[Snip!] She became distracted from me, flitting back inside and upstairs as quickly as she had came. I truly wish that was a real double entendre.
In a state of utter shellshock, in both a physical and emotional sense, I resorted to instinct; reached for the pouch of fresh Port Royale tobacco, filters, and papers and began the ritual of killing myself.
Inside, after some careful babysitting, she met her match; a girl with far less baggage, far more freedom, and as deserving need for physical affection. I try hard not to hate her. It would be unfair. Still, that ever seething jealousy bubbled away minute by minute. I think it was about 20 of them, but it could've been 30 or even 60... no matter the length, when she reappeared, my second reaction was to laugh to myself. Was that all?! I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I'd have had her there till dawn. She'd have passed out, only to have been woken again to continue until I could point out the sunrise.
She was oh so sheepish and I hardly blame her. I know very well how my moods are conveyed through my face and body language. I need not say a word for she already knew she had done a great wrong.
And there I sat, with my one escape now closed off forever, awkwardly in silence as she attempted to keep up the drunken fascade of giggling silliness to hide the new addition to my family: the giant elephant in the room. The post-coitus glow, the bruises on her neck, all were little invitations to my unwelcome guest. "You weren't good enough, you stupid fat dyke!" the words boomed in my mind, chastising me for failing to meet up to expectations. No, not even 'dyke'. That still makes me laugh. Let's go with something a little more reflective of my mood. "You weren't good enough, you stupid waste of space." That's all Priscilla needed to sink her tendrils into my mind and fill me with self-hate for the rest of the evening. Always the second choice. Sometimes even out of pity. Never the immediate go-to. Always the next, or last, alternative.
Oh yes, I know, "boo-hoo, oh poor you, making out with a hot chick, having girls flirt with you all of the time, what do you have to complain about?" I do apologise to the uninitiated, but Priscilla does not care for these facts. Priscilla exists purely to fill my mind with seething hate for myself.
That's how my night, and proceeding few days, ended. In second place, a comforting back-up plan just in case nothing better crops up.
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