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So, you know the phrase “peaked in high school”? Yeah, I knew just about everyone in that shit-stain of a high school was gonna be one. Half of them probably overdosed or dropped out before graduation even happened. Didn’t bother seeing the outcome. The ones who did work at gas stations and are just, like, way too into smoking weed now.
But when you’re an apathetic teenager, you sorta forget that everything like that.. applies to you too.
Better than my brother. I don’t think I’m on any sort of government list, unless “suicide risk,” counts. But the government has more concerns about countries to bomb than to worry about a has-been C-student. But after graduating, the whole “men are easy,” thing went into hard mode, and now every man has standards or some garbade. You can’t manipulate them, because by now the TV got to them first.
So I had to quit that. Next, the obvious step when that didn’t work was lesbianism. Had a few flings, settled on Jecka. That actually worked out. We got married and everything, so that’s some kind of win. It meant I had to learn emotions though, so that was total garbage. Love and respect and whatever other fucking Hallmark delusions I’m expected to believe.
It fucking worked too- that’s the worst part. I feel I need Jecka now. I wake up next to her. She kisses me, she kisses me back. I call her a bitch, and now it’s ironic instead of play-pretend ironic. But since we don’t make money like that, our best dates- if you can even call
them that- is getting a new shirt at fucking Walmart. Walmart!
What really pisses me off is now I actually look forward to it. Who the fuck cares about Walmart trips?
Well, I guess it’s also because we moved out to bum-fuck nowhere. Jecka didn’t want to be in the same town as the people we used to know, so we moved out to the countryside. How romantic, I know.
But all we have out here are weeds, birds, and clouds. So even going back into civilization for a Walmart visit feels rare. I feel like hell just thinking like that. This whole monologue has felt like hell. What the fuck happened since high-school? I wasn’t built to be a person. No one who was blamed for their piece-of-shit dad’s suicide is.
I quit drugs, completely shut-out my family, and now all I have is a last-minute decision I dated out of desperation to spend the rest of my life with- sober. Fuck her, right? Yeah, fuck her.
But now she’s all I have left. I haven’t even bothered trying to talk to anyone else. The whole “pretty girl leverage,” thing wore out after my teens. So now I have to deal with people not wanting to fuck me at first sight. And I can’t just call them racists without facing actual consequences. Fuck that too.
Fuck. I guess.. what all of this is saying is..
I’m lonely? Being treated right without some ulterior motive makes me want to vomit. Having to also care enough not to lose my wife hurts too. How many times do I have to tell her I love her until she understands?
I hate everything.
“Babe?”
That’s Jecka. Waking up. She sounds concerned, and stupid. Her throat is still scratchy after waking up.
“What?”
“Mm.. what’re you doing up already? Are you still watching Gerard Way clips on YouTube? You know there are, like, other bands? It’s not the 2000’s anymore.”
“Go back to bed. Don’t worry about it.”
I’m sitting on the edge of my side of the bed, smoking. So what if I was watching those clips? Let me have this, damn.
“Okay, maybe that was a bit mean.” She sits up. Now I know she won’t leave me alone. “I—“
“Since when do we care about being mean?”
Changing the subject with her is the only way I can end conversations like this with her. The whole in-love part of our relationship made her begin to feel like she actually had to keep up with me or something.
“Since I could begin to tell when you’re actually depressed. Quit being a bitch and tell me already.”
“Fuck you, I’ll do what I want. I don’t feel like getting all, like, serious this early.”
“Then don’t.” Now she’s really getting annoying. “Just tell me so I can go back to bed.”
Ugh- you know. The whole caring thing feels way less meaningful when I know they’re doing it to make themselves feel better. Like, oh thanks for helping me out! Glad you can pat yourself on the back at night. Rot in hell while you’re at it- “I don’t need you to fucking pity me. If you want to play Miss Helpful, go make breakfast already.”
“Okay, first of all, I’m not getting out of bed. Second of all, what the fuck is your problem? Pity? I just want to know why you’re upset.”
“Why? Come down with a case of savior complex? Sit and spin.”
“Uh- no. It’s actually called ‘being your wife’, and it’s chronic. So, just, tell me now, because it isn’t going away.”
I blow out my smoke. Some of the ash from my cigarette falls onto the hardwood floor of our house. At this point, if it’ll shut her up, it’s worth it. “…I feel, like.. I dunno.. lonely, I guess.”
“You have me, right?”
“Well, I mean.. yeah? I have you. But.. fuck- I can’t. Deal. With this. Right now.”
Before I could notice, Jecka had gotten up from our bed. Her long, blonde hair looks so fucking hot with the sun coming in from our shitty My Little Pony blanket we use to cover the window. Something she had as a kid. She only kept it because of some weepy boo-hoo nostalgic feeling it gives her.
“Nicole..” She crouched down to eye-level. Like I’m a kid or something. “You’re crying.”
Wait, what the fuck? No, seriously.
I take a finger and swipe it over my eye. It trails the tear across my face- I’m freaking out now. Since when do I cry? And over what? A little loneliness? Oh yeah, fuck I don’t understand this anymore. Is there any way to make it fucking stop so I can act like this never happened.
“Okay, and? It happens from time to time. Just leave it, it’ll go away.”
“Just leave you crying here? Wow, Nicole. That’s such a good idea. Just tell me if you need anything- there’s no way you think I’m that dense.
“I was hoping.”
She wraps her arms around me and tugs me up from the bed, making me drop my half-used cigarette in the process. “Ah, y-you.. bitch! I was..”
My breath had given up. My pitch went up and down and up and down. Tears’re coating my face now, and what was Jecka doing? Just fucking hugging me. She wasn’t saying anything, not kissing me, she just fucking stood there.
It feels.. it feels…
“Nicole. I’m gonna say this once,” Jecka pushes my shoulders to make a bit of distance, “you’re, like, awful at being honest about yourself and how you feel. Or maybe you are honest, and your mind is completely fucked. I need to get you to a counselor.”
“…”
“Fine, stay quiet. You’re still going.”
I sniffle. “… I love you.”
Jecka.. smiles. “I love you too.”
It feels fucking.. fine, I guess.
As much as I bitch and moan, I guess things are okay for now. Now I feel stupid for crying at all. This actually made me understand how I feel about this. Before this, I was sorta just going with the flow, but fuck. If I didn’t have this, what would I have?
This little life in the country isn’t the worst.
I just wish it didn’t take me this fucking long to realize it. If I had this Scrooge McDuck moment at, oh I don’t know, my fucking wedding, maybe I could have actually enjoyed it? Now I just have to internalize how I would have felt.
Ugh.. there has to be a good way to end this…
Listen to your wife? Maybe. Don’t get involved in your dad’s suicide? Can’t really say that’s too relatable…
If you have to, like.. life off of apathy and whatever highs you got back when you were a teenager.. at least keep some alcohol to make it feel more fun.
Yeah. Yeah..
Fuck off, I can end it however I want.