I wake up because my mouth is dry and tastes like cigarette butts.  I feel that brief moment of panic as I look at my unfamiliar surroundings, remembering what happened last night; whiskey, music, friends, fights, sex.  I’m scared to look over to the other side of the bed.  I never should have come back here last night. 

Red digits burn into my eyes when I look at the alarm clock.  6:17.  I always wake up early when I drink too much.  No matter how comfortable this bed is, I have to get out of it.  I have to leave this dark place.  I have to leave this girl.  It’s been too long in the making.  I know she’s a shitty human.  I know she’s a liar.  I know she’s a slut.  I’ve seen her for what she really is from the start, but I couldn’t say no to regular sex.

If I were to spit right now dust would bellow through my cracked lips.  I need to get a drink.  I’m so dry I’ll die if I don’t.  I move the blanket slowly off of my trembling body.  I fight the urge to throw up as I gather my clothes and sneak out of the bedroom.  I know if I use the upstairs bathroom she’ll hear the water running and wake up, so I tiptoe down the tired moaning stairs.  Morning light begins to shine in through the windows.  It’s funny that the only time I see this time of day is after a night I can’t remember.

Glass, tap, gulp!  My mind starts to come out of its foggy haze.  My hand trembles as tighten the hissing faucet.  Delicately, I set the glass on the counter and put my clothes on.  Good riddance, I think, and with a sweet sewer grin of new beginning I turn to leave this mess of a relationship behind me. 

            “What are you doing?”

            “Leaving.”              

            “What?  What’s going on?”           

            “Go back to bed.  We’re through.”

Her eyes begin to well out of confusion and bewilderment.  I can see she remembers last night.

            “We worked things out.  That won’t happen again.  I’m sorry.”

            “I don’t need this.  I don’t need the drama, I don’t need the games, I don’t need you.  It’s over.” 

I try to walk by her but she grabs my wrist. 

            “Wait!  Please!  Let’s just talk about this!”

The tears roll down her cheeks like she’s made them a thousand times before to a thousand other men.  She knows I can’t handle when women cry.

            “What?!  What do you want to talk about?!” 

I can’t help but raise my voice because I’m pissed off she ruined my perfect getaway. 

            “Why are you leaving?  I need you.  I thought we worked everything out!”

She sniffs the clear wet mucous that tears bring about back up her nose.  Her face is distorted and puffy from sleeping on it.  Hairs that made their way out of her ponytail hover around her head.   Smears of makeup make her look like the dark sick monster she is.  

            “Let go of my hand.”

My voice is steady and calm.

            “Not until you tell me why you’re leaving.”

            “I don’t want to be with you.  You’re a mistake.  Let go of my hand.”

            “NO!  You can’t leave me!  If I let go you’ll leave!  You can’t leave me!”

Her shrill screams remind me of my childhood when my younger sister would yell as loud as she could when she didn’t get her way.  I try to pull my hand away, but her grip is locked tight.  I’d rather chew my arm off like a desperate animal than be in this situation.  

As I look at her face I’m reminded of all the fights, jealous rages, lies, and childish games.  My heart pounds deep in my chest, bouncing between my ribs and new found spine.  She’s controlled me until this point.  She has had me dangled from the delicate strings wrapped around her claws.  As she looks into my eyes she tries to make me break like I have every other time.  With those eyes and that look maybe she’ll win this time.  Her grip softens as she pulls her body to mine.  She slides into me like a serpent and begins to constrict. 

In her embrace I feel hot.  Air struggles to get down my throat.  My lungs are compressed and I feel my life slowly seeping out of them.

            “I love you,” she whispers to me.

The compression ceases.  She wipes the tears off of her red clown face.

            “Let’s go back upstairs.”

            “I’ll be right there, I just need to piss.”

As she walks away she turns to me and gives me the smirk that she knows she won.  Her hooves clip-clop up the stairs.  I take a deep breath.  Having her out of the room is a relief.  I can breathe again.  I can enjoy the soft morning sunshine warming my face through the binds.  I feel joy and reality, but that’s short lived because that bitch knows I’m going to go back upstairs.  I almost sink into defeat, back into darkness.  I look in the sink and grab a steak knife.  I walk up the stairs.

-

Again, I can breathe.