I have an entirely unhealthy addiction to all forms of media. Particularly the most harmful ones. Sometimes I find my self up at 1 AM watching the Bad Girls Club on Oxygen and I think,"Jesus am I learning anything positive from these women."
In fact, I hardly know what to do if I'm not in front of the TV mindlessly watching all of my DVRed Family Guys, and checking Facebook every twenty minutes. I feel contaminated. Like I'm not indulging in the things that are really satisfying and wonderful about my life, and I don't want to feel that way anymore.
So, starting today, I am limiting myself to one hour of TV this entire week (only to watch Gossip Girl) and 30 minutes of the internet everyday (and no Perez Hilton) and I'll only read my new issue of Elle (that's not trashy right?). Hopefully I'll gain more time to finish "The Drifters" and work on my writing and possibly tidy my place a bit (a girl can only dare to dream!)I'll probably cut down on 3 hours of TV daily and 2 hours of internet daily. So that's an extra bajillion hours that I can fill doing things that count. I don't think I'll miss it too much.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
I'll Follow You Into the Dark Ch. 4
I took his wrist in my hands. They looked like the hands of a miniature doll compared to his abnormally grand ones. Large but elegant, how swiftly they had once swept across the small of my back, over my thighs, my cheeks…
“You still have it?”
I was referring to his tattoo of course. Or should I say our tattoo?
I’ll follow you into the dark. Scrawled my handwriting. We had specifically asked the tattoo artist to do it this way.
“You still have yours.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have the money to get it laser-ed off. And getting it on was painful enough…Speaking of lasers, what’s his story of you and your chest hair….?”
He raised his eyebrow, surprised, and rolled his eyes.
I giggled. He had the cutest facial expressions that made me laugh no matter how down I was feeling.
“Sorry. Sensitive subject, I see?”
“Yeah, well, anyway…what were we even thinking?”
“Young and stupid I guess….”
“It’s really not that bad. I suppose you can apply it to anyone.”
“Not really,” I frowned “I mean…that song. It was ours. It IS ours. I still think of you whenever I hear it.”
“And whenever I hear it I think of you vomiting in my car…”
“Oh, shut up!” I was only half-mad though. That’s an embarrassing memory.
“Whatever. I was so drunk.”
“Drunk wasn’t even the half of it.”
“Psh. You pounded those vodka shots in me so you could get in my pants,” I scoffed.
“I didn’t really have try that hard! You nearly ripped them off after the third shot.”
We both cracked up at that one. The echoes of our laughter reverberated off of the cold tile walls and the fluorescent lighting.
He’s right you know. I’m a total lightweight, as embarrassed as I am to admit that.
Our first date was pretty disastrous. Even by my standards.
We arrived at the club. He wanted to take me to a quieter place, but he had promised his friends that he would meet them there. I didn’t really care as long as I was with him.
I was so nervous. I already felt a bit nervous, which would not bode well for me. My stomach was pretty weak. And the little speed devil put the petal to the metal on the way here in his cramped Audi A4. It didn’t really make anything better.
I met his friends; Mathieu, Robin, Philippe…and a few others I can’t remember. All genuinely nice guys really. But they kept winking in my direction and nudging Cesc. I guess I was the prized cow that night. I must say, I looked pretty hot.
“So, what can I get you to drink?”
“Um, a Diet Coke I guess?”
“Chloe, Chloe, Chloe! You cannot come to the hottest new club in London and simply order a Diet Coke. I’ll get you my favorite.” He winked.
Damn him and his winking.
“Oh yes, I often forget the correct clubbing etiquette. You’re the big-shot here.” I winked back.
We spent a good 30 minutes chatting with his friends. They started talking about football (I had trained my self to say that coming from the States. I wanted to sound as authentic as possible.)
“Oh, no boys! No business tonight!” Cesc yelled over the thumping music.
Clue # 1. No, I really didn’t know much about him at that point, but I felt safe. My instincts had always been my strongest gift through out my life.
Even as he was talking to everyone, he crept closer to my. Touching my hand lightly with his fingertip, stealing glances at me, smiling bashfully when I caught one of his looks. Always the perfect gentleman though, never a tongue in the ear like other boys I had dated. As I fell harder for him, the boys egged me on with the drinks.
“CHLO-E, CHLO- E. CHLO-E!”Four pairs of fists pounded on the table
I downed another one.
“WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! We all shouted as I jumped up on the table triumphantly.
“That’s 50 quid Mathieu. Pay up.”
“Shit, Cesc. I like this girl, not afraid of a challenge,” he smirked as he pulled a few bills out of his wallet.
“Thank you, my good sir.” I said as I snatched the bills out of his hand and giggled.
“Hey,” Cesc whispered in my ear. “Let’s go to the basement. It’s way too wild up here, not exactly the perfect ‘first date’ atmosphere. Is that ok?”
“Yeah,” I smiled up at him “Let’s do it.”
I wobbled as I made it back on to my feet. He put his hand around my waist. I was tipsy and he didn’t want to rush me to the emergency room after I fell on my face.
We carefully crept down the stairs. He heat from his hand on my waist transferred into my whole being like electric magic. It never dulled as the relationship went on. We sat on one of the luxurious couches, the ceiling pounded above us as the incessant techno music persisted. But it gave rhythm to our conversation
We talked for hours. The boys had all come down to say their good-byes. I kissed them all on the cheek and wished them a safe drive home. We kept talking. We talked about football, his mom, my dad, Suzette, the funny off-hand comment Coach Wenger said, the weather, the grass, Starbucks; neither of us were very good at shutting up. The manager came down after it was emptied out.
“Mr. Fabregas. I’m sorry to interrupt sir, but we’re closing the club right now.”
“No problem, thank you for your continuously impeccable service. Kudos.”
The manager grinned like a grade school child making an A on a math test.
He had everyone whipped. Including myself.
We climbed back into his Audi. I slipped off my heels. I had been sipping water the rest of the night to balance out the copious amount of alcohol I had ingested. I still felt sort of lousy. He turned on the air conditioner and the radio.
The first few bars of Death Cab for Cutie’s “I’ll Follow You Into the Dark” flowed out of the speakers like cool honey.
“Love of mine
Someday you will die
But I’ll be close behind
And follow you into the dark…”
“Oh my God I LOVE this song!” I shrieked.
“Never heard it,” Cesc replied.
I sang the chorus as any good drunken 18 year-old would. Loudly. And obnoxiously.
“If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the No’s on their vacancy signs
If there’s no one beside when your soul embarks,
Then I’ll follow you into the dark…”
“Cute.” He smiled.
“I know, I’m pretty talented.”
He pulled up to the outside of my flat, as the final chorus ended.
He gave me the most luscious look I’ve ever received in my life. My breath stopped. My heart stopped. Everything stopped. Except the churning in my stomach.
He leaned over.
This is it, I thought.
“Oh god. Huaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”
I released the vodka and the paella I had for dinner from my mouth and onto his pretty leather seats and clean-smelling carpet.
“Oh my God.”
“Are you OK?”
“I think so,” I said after I collected myself.
“Well, now we’re even I guess.”
We clutched our sides and gasped for breath are we recalled this memory. The same lines playing over in our heads. Forever on repeat. Doomed to haunt us…Inked forever on our bodies.
“…If there’s no one beside you when you soul embarks
Then I’ll follow you into the dark…”
“You still have it?”
I was referring to his tattoo of course. Or should I say our tattoo?
I’ll follow you into the dark. Scrawled my handwriting. We had specifically asked the tattoo artist to do it this way.
“You still have yours.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have the money to get it laser-ed off. And getting it on was painful enough…Speaking of lasers, what’s his story of you and your chest hair….?”
He raised his eyebrow, surprised, and rolled his eyes.
I giggled. He had the cutest facial expressions that made me laugh no matter how down I was feeling.
“Sorry. Sensitive subject, I see?”
“Yeah, well, anyway…what were we even thinking?”
“Young and stupid I guess….”
“It’s really not that bad. I suppose you can apply it to anyone.”
“Not really,” I frowned “I mean…that song. It was ours. It IS ours. I still think of you whenever I hear it.”
“And whenever I hear it I think of you vomiting in my car…”
“Oh, shut up!” I was only half-mad though. That’s an embarrassing memory.
“Whatever. I was so drunk.”
“Drunk wasn’t even the half of it.”
“Psh. You pounded those vodka shots in me so you could get in my pants,” I scoffed.
“I didn’t really have try that hard! You nearly ripped them off after the third shot.”
We both cracked up at that one. The echoes of our laughter reverberated off of the cold tile walls and the fluorescent lighting.
He’s right you know. I’m a total lightweight, as embarrassed as I am to admit that.
Our first date was pretty disastrous. Even by my standards.
We arrived at the club. He wanted to take me to a quieter place, but he had promised his friends that he would meet them there. I didn’t really care as long as I was with him.
I was so nervous. I already felt a bit nervous, which would not bode well for me. My stomach was pretty weak. And the little speed devil put the petal to the metal on the way here in his cramped Audi A4. It didn’t really make anything better.
I met his friends; Mathieu, Robin, Philippe…and a few others I can’t remember. All genuinely nice guys really. But they kept winking in my direction and nudging Cesc. I guess I was the prized cow that night. I must say, I looked pretty hot.
“So, what can I get you to drink?”
“Um, a Diet Coke I guess?”
“Chloe, Chloe, Chloe! You cannot come to the hottest new club in London and simply order a Diet Coke. I’ll get you my favorite.” He winked.
Damn him and his winking.
“Oh yes, I often forget the correct clubbing etiquette. You’re the big-shot here.” I winked back.
We spent a good 30 minutes chatting with his friends. They started talking about football (I had trained my self to say that coming from the States. I wanted to sound as authentic as possible.)
“Oh, no boys! No business tonight!” Cesc yelled over the thumping music.
Clue # 1. No, I really didn’t know much about him at that point, but I felt safe. My instincts had always been my strongest gift through out my life.
Even as he was talking to everyone, he crept closer to my. Touching my hand lightly with his fingertip, stealing glances at me, smiling bashfully when I caught one of his looks. Always the perfect gentleman though, never a tongue in the ear like other boys I had dated. As I fell harder for him, the boys egged me on with the drinks.
“CHLO-E, CHLO- E. CHLO-E!”Four pairs of fists pounded on the table
I downed another one.
“WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! We all shouted as I jumped up on the table triumphantly.
“That’s 50 quid Mathieu. Pay up.”
“Shit, Cesc. I like this girl, not afraid of a challenge,” he smirked as he pulled a few bills out of his wallet.
“Thank you, my good sir.” I said as I snatched the bills out of his hand and giggled.
“Hey,” Cesc whispered in my ear. “Let’s go to the basement. It’s way too wild up here, not exactly the perfect ‘first date’ atmosphere. Is that ok?”
“Yeah,” I smiled up at him “Let’s do it.”
I wobbled as I made it back on to my feet. He put his hand around my waist. I was tipsy and he didn’t want to rush me to the emergency room after I fell on my face.
We carefully crept down the stairs. He heat from his hand on my waist transferred into my whole being like electric magic. It never dulled as the relationship went on. We sat on one of the luxurious couches, the ceiling pounded above us as the incessant techno music persisted. But it gave rhythm to our conversation
We talked for hours. The boys had all come down to say their good-byes. I kissed them all on the cheek and wished them a safe drive home. We kept talking. We talked about football, his mom, my dad, Suzette, the funny off-hand comment Coach Wenger said, the weather, the grass, Starbucks; neither of us were very good at shutting up. The manager came down after it was emptied out.
“Mr. Fabregas. I’m sorry to interrupt sir, but we’re closing the club right now.”
“No problem, thank you for your continuously impeccable service. Kudos.”
The manager grinned like a grade school child making an A on a math test.
He had everyone whipped. Including myself.
We climbed back into his Audi. I slipped off my heels. I had been sipping water the rest of the night to balance out the copious amount of alcohol I had ingested. I still felt sort of lousy. He turned on the air conditioner and the radio.
The first few bars of Death Cab for Cutie’s “I’ll Follow You Into the Dark” flowed out of the speakers like cool honey.
“Love of mine
Someday you will die
But I’ll be close behind
And follow you into the dark…”
“Oh my God I LOVE this song!” I shrieked.
“Never heard it,” Cesc replied.
I sang the chorus as any good drunken 18 year-old would. Loudly. And obnoxiously.
“If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the No’s on their vacancy signs
If there’s no one beside when your soul embarks,
Then I’ll follow you into the dark…”
“Cute.” He smiled.
“I know, I’m pretty talented.”
He pulled up to the outside of my flat, as the final chorus ended.
He gave me the most luscious look I’ve ever received in my life. My breath stopped. My heart stopped. Everything stopped. Except the churning in my stomach.
He leaned over.
This is it, I thought.
“Oh god. Huaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”
I released the vodka and the paella I had for dinner from my mouth and onto his pretty leather seats and clean-smelling carpet.
“Oh my God.”
“Are you OK?”
“I think so,” I said after I collected myself.
“Well, now we’re even I guess.”
We clutched our sides and gasped for breath are we recalled this memory. The same lines playing over in our heads. Forever on repeat. Doomed to haunt us…Inked forever on our bodies.
“…If there’s no one beside you when you soul embarks
Then I’ll follow you into the dark…”
Sunday, May 4, 2008
I'll Follow You Into the Dark Ch. 3
This incident in the rain-soaked Honda was far from the beginning. The beginning was the magic. So entirely beautiful.
“Let’s get coffee tomorrow. Right now, I gotta take my girl home.”
“Text me”
Here we are in the place where we first met. In the very same table from which my heart beat 40 miles a minute two years ago. It hasn’t changed. His presence still made my stomach do back-flips. I remember when it wasn’t so complicated.
We both stare into our coffee mugs hoping that an answer lies there. Some orb of all-knowing truth. The comforting hands of our mothers. There is just clumped sugar and cloudy milk. All of a sudden Cesc looks up at me and cocks his head. His lips curve upward in that playful smile of his.
“I remember when…”
“Susette? Yeah, hi, it’s me. Chloe. And I was wondering if you could pick up my dry-cleaning on the way back to the house. Pleeaassee girl! Just this one time and never again, I swear! I left 40 bucks on the kitchen table. Love you, kisses!”
I snapped my phone shut and grinned. Shit, she’s going to KILL me if I make her late for another date with Lover Boy. I walked up to the front of the counter. That barista is all sorts of sexy. Flirt girl! At worst you’ll get a free latte.
“Hey!”
“Good morning”
Guh. Look at those baby blues.
“Same to you. Can I get a skim chai tea, large.”
“Sure. Your name?”
“Chloe. What’s yours?
He looks up at me with a playful smile.
“Max”
He winks.
“Max. I like it. Strong, simple, manly. Any sort of digits that come with that name?”
He blushed fervently. A rosy red creeping up his neck.
Hook, line and sinker.
He wrote his number down on my take-away cup. I flashed my celebrity smile once again.
“Thanks, Max. Hope the rest of my day is just as…OH FUCK!
I turned smack-dab into a chest. Searing hot milky tea burned through my new Topshop blouse.
“Shit, shit fuck!
“Oh my God. Miss, I am so sorry.”
“Great. Now I have to go back home and change. I’m going to be so fucking late for work.”
I looked down at the mess we had made on the floor. We both scrambled to pick up my work papers which had now turned a honey-brown. My credit cards and cup were also strewn everywhere. I’m gonna strangle this kid. Eventually I scraped everything together. Never taking my eyes off of the floor to make sure I didn’t leave something important. And so that Max couldn’t see my obvious mortification.
“Sorry miss. I will pay for the…how do you call it?....Ehm…”
“Dry-cleaning.”
“Ah, yes.
“Fine. Give me your address I’ll be sending you a check.”
Oh. My. God. Chocolately eyes. Strong jaw. Lazy stubble sprawling across his jaw. Stunning. I am at a loss for words. The last time I fell this hard was when I was 9 years old. I was in love with my neighbor, Brandon, after he bandaged my boo-boo when I was too afraid to tell my Mom I’d been roughing around with boys. He placed the softest kiss on my knee… Oh this guy’s lips look just as soft. Pale pink as he bit the corner and looked up sheepishly from under those Maybeline lashes.
Brandon who?
“At least let me buy you a new latte. Please.”
I glanced at my watch. Sure, I could spend a few extra minutes for a free latte. And for him.
“Ok. I guess I’ll just have to live with my new yellow shirt.”
He laughed. Soft, honest, genuine.
Hook, line and sinker.
I’m the victim this time.
It’s the same laugh he was performing now. After all of the shit we had gone through, we could use that magic telepathy that only is a byproduct of many mornings sleeping wrapped in each other and talking about everything and nothing deep into the night, and laugh. He is my best friend.
Was.
Is.
“I still have that yellow shirt, you know,” I giggled.
“Seriously?”
“A souvenir. From the best day of my life.”
He cleared his throat.
“Yeah…” He said into the frosty window.
“Let’s get coffee tomorrow. Right now, I gotta take my girl home.”
“Text me”
Here we are in the place where we first met. In the very same table from which my heart beat 40 miles a minute two years ago. It hasn’t changed. His presence still made my stomach do back-flips. I remember when it wasn’t so complicated.
We both stare into our coffee mugs hoping that an answer lies there. Some orb of all-knowing truth. The comforting hands of our mothers. There is just clumped sugar and cloudy milk. All of a sudden Cesc looks up at me and cocks his head. His lips curve upward in that playful smile of his.
“I remember when…”
“Susette? Yeah, hi, it’s me. Chloe. And I was wondering if you could pick up my dry-cleaning on the way back to the house. Pleeaassee girl! Just this one time and never again, I swear! I left 40 bucks on the kitchen table. Love you, kisses!”
I snapped my phone shut and grinned. Shit, she’s going to KILL me if I make her late for another date with Lover Boy. I walked up to the front of the counter. That barista is all sorts of sexy. Flirt girl! At worst you’ll get a free latte.
“Hey!”
“Good morning”
Guh. Look at those baby blues.
“Same to you. Can I get a skim chai tea, large.”
“Sure. Your name?”
“Chloe. What’s yours?
He looks up at me with a playful smile.
“Max”
He winks.
“Max. I like it. Strong, simple, manly. Any sort of digits that come with that name?”
He blushed fervently. A rosy red creeping up his neck.
Hook, line and sinker.
He wrote his number down on my take-away cup. I flashed my celebrity smile once again.
“Thanks, Max. Hope the rest of my day is just as…OH FUCK!
I turned smack-dab into a chest. Searing hot milky tea burned through my new Topshop blouse.
“Shit, shit fuck!
“Oh my God. Miss, I am so sorry.”
“Great. Now I have to go back home and change. I’m going to be so fucking late for work.”
I looked down at the mess we had made on the floor. We both scrambled to pick up my work papers which had now turned a honey-brown. My credit cards and cup were also strewn everywhere. I’m gonna strangle this kid. Eventually I scraped everything together. Never taking my eyes off of the floor to make sure I didn’t leave something important. And so that Max couldn’t see my obvious mortification.
“Sorry miss. I will pay for the…how do you call it?....Ehm…”
“Dry-cleaning.”
“Ah, yes.
“Fine. Give me your address I’ll be sending you a check.”
Oh. My. God. Chocolately eyes. Strong jaw. Lazy stubble sprawling across his jaw. Stunning. I am at a loss for words. The last time I fell this hard was when I was 9 years old. I was in love with my neighbor, Brandon, after he bandaged my boo-boo when I was too afraid to tell my Mom I’d been roughing around with boys. He placed the softest kiss on my knee… Oh this guy’s lips look just as soft. Pale pink as he bit the corner and looked up sheepishly from under those Maybeline lashes.
Brandon who?
“At least let me buy you a new latte. Please.”
I glanced at my watch. Sure, I could spend a few extra minutes for a free latte. And for him.
“Ok. I guess I’ll just have to live with my new yellow shirt.”
He laughed. Soft, honest, genuine.
Hook, line and sinker.
I’m the victim this time.
It’s the same laugh he was performing now. After all of the shit we had gone through, we could use that magic telepathy that only is a byproduct of many mornings sleeping wrapped in each other and talking about everything and nothing deep into the night, and laugh. He is my best friend.
Was.
Is.
“I still have that yellow shirt, you know,” I giggled.
“Seriously?”
“A souvenir. From the best day of my life.”
He cleared his throat.
“Yeah…” He said into the frosty window.
I'll Follow You Into the Dark Ch. 2
Minutes. Minutes went by while my mouth hung agape. My throat was being rude. Selfish, even. It would not push any words out. Dear God, I must look like an idiot.
“Hey Cesc, it’s..uh…er…me. Yeah, me.” I managed to stutter.
“What the hell are you doing?” He yelled. Not in a cruel way, just so I could hear him.
“Afternoon nap?” I mumbled.
“Huh?
Wait, I’m coming in. Unlock the door.”
He fumbled for a few seconds as we played the age-old cat and mouse game with the automatic lock.
I never wanted this to happen. For us to see. Or speak. Or even breathe the same air. It would lead to disaster like everything we had touched. Everything we touched turned to shit. Shame, I just got my car carpet shampooed too.
Jesus. He was beautiful. I always joked with him that he was the pretty one in the relationship. I always said it as a joke, but now it was obvious. It was obvious in the way his eyelashes framed his face. Made him look, lovely even. The look that I hadn’t managed to contrive with many swipes of mascara. It came out of the woodwork that his eyelashes weren’t the only things I was envious of.
“Seriously, Chlo. What the hell?”
Chlo. Oh, Fuck me. Why did he have to call me that?
That’s stupid. He simply didn’t know. He didn’t know that “Chlo” meant “I’ll love you forever and ever.” Or, “Don’t let go.” Everytime someone called me “Chlo” I immediately felt our ankles entwined on lazy Spanish summer afternoons.
My throat was doing that thing again. Maybe it knew something I didn’t. Probably.
“I was bored.”
“You were bored. So you decided to be creepy in a parking lot.”
No. I was bored, so I decided to see if you could feel my essence and smell my perfume in the midst of 75,000 screaming fans.
“Well, I heard you guys were playing today, so… I wanted to see what all the hype was around the new player.”
“Chlo, I don’t give a shit why you came to the game today. I want to know what you are doing in the players’ parking lot, and why your make-up is smudged, and…..”
Chlo. Chlo. Chlo. Chlo. Chlo. Blahblahblahblahblahblah. SHUT UP. It’s only Chlo if we’re fucking, I want to tell him. It’s Chloe to you now.
“Cesc…I…er….I….”
C’mon girl. Out with it. Where is your way with words when you need it the most? Twist them into a magical spell in cradle him in your arms again and swath him in your sheets… do it.
“I miss you.”
Well, that was profound. Shocking. This is the best I could do. Shit, I’m losing my touch.
He sighed and tried to avert his gaze so our eyes wouldn’t meet. If we looked at each other right in the eyes, we would cry together. He was a sensitive boy. So he would start first. I thought I saw some tears welling up in there. I could’ve been my imagination.
“Truthfully….Me too.”
There were no waterworks, though. I used to know him well. Used to. There was more to be said, for there would be no happy reunions tonight. Cesc would make sure of that.
“It’s all over now. I’m really happy. I’m signing my new contract, my mom’s getting the proper medical treatment, everything’s going very fantastic. Aren’t we a little too old for all of these fairy tale games? I don’t have the energy for the chasing or the heartache anymore. We’re too old.”
“We’re twenty.” I retorted.
He was clearly becoming frustrated with me. He rolled his eyes. He used to think it was cute when I was a smart ass. Used to.
“Chloe, you remind me of when I was at my worst. When I held that pistol to my brain. When they thought I would never be able to set foot on the field again. The endless hospital visits and stupid medications….” He whispered.
Huh, he got it right this time. Baby, call me Chlo again. I want to feel my ankles on yours.
“I’m so sorry.”
Here we go. Tears flop everywhere, even with some projectile. Glamour girls had tears that slid. His new girl had tears that slid elegantly down her rosy cheeks. Not me.
“I remember the good times, though. The way you felt. And tasted. And smelled.” He whispered longingly.
Ah, so he did smell me.
“I knew you were here, actually.” He chuckled.
“How do you mean?”
“God, this sounds totally stupid and crazy, but…I felt your essence. I always could. And I’ll always be able to.”
Eyes locked. Chocolate on Hazel.
Boom.
“Hey Cesc, it’s..uh…er…me. Yeah, me.” I managed to stutter.
“What the hell are you doing?” He yelled. Not in a cruel way, just so I could hear him.
“Afternoon nap?” I mumbled.
“Huh?
Wait, I’m coming in. Unlock the door.”
He fumbled for a few seconds as we played the age-old cat and mouse game with the automatic lock.
I never wanted this to happen. For us to see. Or speak. Or even breathe the same air. It would lead to disaster like everything we had touched. Everything we touched turned to shit. Shame, I just got my car carpet shampooed too.
Jesus. He was beautiful. I always joked with him that he was the pretty one in the relationship. I always said it as a joke, but now it was obvious. It was obvious in the way his eyelashes framed his face. Made him look, lovely even. The look that I hadn’t managed to contrive with many swipes of mascara. It came out of the woodwork that his eyelashes weren’t the only things I was envious of.
“Seriously, Chlo. What the hell?”
Chlo. Oh, Fuck me. Why did he have to call me that?
That’s stupid. He simply didn’t know. He didn’t know that “Chlo” meant “I’ll love you forever and ever.” Or, “Don’t let go.” Everytime someone called me “Chlo” I immediately felt our ankles entwined on lazy Spanish summer afternoons.
My throat was doing that thing again. Maybe it knew something I didn’t. Probably.
“I was bored.”
“You were bored. So you decided to be creepy in a parking lot.”
No. I was bored, so I decided to see if you could feel my essence and smell my perfume in the midst of 75,000 screaming fans.
“Well, I heard you guys were playing today, so… I wanted to see what all the hype was around the new player.”
“Chlo, I don’t give a shit why you came to the game today. I want to know what you are doing in the players’ parking lot, and why your make-up is smudged, and…..”
Chlo. Chlo. Chlo. Chlo. Chlo. Blahblahblahblahblahblah. SHUT UP. It’s only Chlo if we’re fucking, I want to tell him. It’s Chloe to you now.
“Cesc…I…er….I….”
C’mon girl. Out with it. Where is your way with words when you need it the most? Twist them into a magical spell in cradle him in your arms again and swath him in your sheets… do it.
“I miss you.”
Well, that was profound. Shocking. This is the best I could do. Shit, I’m losing my touch.
He sighed and tried to avert his gaze so our eyes wouldn’t meet. If we looked at each other right in the eyes, we would cry together. He was a sensitive boy. So he would start first. I thought I saw some tears welling up in there. I could’ve been my imagination.
“Truthfully….Me too.”
There were no waterworks, though. I used to know him well. Used to. There was more to be said, for there would be no happy reunions tonight. Cesc would make sure of that.
“It’s all over now. I’m really happy. I’m signing my new contract, my mom’s getting the proper medical treatment, everything’s going very fantastic. Aren’t we a little too old for all of these fairy tale games? I don’t have the energy for the chasing or the heartache anymore. We’re too old.”
“We’re twenty.” I retorted.
He was clearly becoming frustrated with me. He rolled his eyes. He used to think it was cute when I was a smart ass. Used to.
“Chloe, you remind me of when I was at my worst. When I held that pistol to my brain. When they thought I would never be able to set foot on the field again. The endless hospital visits and stupid medications….” He whispered.
Huh, he got it right this time. Baby, call me Chlo again. I want to feel my ankles on yours.
“I’m so sorry.”
Here we go. Tears flop everywhere, even with some projectile. Glamour girls had tears that slid. His new girl had tears that slid elegantly down her rosy cheeks. Not me.
“I remember the good times, though. The way you felt. And tasted. And smelled.” He whispered longingly.
Ah, so he did smell me.
“I knew you were here, actually.” He chuckled.
“How do you mean?”
“God, this sounds totally stupid and crazy, but…I felt your essence. I always could. And I’ll always be able to.”
Eyes locked. Chocolate on Hazel.
Boom.
I'll Follow You Into The Dark Ch. 1
So, really for my own entertainment. But comment if it so pleases you. And also to spend my days NOT being studious and NOT gluing my ass to the couch and feeling sorry for myself. Everyone needs that sense of accomplishment, right? This is a little thing called a fanfic. You'll get it if you know who Cesc Fabregas is, otherwise just another love story.
_____________________________________________________________________
I stood outside of the stadium. I was debating whether or not to step inside, where I could potentially be attacked. By my own forces, my brain straddling the line between heartache and satisfaction. I squinted as I looked up into the gray sky, maybe for a sign, maybe for the imminent rain to fall so I could rush back into my car and be released from this purgatory. This moment of judgment. This moment of decision. He couldn’t see me way up in the stands, of course. But I was almost sure that he could feel me, and that when he felt me he would stop dead in his tracks, the ball would come to a rolling stop, the crowd would become fixated on me as well wondering why the life was all of a sudden drained out of their winger. It would be a theatrical moment when the world stopped spinning and my head spun faster. I had not daydreamed an end to this nightmarish fantasy. Only the anticipation. The resulting moment would ruin the anticipation. It always does.
-Miss, would you like me to take your ticket for you?
Of course, I had been standing there looking like a goon, clutching my ticket at the entrance gate staring into spaces of grey. I suppose this was the sign I was waiting for.
-Erm…yes. Thanks
-Cheers, the ticket-taker said without an ounce of emotion on his face. This kind of English paralyzation of the face I had once seen as rude and cold, but now found humorous in contrast to hyper-excited toothy American smiles I had been previously accustomed to.
The smell of beer and cigarettes smacked me in the face as I took my few first steps in. I was not accustomed to sitting this high, with the “commoners” as the other girlfriends said. This was not polished. It was not pretty or clean, but it was raw emotion. I felt right among them, more right than I ever had among the clicking Loubutins in the pampered corridors.
My Chucks felt right, too.
I took my seat, but everyone else was standing up, so I jumped to my feet to be one with the crowd. As the men-folk were totally entranced in the game and their alcohol, I could see the eyes of their girlfriends on me, trying to figure out my vague familiarity. My eyes were focused on the field.
And there he was as glorious as ever. Everytime his foot tapped the ball my heart jumped up in my esophagus and my stomach fell out of my ass. This moment was completely surreal. We had been so intimate, me tracing his birthmark with two fingers, his hands cupped around my breasts making them seem, feel, even smell remarkable.
I looked down at them now. Unremarkable in my old T-shirt. And here he was the big shot, and my private adoration seemed pitiful up against the adoration of the 75,000 people here. He missed a shot, everyone gasped, the same way I had gasped when his arms encircled my waist.
This was a bad idea. This is all too much for me too handle. The game had now slowed into a lull, with the ball crossing the center line so frequently; it began to feel like a tennis match. Most had fallen back into their seats. The old rusted metal creaked. Out of nowhere, he came sweeping down the field, leaving defenders in his cloud out sweat and determination.
Goal. I craned my neck to see the celebration, which had always been my favorite part. To see the invincible giants weep like old women and jump excitedly about like children. It made them all seem so undoubtedly human. After his teammates and cleared their man child, he jogged to the sidelines, and huge grin plastered on the flushed face I had once seen only centimeters above my own, and blew a kiss…to her. Once upon a time that kiss belonged to me. I longed for it to float higher and higher into the stands until it found its way upon my lips. But this one was not destined for me.
Everyone was chanting, screaming, clapping.
I calmly took my keys out of my purse, clasped it shut, and said polite “Excuse me’s” as I maneuvered my way among the throngs of human flesh. The ticket-takers were still jabbering excitedly about the feat that he had managed to pull off. Wow. I sat in my Honda. My keys never made it into the ignition. My knees met my chin and I did the one thing I hadn’t done in a long time. Not even when he had broken from me. Tears mingled with mascara and snot.
This was messy, I was a mess.
I still retained my private parking pass for the player’s lot. I knew he was bound to find me after the game was over and the congratulations had worn thin. I always kept a blanket in my backseat should I ever need it. I crawled under it. It had grown scratchy with time, and smelled like dust, but I slipped into its comfort and was out cold.
“In a million, trillion, kajillion years from now, when we’re old and helpless and have failing memories, would you recognize me?”
“Sure, I don’t see why not. All I’d have to do is see that scar under your chin and I would know. Boom. Like that.”
“But what if my face had totally changed and wrinkles had covered every part of me, even the most recognizable ones?”
“Hmm.”
“Well?”
“I’d put my hand to your heart.”
“What good would that do?”
“I’ve memorized your heartbeart.”
There was a tap at my window. Louder and louder and louder. Jesus, how long had I’d been here?
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t worry, I was just leaving,” I tried to yell.
“Are you ok in there,” the voice replied.
Ugh. I struggled to climb over the divider and hop into the front seat. It was pitch black outside, and I could only see shadows. I fumbled to hit the window switch to let the stranger know that I was mildly OK.
I didn’t notice that the rain had made it’s grand entrance during my nap and was now mercilessly pounding.
“Shit!” I cried that the rain fell into my car and on my face like a bad memory.
“Chloe, it that you?” The stranger yelled to get over the sound of the thunder.
Shit.
_____________________________________________________________________
I stood outside of the stadium. I was debating whether or not to step inside, where I could potentially be attacked. By my own forces, my brain straddling the line between heartache and satisfaction. I squinted as I looked up into the gray sky, maybe for a sign, maybe for the imminent rain to fall so I could rush back into my car and be released from this purgatory. This moment of judgment. This moment of decision. He couldn’t see me way up in the stands, of course. But I was almost sure that he could feel me, and that when he felt me he would stop dead in his tracks, the ball would come to a rolling stop, the crowd would become fixated on me as well wondering why the life was all of a sudden drained out of their winger. It would be a theatrical moment when the world stopped spinning and my head spun faster. I had not daydreamed an end to this nightmarish fantasy. Only the anticipation. The resulting moment would ruin the anticipation. It always does.
-Miss, would you like me to take your ticket for you?
Of course, I had been standing there looking like a goon, clutching my ticket at the entrance gate staring into spaces of grey. I suppose this was the sign I was waiting for.
-Erm…yes. Thanks
-Cheers, the ticket-taker said without an ounce of emotion on his face. This kind of English paralyzation of the face I had once seen as rude and cold, but now found humorous in contrast to hyper-excited toothy American smiles I had been previously accustomed to.
The smell of beer and cigarettes smacked me in the face as I took my few first steps in. I was not accustomed to sitting this high, with the “commoners” as the other girlfriends said. This was not polished. It was not pretty or clean, but it was raw emotion. I felt right among them, more right than I ever had among the clicking Loubutins in the pampered corridors.
My Chucks felt right, too.
I took my seat, but everyone else was standing up, so I jumped to my feet to be one with the crowd. As the men-folk were totally entranced in the game and their alcohol, I could see the eyes of their girlfriends on me, trying to figure out my vague familiarity. My eyes were focused on the field.
And there he was as glorious as ever. Everytime his foot tapped the ball my heart jumped up in my esophagus and my stomach fell out of my ass. This moment was completely surreal. We had been so intimate, me tracing his birthmark with two fingers, his hands cupped around my breasts making them seem, feel, even smell remarkable.
I looked down at them now. Unremarkable in my old T-shirt. And here he was the big shot, and my private adoration seemed pitiful up against the adoration of the 75,000 people here. He missed a shot, everyone gasped, the same way I had gasped when his arms encircled my waist.
This was a bad idea. This is all too much for me too handle. The game had now slowed into a lull, with the ball crossing the center line so frequently; it began to feel like a tennis match. Most had fallen back into their seats. The old rusted metal creaked. Out of nowhere, he came sweeping down the field, leaving defenders in his cloud out sweat and determination.
Goal. I craned my neck to see the celebration, which had always been my favorite part. To see the invincible giants weep like old women and jump excitedly about like children. It made them all seem so undoubtedly human. After his teammates and cleared their man child, he jogged to the sidelines, and huge grin plastered on the flushed face I had once seen only centimeters above my own, and blew a kiss…to her. Once upon a time that kiss belonged to me. I longed for it to float higher and higher into the stands until it found its way upon my lips. But this one was not destined for me.
Everyone was chanting, screaming, clapping.
I calmly took my keys out of my purse, clasped it shut, and said polite “Excuse me’s” as I maneuvered my way among the throngs of human flesh. The ticket-takers were still jabbering excitedly about the feat that he had managed to pull off. Wow. I sat in my Honda. My keys never made it into the ignition. My knees met my chin and I did the one thing I hadn’t done in a long time. Not even when he had broken from me. Tears mingled with mascara and snot.
This was messy, I was a mess.
I still retained my private parking pass for the player’s lot. I knew he was bound to find me after the game was over and the congratulations had worn thin. I always kept a blanket in my backseat should I ever need it. I crawled under it. It had grown scratchy with time, and smelled like dust, but I slipped into its comfort and was out cold.
“In a million, trillion, kajillion years from now, when we’re old and helpless and have failing memories, would you recognize me?”
“Sure, I don’t see why not. All I’d have to do is see that scar under your chin and I would know. Boom. Like that.”
“But what if my face had totally changed and wrinkles had covered every part of me, even the most recognizable ones?”
“Hmm.”
“Well?”
“I’d put my hand to your heart.”
“What good would that do?”
“I’ve memorized your heartbeart.”
There was a tap at my window. Louder and louder and louder. Jesus, how long had I’d been here?
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t worry, I was just leaving,” I tried to yell.
“Are you ok in there,” the voice replied.
Ugh. I struggled to climb over the divider and hop into the front seat. It was pitch black outside, and I could only see shadows. I fumbled to hit the window switch to let the stranger know that I was mildly OK.
I didn’t notice that the rain had made it’s grand entrance during my nap and was now mercilessly pounding.
“Shit!” I cried that the rain fell into my car and on my face like a bad memory.
“Chloe, it that you?” The stranger yelled to get over the sound of the thunder.
Shit.
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