My little dirty dark secret

Sometimes I sleep, sometimes it’s not for days and the people I meet always go their separate ways. Sometimes you tell the day by the bottle that you drink and times when you’re alone all you do is think. I’m a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride: I’m wanted dead or alive

Bon Jovi – Wanted

In a deep and dark corner of my mind I see myself back then. Return back six or seven years ago. Lonely, tired, emotionally-numb and stupid. I was roaming the cities I live in like a ghost with no name and no memory. I haunt places I don’t have relations to; and pretend that life will go on. The frighting idea is that life, indeed, goes on.

I slept with a big number of people in my life. I am ashamed to admit it; and I was stupid to do it. however, it wasn’t all for the sake of a one night stand. It was a revenge I took upon myself and upon my own history. I was talking to Pete, a friend of mine and of this blog, when, somehow the conversation drifted and my mind opened up in front of my eyes like a rose with thorns. It was hurtful to remember, but more painful to forget. Honestly, much of the people I slept with I did so in a short period of time that won’t extend 18 months; then I slowed down a bit. I was drunk most of the time, trying to fix a heartache one night stand at the time.

I hated myself back then, and I still hate that person that used to be me. I was a bad person, a bitch, if you might say. I was good looking with a nicely formed body, and I would seduce people, promising them love and comfort; then I’d ditch them for the next in the same day. I’d go on dates pretending to be this nice fella, and leave them in the morning and not pick up the phone when they call.

I remember that after my boyfriend, Eyad, died in a car crash, I refused to date anyone for over a year, and that got me so depressed. I would go to the gym and work out for six hours, then go home and just stare aimlessly at the TV until I pass out. no friends, no nothing. Then, a year later, I met this guy. I can’t even remember his first name: I remember he was good looking, nice, he would come to the gym when I work out and try to pick me up with these funny comments or his obvious teenage-like flirting. I found him irritating to the point that I wanted to punch him repeatedly on the face. His cute pick up lines, his sweet smile, his good looks, the way he knew I was broken and wanted to “fix” me. I just found him seriously irritating, so instead, I went on a date with him.

I smiled back in the date, I dressed up, and pull all the charms in the books; flexed my biceps when I should, leave a funny remark when time calls for it; and flashing my smile at him for no reason. He had that look in his eye, by the end of the night, that told me he was falling for me. He has hope in a future of birthday cakes, fun parties, going swimming in the middle of the night, morning glory before seasonal breakfast. So, I took him home, and slept with him.

Peter asked me, when I told him about that if it was “too much” and I told him that it was “just perfect”.

I wanted to kill that hope in him; I wanted to destroy it until there is nothing left, I felt like he deserved his hopes to be crashed down and broken to pieces then burned to ashes; just like my hope in a future with my own dead boyfriend. He deserved it because I deserved it. We both, me and this nameless man, were victims of how clueless and open to the world we were, and now it’s time to teach him a lesson; to teach him that life is not that beautiful, it’s ugly and misleading and twisted and dirty.

I slept with him, smiled at his satisfied face as it was over, touched his hair softly, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead; then as he was leaving my door, I promised him to call tomorrow. The next morning, I didn’t call, the day after I did not pick up his phone calls. I did not reply to his apologetic text message sent as if he was the one who did  something wrong, nor to his last one calling me an names and saying that he was crying. As I received these messages, I felt numb, I felt nothing for the first time in a year. I felt like I was emptied of the guilt and pain and sorrow to lose hope; as if I just corrected a wrong in the world. I felt released.

But it did not last for long …

Couple of days later, I felt the pain coming back, crawling on all four and twisting towards my exposed nerves system, it was a ghost haunting me and the trick I did only pushed it away for days until I let my guards down. So, I did the whole experience again. Meet them, play them, sleep with them, dumb them.

I did this routine for over 18 months, almost daily. It gave me “peace”, a fake, twisted, evil malicious dirty peace that I’d feel less and less as time goes by. I was evil. Peter told me that I am “very convincing that I was.” and I reply with “thankfully, I’m not anymore.”

Then I add, with a frightened feeling growing inside of me that “or I hope I’m not.”

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