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Saturday, November 13, 2010

Underneath my skin

 Underneath my skin

I always left him. There were countless times where I was sick of the game. So I left. Sometimes, I piled work onto myself. Locking myself in my room and doing nothing but pouring myself into my manuscripts. But mostly, I travelled. It wasn’t enough to merely be mentally or emotionally distanced. I needed to physically escape him.

Sometimes, I grabbed a mere backpack and rode the train away into another state. Melbourne was my favourite city to escape to. It was beautiful. It was a city that held the combination of the old and the new. Usually, I spent my days in Melbourne enjoying the music scene by visiting my beloved Acoustic cafe or the Arthouse. Those were my favourite venues for live performances. Acoustic cafe was perfect for a relaxing coffee and closing your eyes to a stranger’s strumming. But Arthouse is where you go to feel alive.

Sometimes, I packed my suitcase and hopped onto the next flight out of the country. I couldn’t get far away enough. Whether it was Paris, New York, Bangkok or Tokyo, it didn’t matter. As long as I was not in Australia. As long as I was not in the same country as he. In the day, I freelanced for local magazines or newspapers and shopped for souvenirs. In the night, I was usually found in a bar, a pub or a night club. I hated nights the most. Nights were lonely so I rarely slept in my own bed. If I did, I was not alone. Those one-night-stands disgusted me but they kept my empty body whole. Temporarily.

But one night changed everything.
It started out like any of my other New York City nights: bar hopping, dancing, mindless mashing of bodies and drowning in alcohol. I teleported myself throughout the lower east side; first starting off with venues that concerted live music and doubled up as bars such as the Living Room. I often went there to see a particular guitarist, whose name I always forget. In a way, he was my New York lover. But it never got anywhere. By late ten, I would have always left in a taxi for a nightclub. Without a goodbye. It never got anywhere because I never allowed it to. If I had gone home to his apartment that night, things would have been different.

It was around 2 in the morning when I stumbled out of Mehanata, also known as the Bulgarian bar. I had made the mistake of going downstairs into the “Ice cage” where I was forced to down six shots of vodka in one minute. Walking back to my hotel meant crossing through a park. It wasn’t until I was halfway through that I realised that I’ve been hearing steady footsteps for some time now. I quickened my pace. And my heart. I allowed myself to flick a glance behind my shoulder. No one. Good. I was merely imagining things. Wrong. He was now in front of me.

I turned heels and ran back the other way. But all the alcohol made me groggy and slow. I could hear his breathing quickly becoming closer to the back of my neck. Closer and closer. When the exit was so far away. Someone help me. Then it was the cliché inevitable: I fell. And he was on top of me in an instant. I clawed and spat at him but he just whispered into my ear, ‘I know that you’re lonely. Let me love you.’

I watched as he ripped me into parts. He cut open my organs and stretched me inside out and flipped me outside in. He fingered every inch of my bloodied skin and sewed his tobacco stench lips all over my grubby clamped breasts. His beard pricked my jaw but I didn’t cry. I refused to let him have my tears. He didn’t deserve it. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was hearing the harmonics of a guitar and not his heavy grunting. When he stood up, still not wearing any pants, with my remaining energy, I kicked him in the groin, ‘Bastard, I hope you die of AIDS.’ Leaving him there to groan, I gathered what’s left of my clothing and half crawled home.

I didn’t tell anyone about the incident. Not even Him. I’m sure that if he found out, he would have flown to NYC just to slaughter the man. But it didn’t matter. Everything was okay. I pushed the memory to the furthest corner of my mind and returned to Sydney for work. No one needed to know such a trivial matter. Everything was okay. I'm okay.

Sometimes though, I found myself standing naked in front of the mirror and I could see my body being blown up like a balloon. That man was filling my insides with no room for me. Sometimes, I didn’t eat because I felt my body was too heavy. Every night, I would wake up from sleep and run into the bathroom. Where I proceeded to vomit everything out. Until I was empty.

Let me love you. If that was Love, I didn’t need it.


scattered-strings said...


What gave you the idea for this piece?

Lovesick Fool said...

scattered-strings: I needed her to be broken before she could be saved.

Barry said...

God, this is intense! You're an amazing writer Lucy.

ooohjodi said...


I have not commented on your blog for the longest time, and i am sad to say that i can hardly find time to read it... but i have time right now and i just wanted to tell you how much i appreciate you and the friendship that we have over blogger. we will probably never be friends in real life just because of location, but i appreciate you a lot more than most of the people that i call my good friends. i really just enjoy reading your writing and the advice and feedback that you give me on my life. i admire it so much because of the type of person that you are. you are a lover, its easy to see. you have all of these amazing emotions and you feel them to their fullest. i envy that so much and i try to take your advice because i would like to see the world how you see it. i want to feel all of those amazing and horrible emotions. i envy you so much. one day, you are going to be so madly in love with an amazing guy and he is going to be madly in love with you, and just know that i will be jealous. how does one love so much? and more importantly, how can i learn to change my personality to be like that? thanks for everything, girl.

Philosophia said...

This is indeed incredible! I'm new to your blog, but I already find myself falling in love with you writing. "She has to be broken before she could be saved". I especially love this piece, because it's very easy to relate to your character in her defining moment. It's just the way you describe's like you were there and you felt everything that happened to her in that moment.

Ana* said...

WOW! You're a great writer. This story is intense, so detailed. I can relate up to the point where she was running away from him, sometimes I feel as if I am running from my ex, just like she is.

Lovesick Fool said...

@Jodi: I appreciate our friendship too. So glad to have met you; even if only through writing. =)
@Philosophia: Thank you. I'm quite proud of this piece. And thanks for becoming a follower!!
@Ana: Awwwww *blushes* I still have a long way to go.

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