Glass in my fist.
Thighs wrists and ribs.
Red lines next to white lines.

Stealer’s Wheel “Stuck In The Middle With You” is playing loud enough that we have to repeat everything twice to each other in order to get the message across. I’m drunk enough that I can’t drive but not enough that I’m going to stop drinking. We’re half an hour into the hour and a half $3 schooner special when you rock up. You’re somehow louder than the music already and I don’t know how anyone else interprets it but your smile is forced and your laughter even more so. Immediately you’re complaining because you thought we were drinking on the other side of town. Immediately I can’t stand you.
I make some shitty and unnecessary comment to you about not being ‘real’ whatever the fuck that means. Your hurt is warranted but I glare at you anyway, finish my drink and lie loudly, saying I’m going to the bathroom.
Instead I walk down the stairs out of the pub and down the street. I chuck in my headphones and play something angry and dumb. I’m only halfway to my bus stop when you call me.
I answer.
You ask me where I’ve gone. You tell me to come back. You say you’ll find me.
I tell you to shut up and leave me alone. Don’t follow me, I want to go home.
I hang up and wait for my bus. It doesn’t take long and I’m about to step on when my pocket vibrates. There’s a paved quadrangle behind the bus stop and it’s with dread that I turn around and see you on the other side of it. I step off the bus.
I should have got on but I was so angry at you. I asked you not to follow me, I asked you to leave me alone. I guess I needed you to know how mad I was.

I want to be junkie thin
without the scars.
No stars in the sky tonight.

It starts in the normal way. I’m yelling about the same stuff and you’re apologising for all the wrong things so I’m getting more annoyed and you’re getting more upset. But then I’m yelling more and it’s more and it’s more often than it’s been before. I don’t know how to stop it. I’m overwhelming myself and it’s taking over. I’m so scared. This is not like anything.
Frustration swallows me and spits me out in flashes of violence punctuated by black spaces.
My backpack with a bottle of rum my friend gave me is thrown across the square.
I hear the bottle smash but it’s not enough.
I grab the bag, swing it over my shoulder and into the cement floor.
It smashes again and again and again.
I throw my phone and watch it skid across the pavement.
I throw fingers in your face and I scream.
I fall to the ground and punch cracked pavers again and again and again.
I’m crying out of everywhere.

Tyres slipping
steering wheel twisting
reminds me of something past.

Violence and screaming faces fill me. Your face strongest of all courses under my skin. Teeth scratches bone and mouths tear against flesh. I’m so scared, I’m so scared of me. I’m so scared of you. I’m so scared of you. In the middle of this square in the CBD I scream. I yell, not words anymore, just guttural yelling and bashing of voice against building. It echoes up the edges of hotels where people are sleeping and across the street where people are staring. I want to disassociate, I want to separate myself like I usually do so I can see this situation and understand it from afar but I can’t, I just can’t get away, I’m trapped inside myself and for the first time ever this terrifies me. You won’t let me go, you won’t let me leave even when I ask you too.
When I asked you too.
On a metal bench I lay on my side because my body won’t let me do anything else. I thrash as you lay on top of me and try to hold me, trying to be kind but your body is the antithesis to my own, it’s bricks and walls collapsing against my chest as I try to keep myself from suffocating under my own ribcage and I’m telling you to fuck off to leave me alone to fuck off but I can’t move. I hit my head against the bench once, then twice and then fall onto the cement floor. I want to go, I want to get out of here but my body won’t run and you’ll only follow me and then there is no running because the problem isn’t this space it’s you.
It’s you.
It’s you.
It’s you.

Red lines next to white lines
next to red lines next to red lines.
I separate myself.

I separate myself.
Somehow it’s over. You bring me my backpack. It’s full of glass and alcohol. I take out my wallet and keys then throw the rest in the bin. Inside abandoned is my favourite beanie and a notebook full of poems and writing from the last few years that I don’t have recorded anywhere else. You try and pull it out of the bin but I tell you to leave it. Tomorrow when you drive through the city you go to see if it’s still there. I’m glad to hear then that it’s already been emptied. Not because I’ve lost everything but because you don’t get to feel like you’ve helped me.
I’ve had this backpack since high school. My girlfriend before you bought it for me. Friends drew on it for me. I needed it gone because if I didn’t destroy something vaguely important soon it was going to be something else far more necessary.
There’s no more buses. You say you’ll take me home. I know this means you’ll stay over. I know this means we’ll fuck and you’ll say you love me and I’ll have to kiss you goodnight. I don’t want to feel like this anymore and I can’t think of another way out. At least here I’m in control. I can say sorry and not mean it. I can ask if you’re okay and not care what the answer is.
I should have got on my bus.
I can’t tell if it’s caffeine or not but my hands are shaking so badly as I’m writing this. I can’t believe how much of this is my fault. I should have got a taxi home. Why did you follow me? Why didn’t you listen to me? I’ve never lost control of myself as much as I did that night. My body and my brain weren’t me.
At the time I remember saying to myself that my future self is going to hate that I’m doing this. My future self looks back on this memory and remembers that I thought this and it’s like I’m talking to myself across time. I was right. I do hate that I did that. I hate that I’m doing this. But I go home with her.

We fuck and you say you love me. I want to throw up. I know this is what you wanted but I also know this is not the way you wanted it. I don’t know if you’re aware of what this is. I was always so good at hiding how I felt.
You say you love me a second time and I roll on my side. I don’t kiss you goodnight.
Your skin makes mine ache when you wrap an arm around my stomach. I flinch and my body stiffens but somehow you don’t notice. Or if you do you pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t know what to do anymore. You hold me a little tighter.

Tangled in sheets. Morning breath.
Broken glass found in gum.
Red lines next to white lines.

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