"Bien, I could do t'at." Max hummed into the device nodding slowly - as if the woman on the other end could see her, but that was just the way the woman made her feel. At ease, but perhaps that was a part of her job. The brunette couldn't remember how they had met, if it had been through Franckie or if she had found her somewhere within a bar back when she had arrived in New Orleans, but there were an unspoken love and deep trust for Nina. Max trusted her enough to send traumatized girls from the brothel to her office, one decorated in light colors, blue to ease the minds of the restless, artwork framed nicely, with plants to give you that welcoming cozy homey feeling. The grey couch hinting with blue tones settled facing the desk a small coffee table with magazines coffee cups and one lonely flower, which she changed every week. Max could paint the little office with her eyes closed, knew it better than she knew Nina's home, and oh - how she had settled herself upon the sofa plenty of times, just to stare into nothingness and feel loved and trusted enough to shed salt, tears that had been held back for years, making her weep for hours on end. So, it was quite logical that Nina was the first person that came into her mind, needed to talk to - needed her to listen, and needed to give her some clarity or guidance. She rather wasn't found back in New Orleans, so a forty-five-minute call would have to do. "I t'ink I 'ave still a notebook in my apartment somew'ere." Another pause words encouraging her to write down her insecurities, doubts and the things she hid from the outside world, writing words down she left unspoken. "W'at?" She chuckled lightly "I am not going to send you letter-" She got interrupted by her friend on the other end "Non, ma C'er t'at is strange, even if I wouldn't send t'em." Children noises and within seconds Nina excused herself "Bon, bon - Say 'i to t'e kids and Paul uh? I will talk to you later.." Max listened to Nina yelling before the line died to leave her to stare at her screen. Forty-six-minutes-and-twenty-five-seconds where Max had only cared to talk about herself but like always Nina didn't seem to mind, part of her job, part of her lifestyle, part of their friendship.
Max settled into the little Pink Hotel room, tossing her bag on the little stool near the door, just to dig through it to find the leather black book there. The little black book as good as empty besides the few pages filled with Jack's opiums dealings. The thought alone, made her grunt as she settled upon the large bed, little black book forced between her hands to settle upon her stomach as she let herself fall back against the sheets. Discouraged, never to be one that liked to explore her feelings, patterns and her repetitive habits. But she knew she needed to find a twist within her story, a change - a way to break the cycle. After deep breaths of frustration, she crawled back up opened and ripped the few pages out with not much thought, besides hatred - anger, and disappointment mostly in herself. Tears held back, as she ripped the little pages in many little pieces "Fuck you, Jack." She hissed through seethed teeth "Fuck you, fuck t'is! Fuck EVERYT'ING!" There was no satisfaction seeing the little pages shred over her bed, the floor stuck in the carpet - but there was no satisfaction in everything. Not entirely sure, if she could let out the poet, the writer inside of her to explore her feelings and her thoughts, but she would at least try.
"Today has been rough on me. The last few weeks have been.
It doesn't make things easier with the thoughts of loved ones spending time hunched over tables and their plates filled with traditional recipes like turkey and mashed potatoes, or anything else that could get you in the mood for Christmas or Thanksgiving.
Even if the downside of those festive family dinners is barely worth the upside - It doesn't make it easier to be alone. Alone while others spend time in houses decorated with bright shiny lights, flickering outside their cozy homes. To sit around the Christmas tree, spend time on fully decorating it and watch the tree die while gifts surround and wait to be opened underneath it.
One way I feel like it's just a marketed event where society is forced to spend huge amounts of money on things we will forget about the day after. An event where we will play pretends to be the perfect family - forget about past grudges and forget about our troubles and sorrows. Forcing ourselves to be in a room included with people we became to dislike, but still, accept cause it's family. In a way, I am glad I am not listening to awkward stories of a faraway aunt that treads into deep depths of what she had experienced waiting in line in wallmart or to be groped by the uncle that drinks too much and secretly wishes he could hump his own sister and his nieces. On the other hand, I miss my family. I miss the brothel, I miss Frankie and the tradition to get wasted in little bars like the spotted cat and enjoy the musicians working their asses off for tips and free drinks on the house. I miss Jack.
I never felt like I am the type to wallow in things, I rather numb my thoughts ease my sorrow with the right amount of liquor mixed with cocaine or other substances I explored in my life and get through my days. Numb it long enough until I forget how it felt to be hurt in the first place. But today, I do not wish to drown my sorrows, lay naked in the shitty motel room bed and listen to the sounds of people arguing, lovers fighting and husbands cheating on our local hookers that even now - especially now, work over hours for those that use business trips as excuses to be away from their mismatched wives or broken families, they work for those that are lonely and miserable like me.
Usually, I wouldn't give a damn to feel a sense of normality spending Christmas with others, but today - Especially today I feel more than miserable, I ache for the familiarity of festive dinners that tend to turn into disasters over the courses of bottles of wines, I ache for the walls of my home, even if I know that renting out my apartment is fulfilling my desperate need of money, I ache for Jack. Jack that most likely is spending her time in Japan or wherever she tends to go to whenever she isn't in around or sleeping over at my place, not that - that will be a thing that will happen anytime soon.
I know that if this was any other weekend that my loneliness wouldn't make me this blue, as it is. It most likely wouldn't even be that hard for me, as I became used to it, accepted it even if it had been absent until recently. But it is hard, it is lonely and it has led me to call Nina, a person I used as a friend, a therapist and even slept with knowing I made her cheat on her husband and risked her family while doing it. Still after a year of absence, not calling, not writing - not even letting her know I am still alive she's too kind to me. Kind enough to give me advice, pick my brain and listen to my doubts and my insecurities, kind enough to pick up the call on Christmas - to put aside her mom duties, and duties as a wife and to listen to me for less than an hour. But she did. She picked up her phone, listened gave me the shoulder to lean on and advised me to write my thoughts and feelings down.
So I spent my time writing, while darkness is slowly surrounding Hathian, the light snow falling down - making the world seems colder - but magical. While I hold myself from crying over the woman I became to love, while I hold myself from turning back into patterns that have led me to my downfall in the first place. Even if I can bet on it that after I cried re-reading these pages that I will eventually turn to the bottle of bourbon I brought home from the office.
Speaking of the office, today has been hard for me as I buried my face between another woman's thighs. I hated how I didn't taste the nectar I became familiar with, the taste I woke up with days in a row over the last few months, waking in the morning whether she stayed in my bed, or already left. Jack would be on my lips or at least for the first few hours of the day, making me wish I would be able to taste her throughout the entire day, or days until I would be able to actually taste her again. It made me miss the scent of her lingering in the sheets of my bed, the stance of her Marlboro cigarettes - and the way I could still smell her on me after a shower, after perfume - even if it is possible it was me imagining her around me. It was weird to taste someone else, to hear someone else's voice dip down and change into sultry honeyed whispers, aching for more - even if it is a simple exchange of payment, services I agree to give for the proper amount of money. It was strange, and I couldn't allow myself to experience a climax even if she was fairly pretty looking, had the right kind of curves and skin lighter than mine - one I spend a lifetime wishing I had - I couldn't allow myself to offer my body to her fully.
I'm perfectly aware that just days before I planned on fucking the cowboy in his shed out of town. And I know I already shared my body with another man. Not mattering if it was more personal than I wanted to, normally allow to, with an associate or partner or someone that forced me onto the massage table and filled the room with heavy grunts and our flesh clapping, while I enjoyed his body against mine, using me - taking me, hammering away - making me cum twice.
I couldn't offer her what I have offered Jack, I couldn't offer her to return the favor even if my body always is hungry, hooked on the climax like a heroin addict hooked on the needle poking in a vein offering the rush seconds later. I know I'm hooked on the ache to feel my body tremble, my breath stock and my skin sweating, eyes leaving silent promises, and the sense of false love as minds and bodies are entangled in passion and lust - but I couldn't do it. I couldn't allow myself to cum for a woman that wasn't mine, I didn't want to give myself without being hers completely. I figured out that it is clearly different with the opposite sex - I experienced that, even with my thoughts still with the previous parlor owner, I could enjoy a man, the bulkier body, the clearer shape of bones in his features but I can't imagine myself with another woman.
I am aware that I may never feel her hands upon my skin, aware of the possibility of this ship having sailed while I missed the boat. Even if I doubt that I would be able to resist Roxy, the woman I compare with a Vixen, a fiery Latina that didn't even seem to be bothered being shot, to return back to me, even if she has been absent for weeks now. In my mind I know it will not be the same, my body will know it isn't the woman that claimed me, which I hated her for it - but told me that we belonged. That this was bigger than me, bigger than her - meant to be, written in the stars or something. That realization makes me believe that there is nothing important that does not include Jack, and it terrifies me, it terrifies me for our future, whether it is personal or if it's only excluded to business - until she likely finds someone that can make more money than me, is more valuable for her and her family.
It terrifies me and makes me feel miserable, lonely and incapable of loving yet again. I feel like I made the same mistakes with Carnie, Franckie and most of my friends that turned their backs upon me and I just hope, that this time it will be different. That this time, I will be able to change our direction steer it back to what have been, or perhaps - something better. Something where I am able to look into her eyes and know that I shed no lies, but told her the truth. A future where there is no need to hide things play games behind her back even if it's for my own entertainment or the attempt to hurt her just to gain her attention, as all attention whether it's negative or positive is still attention.
I am afraid to become obsessed like I have been with the shore even at that time - I didn't know it yet, I'm afraid to ruin more friendships, relationships that actually mean something to me even with none of my intentions being good for others, and only included myself. I realize that I am turning older, and it becomes harder to find people to connect and bond with, to trust and to love and to care about - and even if I have no idea where to start, I do want that connection. I do want to be able to look at someone truthfully and know that I got them covered and that if ever needed they would cover me and not because I spend an amount of money on bail, but because they want to cover me. I don't know if it's going to be Jack, or how I am going to get over her in the worst case scenario - I do know that I want the kind of relationship Mollie and Kai seem to be having, kinky sex, long travels and caring about the others surrounding them, loving them - and loving in return - even if I doubt it, that I am even capable of such thing - as I am more than shocked to believe that I am actually in love with someone, in love.. Such a terrible thing to be.
It's sad really, an unfortunate thing that happens to the best of us - take a look at John - who was just as madly in love as I am in this moment or believe to be , and even though I spend my life going through several amounts of partners, one night stands, and friends to fuck with, to forget with to get lost in - I wouldn't want to go back to that - one where you don't know if you need to go buy more sheets or if you should just be less lazy and do your laundry more often - one where you ache for something - find it, but know it will never be enough - or atleast, until time heals your heart.
Hell, I could write chapters about this feeling and we haven't even gotten to the point where I write about everything else that haunts my mind.
Not that I am going to, for the first pages, for the first moment to write my feelings and thoughts down, I feel like I did a pretty good job. Perhaps this motivates me to write more, to share things that I never shared before, to write down the words I left unsaid in conversations, or the feelings that I have recently been exploring - The darkness that hangs above me - and I don't even seem to mind the desire to feed it, to darken it another shade of black, perhaps it will catch up with my heart that is just as black as the night, black - the way I prefer my coffee. Bitter.
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