Isabela

**Today**



Intoxicated! That’s how I feel. Nate seems to be multiplying like a virus that erupted in Chernobyl through every one of my cells; he feels like a damned ominous spirit, a shadow of my past materialized in the present to ruin my head, to toy with my heart.
I’m so used to feeling anger; it’s a feeling I’m familiar with. I’ve relied on it many times to gather the strength I need to defend myself from the world, to react. But the anger I feel toward Nate seems to be sabotaging me.
He... took my virginity. And I know he did it just to hurt me, to stomp all over my feelings. That’s why he had fun, letting me give him something I never would have chosen to give if I had known he was the one behind that bullshit mask.
I’ve been crying nonstop since I woke up; my eyes are swollen, and even my eyelids hurt. I shouldn’t have felt so broken after the revenge of the night before last. After I went as wild as I could on the date with his father. I wanted him to taste the impotence, the lack of control upon seeing something crumble. So I gave that bastard the same feeling he gave me; I made him feel sabotaged! Because that’s how I felt when I returned to my room after we hooked up, when I walked in and collapsed in front of Cris. While I told the girl I’d just met about Nate, about so many things from my past, I found myself forced to touch every heavy note of the moments we lived together, the nightmares of my adolescence. I felt so shattered that I ended up revealing my pedophile stepfather, about how I developed a problem with losing control of situations and how uncomfortable I became being touched without consent. I narrated our romance, how Nate gained my trust to the point of being able to touch me, kiss me, even touch my heart.
I got revenge on him, but I felt weak from the avalanche of guilt that overwhelmed me afterward. I was so shaken, feeling as much of a bastard as he was, that I drank many, many pints until the alcohol could silence the voices in my head. Until the intoxication from the drink could wash away the traces, that the memories of him removing the mask and tearing me apart ceased to scream in my ears that Nate never loved me, that I was the damned bizarre toy he became superficially fond of, the ruined person he loved to have fun with. And that’s all I was... A source of entertainment.
How could I not recognize him? I think I built so many barriers in my head to forget him, to sweep away the deep feelings I developed for Nate, that his image became a blur over time. I repeated so many times that he had died to me that I began to believe it. I didn’t recognize his kiss, even though it’s just as perfect and warm as before. He’s changed; the scent isn’t the same anymore, his voice is deeper, but how could I forget his eyes? They were always what I loved most about him because they seemed to speak to me just by resting on me. Words weren’t even necessary; we could say things just by looking at each other. So how did I not solve the riddle that was Nate just by looking at him?
I’m fucked up as hell. That’s undeniable.
I dreamed so much of seeing this man again... of being able to look at his perfect face, to feel the warmth of his body to the point of being sure it wasn’t just a mirage, that it wasn’t just the damned memory, that he was alive and real. And when my desires materialized, it was different from what I had dreamed of, of him one day appearing and asking for forgiveness for the things he did to destroy me, for his injustice, for the way he broke my trust and exposed the things I gave him to half the world. But none of that happened. Nate just fucked me while wearing a mask, and when I exposed how I had become a freak, he chose to reveal who he was and even called me a “snitch,” repeating the last words he said to me years ago, the label that burrowed into my body like splinters. That cruel nickname marked the end of what we were, and today I see that it also marked the beginning of what we would become: two people who began to hate each other, to place pain in the foreground, burying all the noble feelings that once existed.
I grip the keys of the keyboard in front of me tightly, creating a chaotic mess of notes pressed at the same time that echoes around me. Belladonna lies on the cushioned bench by the window of my room, watching me attentively, illuminated by intrusive rays of sunlight escaping through the window and kissing her soft fur. The sunny day outside contrasts with the gray colors of my emotions. I don’t even know what I’m playing until the melody escaping from the keys pulls the words from my lips, and the music takes over me. My voice trembles from the tears, but I keep letting my emotions flow from my body, revealing how liquid and fragile I am.
Pillowtalk.
I sing... and play... and dissolve with the music.
And I keep thinking of him.
My nails glide through the gaps between the keys, and I don’t care if they chip the polish; I simply reposition them and allow all the distorted notes of my feelings to flow between the melody of the song that reminds me of our war zone, our flags raised for the battle that will ruin what little remains of my sanity.
I suffer and allow myself to try to rebuild with the only therapy that works for me. The most effective way to express my feelings: music.
And I know what’s coming because, the day before yesterday, I was pulled by the collar I used to irritate the man who was my first love; I fell to my knees on the floor, and my knees are scraped and painful. My neck is covered with marks from where the leather collar rubbed against my skin, my chin is bitten to the point that even makeup can’t disguise the little holes well.
And I know my personality well enough to realize that we’re going to set this place on fire, destroy each other completely, but I won’t give in, I won’t comply with his stupid ultimatum. I’ve survived many things. Things that would have made people die inside, but I’m still here. I’m still alive, and decisively, it’s not going to be a spoiled guy with unresolved issues who will kick me out of the amazing place I found to live my dream. I’ve imagined for many years being able to study music; I survived a narcissistic and neglectful mother trying to diminish my ability to do that, so I won’t give up now because of Nate!