Threw the car into neutral. Stopped. In park.
Dark street. No lights, fucking country road.
No one for miles.
He stepped out. Howled. screamed at the sky "Give me a life worth living for!"
Mud on his shoes. jumps back in the car, fastens seatbelt. Screams off. Hates himself.
Sees the city. begins to sob uncontrollably. The autumn leaves begin to fall.
He slows to the stopsign. A man walks by his car. They smile at each other. He reaches in his glovebox, pulls out a quarter. Rolls down his window. pulls up next to the man, hands him the quarter, tears rolling down his face.
Races down the street again. In a different direction. South this time. Can't conceal even to himself that nothing happened. In addition to his anger, frustration, bringing on tears and sobs, he finds what he just did incredibly funny. He begins to laugh. Loudly. In his car. The autumn leaves drift by his window.
He can't breathe. He stops, steps outside again. Wishes he smoked cigarettes right now, so he could smoke one and be nervous-looking, even though there's nobody around to see him.
Realizes he's parked in the street when he sees headlights from afar. He jumps back into his car, scared shitless that someone will see him. He doesn't want anyone looking at him with his face all torn up like this, eyes red, puffy from tears, face wet.
He finds a suitable place to pull over, and waits for the car to pass him. The car passes him. He pulls behind. He drives about 15 mph.
Hates himself, for the most part. Most wants to die. He dislikes being in neutral at all times. NO extremes NO desires NO passions NO fears NO tears NO love. ONLY neutral JUST anger if NOTHING ELSE.
What friends to speak of? None with him.
The world spins for a second, he grabs his head, moans. Knows just knowing nothing is knowing more than some folks and what they forget.
HE hates HE wants HE desires
HE hates desire HE wants death
HE wants NEUTRAL
or nothing. He dispensed neutral for emotions and killed himself every time within a week.
All he wanted was companionship. HE can't HE won't HE don't find it
"Doesn't matter" he said. "I'm just a typical asshole."
FUCK that shit, he found it was easier just to take it like a man. Like a fucking MAN
he threw the car into neutral, let it roll down the street, found a good place to run to. He ran, let his car steer itself.
Found a place to sit, a place to be accepted, where he wouldn't be judged or hated or even loved for once in his life. Simply a place where he could BE and it didn't matter what the fuck he looked like or said or believed or even felt because no matter what, he would be accepted.
earlier he sat in the company of a girl who cried on his shoulder when she needed it. The girl had been his best friend, and he lusted after her, in the end; he couldn't help it, after all. He was weak and blind, like most men; completely subject to his desires, and perfectly willing to confuse friendship with intimacy. In his relationships, the women always had more power over him than they ever realized.
It didn't matter, though, in this case, because he lusted for her mind and her acceptance, that elusive acceptance which tempted him into falling in love, willingly and without reservation. HE was ready to dedicate himself, dammit, and wasn't that what women wanted, anyway? commitment?
FUCK that shit, he found it was easier to have a long string of meaningless relationships rather than bother himself with the acceptance this girl afforded.
all along, though, he knew that she was the best companion he could ever have, and he would never find another person more trustable and loving.
What could he do? Nothing, he decided. She receded far into the past, and he went on to more and more six-month relationships, when he had one at all. Commitment was never his scene, he deluded himself into believing, when in fact all he had wanted in the first place was this one girl for the rest of his life.
FUCK that shit! He couldn't have her and he knew it; she wouldn't have him and he was more frustrated at that than he would ever let on in his entire life.
He would never escape that writhing loneliness that filled his body; that self-hate soaked admiration for his companion, whoever she may be at the time, until he got bored with her and told her to "fucking get lost". None filled that need that the first girl would have met. She would have changed everything for him, had she put her arms around him and given him a kiss. Everything would have been different for him.
He knew he was helpless in the arms of women. It's only natural.
But his one woman who wouldn't be with him led him to numb his emotions and force them down, to make them meaningless even to himself, so that he felt
NO love NO hate NO frustration
No desire, no joy
ONLY stained, ONLY dead