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The smell of cheap cologne and cigarettes.
That day I smoked all my cigarettes. But I could still taste his cheap cologne and the self hatred set deep down my throat. I could still feel his tongue sliding across my neck. I could still remember me pretending to like it.
I felt disgusted by myself. What the FUCK was I doing. What the FUCK is wrong with me. In that instant I knew that I didn't care much for boys. And I didn't care much for girls. I didn't care much for anyone to be quite frank. Not even my own mental health. Â "What's wrong babe? Just do it. Glide your hand over there. Yes just like that. Damn that feels so good. Take off your shirt, please?" "No." "Please take it off ,babe, please?" "No please don't make me do that."Â
"What's wrong babe?" "Nothing, let's just go take a smoke?" "We will smoke after you've put your hand over there, okay?" "No, I don't want to anymore." He ruïned my favourite song. He stole it from me. I couldn't hear the song or I would hear him sing it. I could taste him again. Smell him again. Feel his hands again. I didn't use him. He used me. He didn't long for me, and it all felt wrong. How could I have become this wreck filled with self-pity?
