12
Emily
David’s transformation was bold, to say the least. Such a contrast compared to the well-manicured David I once knew. It’s not bad, just different.
I brush his hair through my fingers. It’s grown so long, it’s now down to his shoulders. David hides behind those strands. He wants to shield himself from the world’s gaze. He looks older than his twenty-two years, but when he pulls it back into a low ponytail, his features soften, melting years off of his face. He often ties it back for me, allowing himself to be raw and vulnerable. It’s a side of him very few people see.
He let go of his clean cut appearance as his hair grew and his body slimmed. He’s a different type of handsome now, but he’s still that same perfect boy to me, even if I need to move a bit of hair out of his face to find him. He’s also shed his youthful, cocky attitude, making him even more appealing. A person inevitably changes when they stop living for the approval of everyone around them.
David’s head rests on my lap. He looks up at me with haunting gray eyes and smiles. It’s intoxicating.
“What?” he asks.
I smirk back at him, and he keeps on staring. I look away, trying to watch whatever is playing on the TV.
“Em, you are so insecure. You know that?” He sits up and grabs my chin, pulling my face into his. “Look at me, will you?”
I sigh and make a sarcastic show as I meet his gaze. “I just don’t like to be stared at. You know it’s always made me uncomfortable. Don’t act like it’s something new.” I toy with the pillow on the couch.
“I know it’s not something new, but you’d think after eight years you’d realize that I like to stare at you sometimes. Stop being such a girl.”
He says “girl” as if it’s a bad thing—as if it were poison in his mouth. I look up at him and my shoulders drop in defeat. He kisses my forehead.
“Relax,” he whispers against my skin.
Maybe I am a little insecure. I feel lucky David even gives me the time of day. I don’t have visible hip bones or prominent ribs when I lie down. I’m thick, but I learned to conceal my flaws tactfully beneath clothes early on. The color black is my friend. I hide the stomach I hate behind tight leggings.
David’s flings have called me fat, and I am when standing next to them, as skinny as they are. They see me as an obstacle in their path for his affection. They whine constantly about his “girl friend”, meaning his friend who just happens to be a girl.
I’m selfish when it comes to David, and I don’t care if it makes me seem like such a girl. Even though we’ve never had sex with one another, I despisethe thought of him making love to anyone besides me. It’s a foolish feeling.
I’m often left feeling bitter about David's ability to forget about me so easily—at least until his coupling inevitably falls apart. I end up roasting over a fire pit of self-loathing for however long or short the relationship lasts. David tells me how things failed and how he never really cared about the girl anyway. He apologizes for spending so much time away from me, for letting a woman come between us.
And I always forgive him. How could I not? He is beautiful.
David has a new girlfriend now. His first “real” one and not just another of his flings.
She is a tall brunette named Sylvie or Sylvia or something fancy like that. They met at a bar, but she doesn’t seem like the type to routinely frequent those places. A one-off I guess. He is enamored with her, and she hates me, which isn't a surprise.
I am forever on the back burner when he’s in a relationship. Though as David begins to unravel, the back burner may be the best place for me. He drinks a lot now, and he's mean as cat piss when he does.
* * *
David
Sylvia lies beneath me,her hands on my arms as I thrust into her. She's mostly quiet except for a strained moan here and there. I look down at her. Her face is turned away, eyes closed, as if she is imagining herself anywhere else but here.
“For Christ's sake!” I say and roll away from her, lying on my back.
She turns to face me, genuinely shocked. How could she possibly be surprised? It's like fucking someone who can't stand the sight of you.
“What's the matter?” she asks.
“What's the matter? You call this sex? You seem like you couldn't care less.”
She starts to cry. Obnoxious sobs. I sit up, put my feet on the floor, and drop my face into my hands.
“I'm going to pour myself a drink,” I say.
“Go on, just like you always do.”
She rolls over and pulls the blanket up. There is only silence behind me as I walk to the kitchen and pour myself some rum. This can’t be what love is—fucking a dead fish and then drinking until you feel better about it. Even if she is a beautiful dead fish.
I return upstairs with alcohol thick on my breath. I kiss Sylvia hard on the mouth, her eyes still heavy from sleep. I flip her onto her back and she goes limp. She always wants missionary, and insists that I fuck her gently. Making love is an unnatural act for me.
My hands race up her chest until I’m able to wrap one of them around her throat. I tighten my grip just a bit.
“That’s a good little whore.” The words roll so easily off my tongue.
They burn her like wildfire. She pulls away from me, but not before giving me a well-placed slap. The skin of my cheek stings. I lose control for a few moments, my father rising from where I try to keep him buried.
“You bitch.” I pin her wrists down with one hand and wrap my other around the soft flesh of her throat. I struggle to release my grip as her breaths grow sharper. My heart beat becomes my own again, and I stand up and back away from her. “Oh my god, Sylvia, I don’t know what came over me.”
Her eyes are wide as she clutches the reddening skin of her neck. She opens her mouth, trying to find a response, but her voice is trapped where my hands squeezed.
“I’ll leave,” I say solemnly. “I’m sorry.”
Sylvia finds her voice. The guttural scream emitting from her sound strained. “Go fuck that bitch you live with! I bet she'd let you treat her like this—like a fucking dog!”
I hadn't even pulled my jeans up before I was face to face with her.
“You could never be half the person Emily is!”
The last words exchanged between us.
* * *