A Drop in the Ocean | Self Para
Mary Jane was nothing like that, wouldnât cave in or do what others asked. No, but she would do what she wanted, and what she wanted was to lose herself. She didnât want to feel, or think, or exist. She just wanted to float. To imagine that for some small moment of time she was less of a friend to others and more of a wave in the ocean. Gentle, ebbing, free.
One pill turned to two and after a while she began drinking. The liquid burned--she didnât bother asking what it was. Anything was better than beer or water. Even wine didnât make her feel better anymore. This was thicker, warmer. Maybe it was hot. She rolled up the end of her top, cropping it with a spare hair tie from her wrist.
A slower song started, still think with the harsh beat. Mary Jane made her way to the living room that had been cleared so the floor could be used for dancing. She was an hour away from Annaâs house, somewhere she wouldnât be found. Unfamiliar faces, unknown names. A relief from everyone asking how she was doing. Her hips swayed and caught each heavy beat with a breath.
I donât want to waste a weekend
Hands caught her waist. She was numb. The hands wouldnât last long when they realized she wasnât listening, wasnât paying attention. They would leave her, let her alone in the center of the floor where bodies meshed and banged against each other frequently like bumper cars. For now though, the heat of hands was welcomed--appreciated even.
If you donât love me, pretend
Her body was smooth and she knew she smelt of cinnamon and the whiskey on her tongue made each breath she took more intoxicating. She needed another drink. When the hands disappeared, pulled away by another girl who gave attention and promises of fruity vodka kisses in the back hall Mary Jane took the chance to sway away from the crowd to the bar in the kitchen. Bottles passed through her grasp as she mined for gold. Jackpot. Whiskey washed over cubes of ice, cracking and clanging in the plastic cup. It wasnât long before that glass was gone and another was being poured. She must have looked like a person with a problem--with a past.
Misplaced trust, old friends
Her phone buzzed. She assumed it would be Anna, asking when sheâd be home, pleading for Mary Jane to call her just once that night. She wouldnât call, but sheâd text. Sheâd say she was fine, just studying at so-and-soâs house. Tell her not to wait up because they had a big test. No-- the name on the screen flashed through her mind and in her drunken haze she nearly picked up--nearly.
âPeter...â She mumbled, whiskey sloshing around in her glass as she allowed her phone to continue vibrating in her hand. Her feet were carrying her out the patio door, off to a less crowded porch where her only company was the night sky and the few scattered remnants of furious make out sessions that usually wound up back in the house.
I was praying that you and me might end up together
For the first time in months Mary Jane opened the message, listened to his voice, and numbly closed it out. She stared down his name as if heâd just show up and take her home, drive her back to her bed where sheâd be safe from harm. Silly. She opened her texts, swiped through names until she came to the one she wanted.
Two rings was all it took to get the voice from the other end.
âHarry--â he knew, always did, and as her voice broke over the receiver she wondered if she ever should have told him. â--need you.â It was a shattered sentence, but she knew heâd show up. Heâd make the trip a thousand times if she asked.
Her bare legs hit the cool wood of the porch and she sat there, waiting it out. With Harry she wouldnât have to explain and with Peter there would be too much to say. She could hear him asking where sheâd been, why she wasnât answering, if she hated him. She couldnât take the pressure. She loved him, had loved him, and possibly still loved him. Of that she wasnât certain. She wanted to let him go almost felt like she would need to in order to move on.
Every time she almost forgot how he made her felt he would call, and all over again sheâd fall for him.
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