Lauren MacLeod
Stories (2/0)
Forget Me Not
It had been a rough 4 months or so. I cried every night, without fail, even when I thought that I wouldn’t, I’d speak about it as an accomplisment, and he would put me down for it. “It’s only one day, you’ve cried every other day, this isn’t a big deal.” I’d cry again. Night after night I don’t know how either of us did it anymore. There was no love anymore, no safe space. I tried and I tried but I got so angry. I got to a point of neglect where I would resort to petty and harsh words just to get him to feel something in the relationship. He would only react to the extremely harsh ones. Then we would argue, yell, cry, and forgive each other endlessly until we fell asleep. We continued as such, and I continued looking up articles on what to do. I had nothing else. No job, schooling, friends that I paid attention to anymore. This began to take up all of my time. I would wake up at 3 in the afternoon and wait until I could talk to him. Suddenly everything was him, and he was everything. Day after day I began to cling more, and he pulled away. I thought each time I would go to visit that I could fix everything, it would all be great again, just like the beginning. I would lose a questionable amount of weight in the week I wouldn’t see him, and plan what I could do to make things easier again when he would come pick me up. I didn’t notice it at the time, but I began drinking pretty frequently. It became a habit to be tipsy/drunk when he pulled up to my house to pick me up. It didn’t matter if it was at 3 PM, 6 PM, 10 PM, then it got worse, and even at 11 I would be drinking. I would buy lingerie with money I didn’t have to spice up the relationship. I was 19.
By Lauren MacLeod7 years ago in Humans
Twitch.
Twitch. It started with the sound of rushing water. The window was open, you could feel the fresh air, only it was warm, it didn’t feel as refreshing as it would seem. The curtains were laced, reaching just above the height of the faucet. The sleeves of her violet blouse were rolled. Molly had just put the last dish in the rack to dry when she heard the TV click on in the other room. But only static was heard, and a cuss under a man’s breath. She wandered into the living room, seemingly unphased. She recognized the familiar voice.
By Lauren MacLeod7 years ago in Futurism