Damaged Goods -- Emily Anderson

Emily Anderson

Mr.Breaton

EWC4U

26/05/2013

Damaged goods

The tears sting. Sting and swing around the right of my eye to the left of it and then slowly, the salt drips down and lies on the edge of my mouth for only a moment before sliding inwards and burring itself in the cracks of my dry lips. “I'm sorry for your loss but here is a list of my own problems, and here is a doctor's note explaining how it is all your fault. I paraphrased it because you are too dumb to understand. All of my flaws are on you now.” The salt from my tears seem to have been absorbed into my cheeks adding volume and splashes of what I imagine to be the colour of diluted blood. Why, when I cry, does all of the saliva in my mouth start to burn? It rises to temperatures that feel like hell but I know that hell will be much worse. Then, a different burning sensation that comes when I let go of my tongue. I had been holding it there for a wile now, constraining it so that I don't burst. Here in North America everyone is a perfect peach, and of course we don't have outbreaks. We keep our tongues perfectly in place and only speak when spoken too. It is a silent world.

”I thought you cared about me!” you sound so angry. Well I thought the same of you, and look where it got us. My inbox is full of “I'm sorry babe, you might not be able to take my innocence but I’m fired up to take yours! And realistically, she was my ex so we can just pretend that I slept with her before I started dating you.”

Do you wonder why I'm mad? This is north America and I'm north American and here in America we like to keep our secrets trapped in a little red box underneath our socks. The same socks that simply get painted white after we spill blood on the top of them and then step in the mud. The mud of the graves of the people who once housed that blood, and now we reduce those people to a name etched in stone.

The heat from my saliva is starting to taste like blood, the warm copper that has filled my mouth tastes so familiar. This hurts more then it did when I was simply hit. He pushes me down to the ground by telling me that I am a terrible person for not loving him. He drills me deeper by accusing me of forcing him to cheat. This is the same drill that put a hole in the dreams of many women.

My ninety nine red balloons were just starting to hover above the ground, but the drill sees a different future for them. The balloons are forced down in a town that is big, but connections are too thick. You must have a helicopter to escape the rope that the groupings of this town create. The rope is pulled tight and raped with titanium and it is graded by your drills.

My mouth is dry now, it is hard to speak, although I know that there is no need. I wouldn't have anything to say to you. He is out again and I am just left here with the dog. She hasn't moved in weeks but I saw her twitch on the night of the full moon. I guess that is what happens in my life. People die, people hate you, then you are alone. He texts you once in a wile. “Sorry, the neighbor had a huge party and so I have been there for two nights helping them clean. She is going to have a son and I'm helping her find the father. He was someone at that party.”

You know when you are looking for something and it is always in plain sight. Your brain must ignore it, like it ignores your nose. You can always see your nose, you just choose not to. That’s how it is like now. I choose not to feel like my world has crashed down. I'm not dead and that is the best thing that could ever happen to me. I get a text “If you start to see him, I will kill myself. Besides, I am the only one who could ever love someone as sociopath as you. You aren't good enough for anyone's love but I will take one for the team. You will only be happy if you are with me.” and I believe it.

So here I sit, tears rush down my face. I etch the dogs name into a rock like is accustom. She was there for me, even after death. He will be home soon. I drop the rock and move to the bathroom. I put concealer over my face where I know there are underling bruises. You may not see them, and I will never show them to you. Bruises are a week spot, and I must stay strong. I'm the only one who will ever let him do this to me, but he is the only one who will ever care enough to text once in a wile. I'm damaged goods and that's why I will stay silent.