No matter how good you think you are, you will always be the villain in someone else’s story.
I don’t think I wanna do that.
Just be more open.
What the fuck are you doing?
You know you like it, you’re a slut.
I don’t like it when you spit on me.
Come on, it’s hot.
Please don’t hit me like that again
Don’t be so boring.
It really hurts.
Just a little longer baby, it feels so good. Please.
Please, I’m tired.
Don’t worry, you don’t need to do anything.
I’m not feeling it.
Fucking hell, what did you think we were gonna do?
Don’t leave any marks.
Why? You don’t want your other guys to know?
Arch your back. DOWN!
Did you take it off?
Come on baby, it feels so much better. Don’t you want my load?
No one’s really interested in me apart from a hook up.
You seem like the type who would cheat though.
Can we please use a condom?
What, you’re not clean? I am.
I couldn’t fucking breathe!
Sorry baby, I’m really sorry.
Yeah, I’m fine don’t worry about it.
Oh, you didn’t cum? I guess I can finish you off if you want.
I made this wall to keep the harm out, it has served me well but there is something else. After years behind the wall, I’m getting this growing sense that I am somehow missing out.
I see you and you see me but as we go to touch, something stops us.
The wall keeps you out too.
Now I sit here in my space where I used to feel so safe. But now, it’s not just that I’m missing out but something else – I feel something sinister here with me, invisible to my eyes as I look around.
It’s just me, there is nothing in here, what could it be?
That’s when I catch a glimpse in the reflection of the glass.
It is in me, it has been growing in me and changing me.
I realise now is the time to let down the walls. I’m not ready but I don’t think I will ever be.
All I know if I don’t I will cease to be me.
I get to the platform with 2-3 minutes spare and take my usual place between the right side of the ticket barrier and the toilet block.
The mother who wears adidas originals as her comfy commuting shoes is standing and chatting with her three daughters who are already exceeding her in height.
They laugh and always seem to look my way as I take my place.
The two guys a little closer to the ticket barrier stand right near the edge of platform and seem to be talking business as usual. The look like they really know what they’re talking about and will likely tell you that you’ve got it wrong.
The train pulls up and today it’s one of the old Comeng trains that might be retrofitted.
I hop on and everyone is there doing their usual thing.
The two guys have gotten onto the carriage next to me but the mother and girls get on my carriage and stand slightly over from the door which is going to be opening every stop until North Melbourne.
The young, shorter guy who always wears shorts and no socks with his shoes but a down jacket is on his phone, probably looking through Facebook leaning against the door on the side of the train where the doors won’t open.
I pull out my kindle and start reading my book and usually I’m on the side of the train where the doors don’t open, preferably against a wall but that’s prime real estate which is usually all but gone by the time the train pulls in to Moonee Ponds.
At Ascot Vale about three friends of the school girls get on and they all greet the mother who slowly steps back as the circle opens, the new arrivals join and she takes a step back. The mother is now going to spend the rest of the time I’m on the train looking in as an outsider while her daughters start talking about a world far from her own. Every now and then the mother will try to make eye contact with someone in the circle before pulling her phone out to play candy crush or some Harry Potter mobile game.
One day, one day.
At Newmarket the girl with olive skin gets and assumes her usual power stance in the middle of the carriage. This girl gets on the same connecting train with me at North Melbourne. She generally doesn’t take her backpack off even when the train is crowded and for that I’m kind of not a fan.
At Kensington the young boy gets on with either his mother or father. They both carry his bag for him while he looks out the window of the train door and rattles out observations about the pattern of train departures from North Melbourne. The school bag his parents carry is nearly as big as him.
At North Melbourne a bunch of us get off and proceed up the stairs. It’s always the guy with the shorts, no socks with shoes and the olive skin girl who end up on the same platform with me, the others continue on the loop.
Just as I get to the top of the escalators, like clock work the young guy with some kind of physical disability is making his way along the rail of the concourse before heading down.
There’s never enough room on the middle escalators so you can’t really stand to the left or people get annoyed as they rush for their trains bound for Southern Cross or Flinders.
The Metro lady is standing with her microphone pleading with people not to congregate around the base of the escalators and move down the platform.
My side of the platform is quiet and I wait for the 7:28 train because I usually just miss the 7:22 train unless it’s one or two minutes late.
I’m a coward because anytime anyone has ever called either of you out has been willed out of existence with your over inflated sense of moral and intellectual superiority.
I’m a coward because I can’t count how many times you looked the other way as you walked past my room when I was crying and felt so alone in the world.
I’m a coward because when I gave you a present you never acknowledged it and left me to find it amongst rubbish in the garage.
I’m a coward because your circumstances are so unique they prevent anyone from questioning your behaviour.
I’m a coward because neither of you apply the same harsh rules to yourselves as you do to others.
I’m a coward because you turn on the charm offensive as soon as you sniff out the faintest hint of generosity like hungry ghouls only to disappear once what you came for is well and truly consumed.
I’m a coward because I would be threatened when I was at my most vulnerable if I ever spoke up.
I’m a coward because whenever anything went wrong you left me to fix it and never offered a helping hand unless it affected you directly.
I’m a coward because you’re both so damn deluded that you have no idea nearly everyone around you is thinking what I’m saying.
No, none of this is on you at all because I’m a coward.
We’re sitting there after dinner and he puts his arm around me as we talk. “Dinner was absolutely great.” He leans in closer to kiss me.
I feel the familiar wet, warmth of lips touching mine and I block out my surroundings. His hands slowly move lower as they inspect me. They stop on my hips – left hand pinches my hip fat. With a discovery made, both hands crawl and pinch and work towards my stomach where I feel another pinch.
Through our kiss I feel his mouth open and hear a little laugh, “You’re actually a bit on the chubby side – I didn’t expect that.” He says.
There’s that sick feeling again. The twang in my heart.
My eyes are open and fixed on something in the distance that I can’t make out. I softly push the guy away and try to not let my emotions betray me, “Well if you don’t like it then you can go find someone else.”
He looks guilty and perhaps realises what he’s just said, “Oh no, that’s not what I meant, you’re really sexy but it’s just cute that you have fat. I don’t mind, it’s totally fine.”
I don’t know how to respond.
He’s trying to hug me again and apologise but it feels worse. Now it’s pity. Anything beyond this point is just pity for the guy who wasn’t as perfect and someone imagined him to be.
My chest is tight and my eyes have glazed over.
I find myself on the No.59 tram heading home alone, looking at my fading reflect in the glass being swallowed by night.
At home and I’m in front of my mirror in my underwear looking at my deformed body. Nipples too big, hips too much fat, bulge not big enough, not enough definition in my chest which accentuates my nipples.
In the bathroom in front of another mirror and I’m still the same crying into my toothbrush because now everything is all starting to make sense.
In bed, floating in the darkness waiting to disappear. There’s a flash to my left as my phone lights up and my eyes focus in to see there is a message from the guy and the first line looks like an apology of sorts.
I stare at those words until the light disappears and I’m back to floating towards the abyss once more.
My body shudders with the sound of the passing train.
He checks his phone and notifications when he’s out with you but you’re sure you recall him saying he prefers to be disconnected and live authentically.
He says he doesn’t have enough money to go out but his stories show that he’s taken up the company of someone more generous and desirable than you.
He promises that he isn’t some jerk who fucks people around but after he’s cum inside you his contact thins out to the point where you question whether he even existed at all.
A ghost? No, my bank account says otherwise.
Surrounded by familiar faces asking you why you’re still alone. But you’re such a catch they all say each and every time. They can’t believe it.
You say you can’t believe it either but that’s not true is it?
Because you’ve been busy when you haven’t been busy.
You preach the authentic life with a convincing veil but deep down you’re just as consumed.
You have definitely pretended to be broke and put your company out to the highest bidder so someone would pay for your evening out. You absolutely have.
And yes, you have been the jerk who made promises he cannot and knows he will not keep and when you get what you want you tactfully withdraw, deflecting questions and suspicions with convenient and perfect answers because you you’re so damn clever.
So when you’re asked why you’re single despite your qualities. You know that deep down you are flawed just as he is, you have hurt others like he hurts you.
All you do is smile and throw your hands in the air and make some cynical joke to lighten the load.
Somewhere else, at some other time, he is having that exact same conversation with himself over and over again.