Reality Check
Everyone wants to know, ‘Who is the real Chloe?’ Sit back and listen because I am about to tell you.
October 6, 2010
Everyone wants to know, ‘Who is the real Chloe?’ Sit back and listen because I am about to tell you.
There is nothing more real than having your crush die of a heart attack a few months after cheating on your boyfriend with him, while you are still in high school. There is nothing more real than losing your role model in a car accident and having two friends murdered by the time you are half way through your first year of university. There is nothing more real than your family losing their fortune and being told, ‘you should have had more.’
There is nothing more real, than real life.
I never understood why I had to go through so many traumatizing things. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason. I do know that everything in my past has made me exactly who I am at this moment, and as much as it nearly killed me to get here, I am happy with the person I have become.
We sat on the black leather stools at the bar. The Editor was high, the drugs racing through his veins. My hands were shaking as I attempted a sip of vodka. I had never seen him like this; he was stumbling, stuttering and slurring coming down off a heroin high.
He looked at me and I finally asked the question we both knew was coming, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Looking downward he shrugged, for the first time since we’d met he seemed at a loss for words. “I didn’t want you to be mad.” I was in shock. Mad!? Was he serious? How on earth do you get mad at someone for having an addiction? I kissed his lips, feeling his hands tighten around my waist. We stood at the bar, arms around each other. The room was full of the usual Monday night bar crowd but it felt like it was just the two of us there.
It broke my heart to hear his response. Why are people so consumed with others judging their actions? There was obviously something he could not cope with if he turned to drugs in such a way. We stood with our bodies pressed together and I knew it would be the last time I saw him. All I could do was be there for him, but first he needed to be there for himself.
Old School
Before all the sex, drugs and rock and roll. Before I understood that love wasn’t real. I had a boyfriend. A stereotypical high school nightmare, him the Football Guy and me the Cheer Captain. The first 8 months of our 2 years were grand while the remaining was spent figuring how to get out alive.
April 19, 2010
Before all the sex, drugs and rock and roll. Before I understood that love wasn’t real. I had a boyfriend. A stereotypical high school nightmare, him the Football Guy and me the Cheer Captain. The first 8 months of our 2 years were grand while the remaining was spent figuring how to get out alive.
He was the first person I slept with, first guy to make me cum. I loved sex from day one. The tales of our relationship would not only bore you, but also frighten you to your core; instead I am skipping along to the juicy goodness. The breakup.
I had finally been given my out; Football Guy had hung up on me for the very last time. The next morning he approached me in the hallway. Tried to kiss me and I turned my cheek. “Why did you hang up on me?” I demanded. His response, “I didn’t feel like talking to you anymore.”
The entire day he kept approaching me for a kiss, my response, “I didn’t FEEL like it.” Heading to my last class of the morning he cornered me, told me if I walked away from him it was over. I turned on the heel of my espadrilles and walked into class, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
Like clockwork Football Guy was standing outside my class when the bell rang. I walked by him. He grabbed my wrist, demanding we speak. I told him I had lunch plans that perhaps I would FEEL like talking to him after.
Heading into my first class post lunch drink in hand, he was waiting outside the giant glass wall of the science lab. He demanded to know what was going on. I told him I thought it was over; after all I had walked away. He laughed, “I was just threatening you.” He stared at me and I looked him square in the eye, for the first time feeling confident towards him. He asked if I still loved him. Silence. I took a long sip of my diet coke before answering, “No.”
He grabbed the drink from my hand, threw it in my face before punching the wall beside my head. I could feel the breeze on my cheek as his fist crunched into the drywall. I just kept staring him in the eye. He pushed me, for the last time, into the wall and then stormed around the corner and up the stairs.
I stood, my white sundress dripping in soda. I could see the kids in the science room on their phones, texts to everyone what they had witnessed. I had never felt better. I was free; let the games begin.