Carnage

It was the intoxication for you that made me realize that I’ve been getting drunk of the wrong things for way to long

I’ve been sober before your lips, before your hands on my hips

You made me rethink the concept of being in a state sobriety

Because I would always see my self staring at the end of a bottle for a daring push into the world of extraordinary cliches to feel a sense of normalcy, different than awkward social convention I shoved myself into 

But then I found myself drinking you, and felt at ease, felt at peace

Because liquor isn’t supposed to transform you

It’s supposed to bring out your truest shade out form the shadows

Shadows that were born out of the constricted norms embedded into my mind before I could even think about playing with my barbie dolls

And then I drank a tangy mixture of cheap vodka, expensive self-derailemt and an aftertaste of a misplaced childhood.

And for the first time in my predetermined existence

For the first time in my etiquette driven, formulaic personality

For the first time my mask fell of my face

Tumbled down on to the floor

And fell between your fingertips

For the first time I wasn’t afraid of pain

I found comfort in the scars you left on my neck

Open wounds that got infected with delusions and ill-adviced caresses

Because with every stroke they became deeper

And now here I stand

That result of your carnage

Battered black and blue but holding on to your control over me

Waiting

Waiting for you to bite deeper into me until I’m lost in my own oblivion

Only to find myself in your arms

Wanting to feel weak again

Craving the hangover 

Stranger

Shit, thought Camile as she spilled her iced coffee onto her already grundged up shirt. Could this day get any worse?

She had already missed her flight to go back home after what had to be the worst trip of her existence. Just a few hours before, she’d been treading through the thick Amazonian rain forest. in fact, she had been there for about 5 days to write a human-interest piece – that wasn’t that interning to being with – about a native tribe that practiced voodoo and what not. To her surprise, the village where the tribe was supposed to live was completely deserted, so she had no story to bring back to the editors of The New Yorker, and a backache to last a lifetime.

To get back to civilization was a disaster. Her guide was an incompetent fool who could only think about pervish compliments and sexual remarks about her ass and body. He had no idea where he was going and to top it all of, it didn’t stop raining for 3 days, making her journey to Sao Paulo close to impossible.

When she finally got into the city, 4 hours before her flight, she had no choice but to take a quick shower and head to the airport, no time for a decent meal or deodorant.

To her luck, most of the highways were in construction and there seemed to have been about 50 car accidents, add all that to the heavy traffic of Sao Paulo and you have a formula for a missed flight, a tired look and coffee on her shirt.

Camile sat on the floor and set up her bed for the night. She had nowhere else to stay and the next flight to New York was at 8AM the next morning. It was going to be a long night. She set up camp in a convenient spot near an outlet to charge her computer, close to a water fountain and near a bathroom. It’s not like she could move. The airport was populated but those in her same condition, all searching for a place to spend the night. It was like refugees looking for a place to survive the night. Strategic location was key, and she had the perfect spot, then again, she had experience with complicated situations. Her whole life seemed to give itself to complications.

She took out her computer to see if she could get some work done before she went to bed, took a quick look at her e-mails. Nothing more that Victoria Secret propaganda and en email form her always paranoid mother. Camile wasn’t really a social butterfly, and she had broken up with her boyfriend of two years about three months ago. She didn’t mind being single, she actually preferred it that way, no baggage but her own.

Camile plugged in her headphones to tune out a bit and see if she could work on her close to impossible dreams of publishing s book. Even though she loved her job in the The New Yorker, she has always dreamt of being a successful author, since she was about 10.

She began typing a new chapter when she felt someone sit next to her. She turned her head to find a guy comfortably plugging in his computer charger into the free jack. “Um yes?” Asked Camile with a confused look on her face. He turned to look at her, he had tired blue green eyes and black, messy hair. By the looks of his wrinkled shirt and slouched shoulders, he wasn’t having that much of a great day either.

“Oh I’m sorry, do you mind?” He asked with a weary voice that made Camile feel sort of sorry. She was also having an exhausting day, who was she to make him move? “No it’s fine,” said she, and she got right back to work.

Camile tired to concentrate, but her mind just couldn’t focus on getting the words in the paper, and well, she didn’t have those many words buzzing through her head to begin with. Lately she’d be having more episodes of writers block than inspiration bursts and it was really getting to her.

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to see what this guy wanted.

“Yes?”
“I was just wondering if you had something to eat, I’m basically on the verge of starvation.” Camile laughed at the exaggeration and took out a bag a chips that had been rolling around in her bag all day. “Here, they’re probably down to crumbs, but it’s still food.”

He thanked her and extended his hand, “I’m Jack by the way.”
“Camile.” They shook hands. Three movements, his was steady, she liked it.

“Though day?” He asked as he opened his dinner for the night. “You have no idea.” She took a good look at him, no doubt he was attractive. “Couldn’t be worse than mine.” He said eating away the shattered chips as if they were his last meal.

“Wanna bet?” Said Camile, she closed her laptop and turned to face him. He did that same. “Ok, shoot.”

She told him about the tread across the jungle, the pervish guide, the traffic that made her miss her flight and to top it of, the spilt coffee. “I thought that just some sort of new weird perfume.” He said jokingly. Camile noticed his smile, perfect teeth, great laugh. Jack caught her staring, but kept his amusement hidden.

“Now you, what makes you think you’ve had a worser day?”
“Well, I asked my girlfriend to marry me, and she broke up with me.”
“You win” Said Camile, with a smile that expressed both congrats and consolation. Something told her she really shouldn’t dive into the details of the story.
“Yeah no shit. I missed my flight because she was supposed to drive me here, but that didn’t work out, and getting a cab in this city is close to impossible.” He said with a sigh. “I just can’t wait to get back home.”

“And where is that exactly?” Asked Camile, she was sort of confused with the fact that he had a girlfriend in Brazil, but didn’t live here, but she wasn’t going to question the life of a total stranger. “New York.” He mumbled as he finished his chips. “Oh really?” She said in the tone of a shreekish teen, “I live there too.”

“What are the odds.” He said with a crooked, sexy smile.
She practically melted at the sight, and her lips mirrored the action, showing of hints of dorkyness and absolutely not sex appeal.
“What are the odds.” She repeated to him.

It was going to be an interesting night.