted men and ‘obviously’ one will think that it is completely normal for me because lets face it I drink whisky and I wear deep neck shirts that has to mean I am a whore.

“No sir, this is not for me, this is for a relative”. I had to lie. It was easy and convenient.

So, to beat that freak show I would leave the money in the securities son’s post box (I know it sounds dirty) in the morning and he would drop by later at my apartment at night with my booze. He was 19 or 20 nothing younger. He was the kind of beautiful that took time to get adjusted to. He would stand at my door shyly; not looking at me. I would thank him politely and tip him with some extra cash if I had any and send him away from my doorstep.

It was not hard to tell that he had a crush on me. I noticed his fidgeting with his hands; I sensed his nervousness when I was around. I knew he had a crush on me I just didn’t do anything about it. However, one day gods were particularly angry at me, I was having a terrible day at work, my boss was being a dick and I got groped on my way back on the bus. It was one of those days when you are pissed at the universe for orchestrating your life in a way that it led to a day like this. I couldn’t wait to get soaring high so I bought a small vodka bottle on my walk home and emptied its contents inside a coke bottle so people couldn’t tell. Sip by sip and I was moderately buzzed when I reached my apartment. I was stripping away my black and white work cloths when I heard a knock on my door.

It was him, my personal booze boy at the door, with a brown wrapper (which had my booze in it) in one hand.

“They ran out of your regular so I got you this” he said in a tiny voice as he handed me the bottle.

I looked at it; the whisky was worth a little more than the money I had left in his post box this morning.

“But I….”

“I had some money left from my pocket money” he said blushing; he beamed at the bottle as he handed it over to me, unable to contain how smooth he thought his move was.

I was touched at how pathetic he was. But I was having a bad day and every little bit of compassion did boost my ego.

That night could have gone either way. I could have accepted his generosity said my thank you’s, closed the door behind him and drank myself shitless into despair like the usual. But that day part vodka part frustration fucked me up beyond logic and what is a good story without a couple of bad decisions.

“Will you help me finish this?”. I asked the boy looking at the bottle.

He looked at me surprised. He tried reading my expressions and failed. I smirked mentally. I was invincible inside my mind I was so distant, so shielded that it was next to impossible to get to me.

He smiled shyly like a girl and gave me a microscopic nod. I let him in my one room apartment. He looked around nervously then took a seat in one of the two beanbags I had in the room.

I poured the whisky in two clear glasses.

“I will have it with….umm….soda or water anything. Really”. He stammered.

I smirked a little.

“No, you will have it neat, untouched, uncorrupted. In all its bitter glory. You will drink like a man not like a pansy”. I said handing him the glass.

I looked at his young face completely flushed in red and took my seat on the beanbag in front of him.

I clinked my glass with him and took the first sip. As soon as the whisky touched my lips I felt a certain release. It’s hard to explain it’s a typical alcoholic thing. It’s like taking off your tights after a hot summer day. Oh how I miss those days driven by an absolved agenda to self-destruct.

I saw him gulp almost half of his glass’s contents in one go. He choked a little. I watched back in amusement as he sat there embarrassed.

I adjusted my sitting position a little so that he gets a better view of my face. I had recently learned that my face could be used as a weapon to intimidate. I leaned a little forward and refilled his glass. I looked in his eyes that were red because of all the coughing and choking. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Let me teach you”.

His face froze and went from red to blue. What a cartoon. I took a second to admire the work of art that his face was. He could have made a beautiful girl; he was too pretty to be a boy.

“I want you to hold the glass tightly in your hand, not too tight though leave your wrist free. Now I want you to take a small sip and don’t swallow it.”

He did as I told him.

“Now close your eyes” I said softly, almost like a whisper, for the dramatics.

He shut his eyes close.

“Now swirl it around in your mouth, let your mouth get acquainted with the bitterness, roll it in your tongue, cherish it.” I said moving closer to him.

He made a face as his brain reacted to the bitterness.

“Now swallow it”.

He did.

“How does it feel?” I asked in his ear.

“It..it burns…just a little” He stammered in his tiny little voice.

“Well, that’s a metaphor for life kid. Do you feel it run down from your throat, to your chest, into your belly”. I said slowly breathing into his neck.

He nodded making a face again.

I moved away and asked him to open his eyes. He opened his eye and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Now you know how to drink like a man, its not the affect of the whisky, gentleman. Its the process, you need to enjoy it, you need to let the whisky drink you. Surrender to it don’t hold back. There is liberation in submission that you are too young to understand yet”. I said softly.

He smiled a little and then started blushing. How pathetic was this guy?

“You think I am a gentleman?”. He said smiling uncontrollably.

I was utterly disappointed, Should have seen this coming. I just made some outstanding remarks on whisky consumption and all he gave a fuck about was me calling him a ‘gentleman’.

I subconsciously face palmed myself. These pretty young boys are too self absorbed to take in anything else. I honestly had no interest to carry on the conversation after that conclusion. I was cheap but I had some standards. However, I also had a rule to finish the game I had started. That’s right, I was a perverted hippie with an ethical code of conduct. So I pulled my chin up and raised my eye lashes slowly.

“Why? Am I wrong? Are you wildling?”. I asked with fake, exaggerated enthusiasm.

“No”. He mouthed.

The alcohol got to him a little. I saw him crumble and sway.

He drank for a bit while I asked him questions. Generic questions. Without taste, without reasons.

He told me he was in collage studying commerce. Single. He loved Bollywood movies and had no ambitions as such. He also abruptly mentioned that he thought I was the prettiest woman in the building and that I smelled like freshly cut grass.

His idea of flirting was flattery; I was less naive than him when I was 12.

I thanked him for his time and told him that it was late and that I should probably be sleeping. He got up with much effort; courtesy the whisky.

I was in my senses comparatively. I opened the gate to let him out like the grace full lady who gets underage boys drunk that I am.

But this pretty little boy in all his drunken glory right when I was about to close the door throws himself at me and tries implanting a sloppy drunken whisky induced kiss on me.

I caught him an inch before his lips could be placed on mine. I was amused at his desperation it made me feel less pathetic about myself.

“You would like to think I am that easy wont you?”. I said still inches away from his face.

I pushed him gently out the door and closed the door behind him and went back to finish my bottle of a whisky which I had earned with money and mascara.

I would rather drink myself to death than think myself to death cause nothing else can possibly touch me. It’s not important to be invincible, it’s important to feel invincible…

And drunk.

 

23rd second insecurity

NICE TO MEET YOU?

I liked causing pain.
There are no pretty ways to say this and even if there were, there is a certain beauty in blunt truths spoken as they are. I liked causing pain. I got your attention didn’t I? Well not physical pain. Physical pain is easy, its straight forward. Tangible. Emotional pain was more of my forte. I liked seeing people’s heart break, their hopes crushed. It gave me a sense of control and dominance.
Can you imagine how it must have felt? To look into his eyes and tell him that I never loved him. To see his bones shatter through his eyes, his lower lip quivering as you say the words again, with more stress more passion just to make sure he knows I mean it.
“I. Don’t. Love. You.”
At this point its only fair that you think of me as a sadistic little bitch but let me defend myself. There is a satisfaction in killing a person like that and I know you know what I mean. Its very similar to when you watch a butcher scale a fish as his knife glides through the flesh, the pop under your finger tips when you pop bubble wraps, that snip as you cut a lock of hair. Destruction is pleasing, as human beings we have a tendency to fragmentise, be it hearts be it commodities.
I am not a monster I am just honest. Maybe honesty is the only line between angles and demons. Its a thin thin line of decency that one day a junky stupid enough like me is gonna snort up. A line holding the world in its spiritual balance between the good the bad and the hypocrites. Philosophies are for some other day, I am here for a story, my story.
A story without propaganda, without fear, without shame.

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NOT A BIOGRAPHY. NEXT POST 27TH.

TITTLE HINT: what lasts for 22 seconds?