Page 61 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

Fuck.

Nonono.

I rip open the front door and barrel down the stairs out onto the street. I'm hoping to find him out here sitting on the curb. The cold night air hits my face as my bare feet hit the pavement.

I search the complex, my heart shattering into pieces. Taking off into a jog, I check behind parked cars and dumpsters and then out onto the street. Yellow streetlights overhead illuminate that he’s fuckinggone.I grab at my chest like that’ll somehow keep everything breaking together. Tears stream down my cheeks while I spin in place, still in denial. He has to be here still. I just didn’t see him.

“Eli!” I call out into the night, and a neighbor hollers, “Shut up, asshole!”

The sob rips from me while I ball up my fists and tuck my chin to my chest. That motherfucker. I begged him to stay with me. I told him that Ilovedhim. I’ve never said it before. His cum is still inside me, his kiss on my lips a ghostly presence. This isn’t happening. He’s not doing this again. I hurry back inside the apartment, grab my phone, and call him.

“This number cannot be reached,” an automated robot voice says.

I pull the phone back from my face. “What the fuck?”

I call three more times and am met with the same response. “FUCK!” I try to text him but it doesn’t send. He blocked me.

Just like last year.

Throwing my phone, I grab my car keys and go for the door but pause. I’m shaking, insides convulsing, and crying so hard I can’t see. I sink to the floor, drop the keys, and hold my knees to my chest. Where would I even go to find him? He’s probably at the fucking airport by now because it’s 2 am, and I know I’ve been asleep for hours.

I sniffle and roll my head against the door.

The tantrum I’m throwing is pointless. I knew he’d do this. He said he was going to leave. He made love to me, knowing he was going to do it. Part of me wants to fly to Chicago and beat on his front door until he has no choice but to deal with me. But what good would it do? I’d be the psycho ex who can’t take a hint. These past few days have made me forget who he really is. It has made me forget I’m chasing someone who doesn’t want to be found.

So why the fuck did he come back? Because he missed me? I call bullshit.

You don’t leave like this if you miss someone. Which only leaves one answer. He wants his drugs, and he knows if he’s with me, I won’t let it happen. And that hurts so bad that I can’t breathe. Crawling over to my phone that’s halfway under the couch, I fumble through my recent calls and hit Jorge’s name. He answers on the third ring.

“Phoenix?”

I cry into the phone, snot dribbling down into my mouth. “He left. He fucking left.”

“I’m coming.” He grunts and curses. “I’m coming, Phoenix. Hang in there, Bebe. Ten minutes.”

Eli

Not A Person

Isit on the park bench, keenly aware of the homeless dude sleeping on the slide.

Burrowing deeper into my jacket, I stare at my phone screen. The battery is at 10%. I either book a flight home or a hotel—no other choices. I don’t want to bunk up with B.O. Bill over there. But I can’t seem to make myself decide, either. Maybe I should go up there with the homeless person. I’m just like him.

I don’t belong anywhere, my life is a turd flushing down a toilet, and no matter what I do, I can’t stop hurting people in the process. I’m a freak of nature. A miserable fuck who doesn’t care about anything or anyone. I think I’ll always be that way, too. How can I change it anyway? Even if I miraculously became the star individual with a moral compass and a conscience, no one would believe it. No one would believe I’d changed.

So why fucking bother?

Leaving Phoenix like that…having sex with him like that…what the hell was I thinking? Why didn’t I leave while he was in the shower? Why did I make it so much worse? Maybe it’s because I feel worse. Fuck. It’s never been this bad before. Even when I was a kid, getting fucking groomed and eating food with cigarette ashes in it, I don’t think I ever felt this bad.

This…wounded.

It isn’t that I don’t want to be with Phoenix. I really do. It’s why I got with Leon. It’s why I tormented him on tour. It’s why I purposefully put myself in his path every chance I got. Do I love the guy? Probably. Love makes you insane, doesn’t it? And when he’s gone, all the light in the world stays where he is. But I’m not worthy of being in that shimmer. I’m not.

Let’s be real here: Phoenix still hates me for what happened last year. He’s never going to move past it. He’s never going to be able to see me for what I am. A fake. A fuckingfakeat everything. I should’ve been a damn actor. I’d be great at it.

I should've kept walking when I first saw him three years ago at that party. I should’ve never stopped and talked to him. I shouldn’t have let myself get so hung up on that shy look in his chimera eyes and how easily we vibed, how every second seemed to build on top of each other until we were frothing at the mouth, hungry for it all.

So, I might love him. And if there’s one piece of my fucked up brain that recognizes it, it’s why I’m choosing a mercy killing. Put him down so he doesn’t suffer anymore. Misery loves company, but I’m fine being alone. I’ll get my medicine and make myself right again. I guess I’ll have to call a few people about making new content. I’ll block them out like I normally do.

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