63rd St.

Chapter 3

In a matter of hours since I left the store i've already gotten half way through the bottle of vodka and almost finished a pack of cigarettes.

I need to slow my roll, the next time I'll be able to pick cigarettes up probably won't be until next week.

When Andrew and I aren't in an argument, we spend all day together, meaning I'll have to wait until our next fight to get some.

I wonder when he'll get over what happened earlier, I'm getting kind of lonely.

I never meant to upset him, his temper is just very short.

I'm positive that I heard girl's voice in the background, and it's still early in the morning which means he probably hooked up with her last night and was driving her home or something.

The thought bothers me. A lot actually.

I'm trying to suppress it but it's hard. Am I not good enough for him? Is that why he feels the need to be with other girls?

At least we're on summer break, it was 10 times worse at school.

He'd be surrounded by girls everyday, throwing themselves at him. Who wouldn't want the star quarterback right?

And he wouldn't resist them, he wouldn't even try.

I'd have to sit there and watch him openly flirt with girls inform of everyone, sometimes watch him take them away to the bathroom and I'd know exactly what they were doing.

Or sit at his football practices he'd drag me to, and watch girls fawn over his skills, sometimes he'd wink at them.

It was humiliating.

Every knew he cheated on me regularly, it was basically common knowledge.

I'd walk around the halls, seeing the stares and hearing their whisper, why is she still with him? Why won't she leave him already?

What wrong with her?

Now, he still gets involved with girls from school or random chicks from Instagram.

It still hurts but at least I don't have to live through the humiliation of it happening right in front of my face.

Sometimes I notice a pattern. He gets upset over something irrational and lashes out on me, and around the same time he hooks up with another girl.

It feels like he starts arguments with me on purpose so he feels less guilty about cheating.

I bring the bottle to my lips and take a big swig, wincing at the burn making it's way down my throat.

I'm trying really hard not to fall deeper into the trap.

The trap is things to focus on other than the chaotic tragedy that is your life, something to depend on for comfort. Something you can always go back to when life doesn't work out.

Substances, self harm, sex, etc. That's the trap.

Coping mechanisms; healthy or not.

Everyone has hardships in their life.

But the trap catches those who have loud minds, minds that are constantly screaming at them, reminding them how soon they're gonna crash.

It catches those who've already fallen into something deeper, trying to find a way to dig themselves out.

It sucks in those with a deadly subconscious, taunting you about your trauma.

The trap is so alluring because it acts as a comfort, a safety blanket. Like Scotch tape for your poor body that's cracking under pressure, helping hold it together.