Wednesday, September 14, 2005

How Do I Take This?

About an hour ago, I had my heart ripped out of my chest, thrown to the ground, and stomped on repeatedly. It all started after the last bell rang for the day. I had to finish a group project in the library this afternoon with a few of my classmates. Well, I saw S.S. on the way there and followed her out by the buses to wait for C.G. with her. C.G. finally comes hobbling down the front steps and I avert my eyes from them to avoid witnessing the hug/kiss that the two share when parting and reuniting. Hence, five-inch stiletto number one.
I take off to meet my group members in the library, but nobody showed up. So I head down to the intervention specialist's office and she gives me some pamphlets that should help me out with the project. I needed to see if I had any stuff in my locker that I needed to take home and down the hall, I see C.G. and decide to go talk to him, since we haven't had a ton of time. I get there and am not so shocked to discover that S.S. is still with him but she looks pissed. She leaves to go inhabit "her spot" by the side of the school and C.G. tells me that it was Casey, not me, that made her angry. I follow C.G. to hopefully give some comfort to S.S. but somehow, the conversation led to her sleeping with him, and whether or not she was planning to. She gave me this look that said it all. Then C.G. and S.S. kiss without warning. I get up and tell them that I'm leaving, heart stinging from the sight. C.G. says, "What? You go and ask that question and now you're leaving?" I replied, "Yes, her face told me everything." and I spun around before he could say anything or read any emotions that my mask might not be covering. He's always said I suck at hiding it. Steel-toed boot, number two.
I'm planning on catching community transit to get home and as I'm walking past the other stop, T.M-F. saunters up to the guy waiting there with his new fuck-buddy. Probably the one that he used when I was away at my father's and abroad. This time I want him to know that I'm hurt. "Hey!" I yell. He turns. "Is that your new fuck-buddy?" I question. He, of course, nods his head. I think he was just disregarding how I feel. I mean, you don't screw around with someone like me and expect them not to get attached. That's just not how it works. Introducing heavy astronaut boot number three; the boot that most made me feel the rocks on the pavement, the other cracks in my heart from other occasions, some deeper than others; the fact that no one is perfect, like the glass from broken beer bottles; the heaviness of the realization that everyone has the opportunity to add another crack, especially your friends.
So tell me, how do you keep letting people in? How do you keep trusting if everyone is capable of breaking you? We all know that it will happen eventually, so what are we waiting for? Why do we still feel, even though it hurts bad enough that we're numb? C.G. was right. Heaven isn't here.