A Love Story Part 1

Part 1. Pretty Boys and cheap cigarettes

December 22, 2014.

I remember everything clearly. I remembered his birthday, October 30th. One day from Halloween. I remember the first time I ever talked to him, sitting on a swingset in a park and he sat by me and we started talking. I remember asking if his piercings were real like the fool I was.

He laughed and shook his head before saying “Yeah, you wanna feel?”

I tugged on his earlobes, discovering that the 8 gauge silver plugs in his ears were real and the black thin snakebite rings in his lips were real as well as the silver septum. His hair was long and had red tips, But he didn’t look scary at all.

We sat there on August 12th in the tiny little swingset as I waited for my mom to pick me up, snagging his number and his name. His name was Drake but his friends all called him DeeJay. Dee or Jay worked for him so I called him Dee, We talked a long time and eventually he confessed he thought I was beautiful and asked me on a first date on September 24th. Our first date was simple. Panda Express to go and then he took me to the park, set out a blanket and we sat there eating food and watching the clouds roll by. He brought his guitar and strummed a few songs, most of which I knew.

That was the day I got my first kiss. He told me to look over there and I looked before he snagged a kiss, staying there for a moment, his lips gently pressing against mine. The metal of his snakebites were cool and it’s the kind of feeling that sends shivers through you. I had fallen hard. Crashing down at a thousand miles per hour, falling into his arms and I was happy.

He dropped me off at home and snagged another kiss and gave me a guitar pick. “This is my favorite Pick.” He said, his face completely serious, “Take good care of it.”

“Of course I will.” I told him “I always hold gifts dear to me.” I was excited for the next time I’d see him again.

We never slept together but we came close. He drove his truck out to the park where I first met him. The bed of his truck was covered in pillows and blankets and stuffed animals. He gave me a little stuffed owl at the end of the night and I still sleep with it. We laid back on the truck bed and just laid there and kissed for awhile.

He ended up pinning me down and got the first layer of my shirt off before he panicked and said “I can’t do this.”

After that we just laid back and talked. Like it always had been. I dyed his hair bright red and put black streaks in it. It didn’t turn out well. It became bright neon magenta with purple streaks and I started calling him Cheshire. He of course was fond of this and kept his hair the way it was.

He wasn’t exactly interested in dinner dates or movies. He was content with sitting outside and watching the stars while playing his guitar or laying in the grass, talking about life and love and loss. He would always end up pulling me into his arms and use my shoulder as his pillow. He always smelled like cinnamon apples for some reason and I always loved it.

He’d whisper “I love you” Over and over again in my ear. I believed every word he said. Here I was with the perfect person. I thought we were destined to be together. And I was wrong.

Finding the man I loved shattered by a bullet to the head was the worst thing I ever witnessed. All I remember is the way he looked. He was smiling in that moment. As if he felt at peace and I never understood why. But it quickly hit me that he was never meant to be mine. He was meant to be part of the earth- to die, give life and bring life in other ways than humanly possible. But I never saw it until recently. No his actions aren’t justified. But they are. To be so miserable you take your own life isn’t exactly the way I pictured him. No, I didn’t even expect it. But the things that triggered it aren’t surprising at all.

The thing is, he self harmed. Yeah I knew it was bad. But I never even said anything. I pretended not to notice. To notice would draw attention to the criss crossed scars skittered across his pale skin and to look at them made me cringe. My knight wasn’t in shining armor. It was rusted, cracked, torn from battles with himself and an ocean of blood and tears. But I was blind and only saw the little dents here and there in the clear, shiny silver and a smile wherever this beautiful man walked. And his armor started out new but every night he fought a fierce battle.

My knight in shining armor was a battered and beaten soul. And I failed to see it, being so head over heels in my teenage dream that I didn’t see the pain he was in. Mortal battle wounds that covered his limbs. Oh yes, it was true love at first sight. And it ended as abruptly as it began.

The truth is, self harm is no different than an alcohol addiction, a cigarette addiction, a heroin addiction. It’s just an escape from the harsh reality of a black pit you created out of your own self pity and hopelessness. My addiction to pain pills after his death was no different. Why pain pills? Because I thought that they’d make the pain in my heart go away. In reality it just numbed it. It never fixed anything.

Cutting was one of the things I tried only once. It just made me scream seeing blood in the sink. No it didn’t fix anything. It didn’t distract me from the truth. It brought back the flashbacks of a gorgeous man with a bullet in his hands and bloody wrists and all the while, I listened to Bring Me the Horizon to keep myself sane. Bring Me the Horizon, Of Mice and Men, Pierce the Veil, the cycle never ended. Music kept me sane enough not to pick up the razor blade again, not to pop the final pill.

And of course there was a special person in my life who stayed with me the whole ride… His name was Nick. His eyes changed color but they seemed to stare into your soul, his smile was somewhat crooked and I recall him always wearing a scarf. He always straightened his long, honey brown hair. He was pale skinned and he and I were about the same height.We listened to the same bands, music was his lifeline. He played guitar, he was an activist and his morals were kept at a high standard. He and I were the closest of friends and we still are.

I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt him. I’ve been too caught up in my self loathing to see the truth that without him, maybe I wouldn’t be here. Or maybe I would’ve gotten caught up in the wrong crowd and ended up getting kicked out of school or something. It’s strange to think about it.

But of course I didn’t see it. I didn’t see the scars on him. I didn’t see the rusted, dented armor on his back. I didn’t see the fact he was the knight fighting for me because I was too distracted searching for the prince charming in glittering armor and the better version of my old love. And I’d always fall for the wrong person. I thought I found my new prince charming. Someone to help me get over my dead love… and maybe I could have a future with him but... This wasn’t love. This was just me grasping for someone in hopes that perhaps he can make my pain go away. And in the process I lost the one person who mattered most to me.

I was too selfish to see that keeping the truth from him ultimately backfired and I hurt him more than I ever anticipated, leaving us bitter towards each other. I was too scared to fight for him. He was too hurt to listen. And I still regret it to this day. And maybe I should’ve noticed the scars. Maybe I should’ve noticed the sadness behind the smile on the day I saw him and walked with him. But he seemed so happy and so was I. I was happy with him.

I hadn’t felt that way in such a long time- the butterflies in my stomach, my hand in his. The way he’d look at me as if we were the only people in the museum. His eyes were like stars, bright, beautiful and filled with excitement. Something I hadn’t seen in a long time and I could stare at those eyes for years and years…

He would smile at me occasionally, “Are you doing okay?” He would ask

“I’m perfectly fine.” I said, tightening my grip in his hand, battling with myself and debating on telling him I was seeing someone, “I’m just glad to see you.”
    “Me too,” He whispered, smiling even wider, “I’m so glad you’re here…”

    I dreamt of the days where freedom was in my grasp and I could take his hand and walk into my fantasy world. Prince charming in his torn up skinny jeans and band tees and a hipster princess with the paint stained hands. And a lot of cuddling, because cuddling is a form of stress relief and seems to make even the big things less important. And yet he’s miles away from me- a two and a half hour plane ride.

    Going home, I thought about him. He said to never talk to him again and part of me felt broken inside. It hurt… but I had hurt him more, more than I should have. More than it was worth. But soon he came around and told me it was for the best. We both needed this. He said. And maybe he was right. But it didn’t feel right. It still doesn’t feel right. We both needed this. Why? I figured it out a few months afterward that I needed to grow up. Mend the mistakes I made, quit being an immature, idiotic, self centered brat and learn that people care about me.

    Was the man I was with at the time worth losing my best friend and the person I loved? Of course not. Why hadn’t I seen it before? Maybe I was just lonely. Maybe I was guilted into thinking that leaving him would be a big mistake. Either way, I woke up. I woke up and saw that I am not a child anymore. That maybe leaving this person would be for the best and that I need to mend the things I had broken. So I tried.

All I said was that I missed him and after months of waiting, I got a simple “hi.”

I immediately responded, typing “Hi how’re you?”
    “Im well. yourself?”

“Been better. Honestly I feel like complete shit but meh. Some good things happened today.”
    “glad to hear things have gone well today at least.”

Something so simple but… it meant so much to me, starting with simple talks to apologies and tears. I confessed everything to him and he simply said it was the past. Moving forward. That’s what you do.

    When you dwell in the past, it holds you back. When you look forward to the future, you achieve anything. Personally I believe this is complete bullshit. You can’t see into the future but when you focus on the present, you open yourself to possibilities. Maybe that’s where Dee went wrong. He was so stuck in the past, he lost himself and shattered- torn apart by time. But now time has a habit of repeating itself.

    Of course my prince charming has just as many scars as Dee, if not more. But this time I acknowledge their presence. I understand why they’re there and I want to kiss each and every one of them. I want to take his hand, look him in the eye and make him feel like the battle scars he has is what pushed him toward the future. I have faith in him. I always have. I always will. Maybe someday I can show him that with every scar, every tear, every pill, there’s strength behind it. Perhaps all he needs is a little push and he can fly high. Higher than Dee ever could. Dee could never be him. Dee was never strong enough to stay, even when I was there holding his hand.

    Take him and cut him out of stars, so all the earth may be in love with the sky. I want him to be an ocean, not pools of blood on his sleeves. I want him to paint the walls, not his skin. Because I love him more than anything. Once you give your heart to someone it doesn’t matter what they’ve done. No more tears… It’s not worth the pain. The past is the past and we can only move on or our sorrows will drown us.