The Girl Who Saw Through Jem

Jem: The Week Of Ourselves [edited]

EDITED: 2/9/17

Chapter 36

The Week Of Ourselves

Jem

You are cordially invited to the wedding of

Heather Isabella Lorenzo

and

Spencer James Davidson

on Saturday

12th December 2015

12: 00 p.m

The Plaza Hotel,

Manhattan, New York

The words had been elegantly printed out in gold-leaf textured writing across the manila card, written in an Italics-styled demeanour, but yet it glared menacingly at me as I read it for the fiftieth time, it glared at me like it was the devil itself, and of course when it came to slaying his own demons, I would love nothing more than to do it by bashing it hard in the face and knocking it out cold- so that was how I did it.

"Fucking whore!" I swore out rather loudly as I ripped the card into two, tearing it into shreds at seven thirty in the morning, freaking out Mrs. Doberman's pug dog next door as the Manila card became tiny pieces of paper abandoned on the sidewalk. It sprinkled on the floor in a flurry of white paper mache, like heavenly remnants of fluffy pillows.

The sting of the betrayal was stinging me at the back of my hand as the manilla paper was abruptly out of my hands in seconds I couldn't contain and my fingers were locking and unlocking into fists, trying to make it a conscious effort not to smash the ugly ceramic pot that was utilized into a mailbox into tiny shards of pottery. That white hot anger was throbbing inside my chest like a jar full of bees fighting to be released, a line of saliva dripping from my lips as it grumbled in a series of animalistic snarls, teeth grinding on its grooves, lips twitching, muscles unclenching.

How could she do this? How could she? Didn't the memories of her old marriage mean anything to her?

Did I mean anything to her?

With that last thought simmering into my mind, etched into the floors of my brains, my breathing became steady as my fingernails dug into my palms, the slow-burn hot anger was giving way to the freezing collected cool that followed afterward. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them, seeing that Mrs. Dobberman was eyeing me weirdly as she watered her plants, waiting to probably call the cops if I shouted any more expletives randomly at nobody in particular. She turned off the hose when she didn't see any more violent outbursts and walked back towards the porch swing where she always sat to read her book, back to the routine of monotonous normalcy, where suburbia get the best of us.

And suddenly, I lungs was itching with the need to burn them and I wanted a smoke.

-

"God, you're smoking again?" whined Ellis as she smelled him when he arrived at her doorstep, reeking like an e-cigarettes store. Ellis's nose crinkled as the strong fragrance of nicotine sprayed her whole foyer, ruining the sweet notes of white elegance from the lilies carefully arraigned by Lula in a black vase as a centerpiece for a black marble table.

Recklessly, I cupped her neck and pulled her into a deep kiss, because she was the distraction I needed. Her surprise was evidently shown as she didn't kiss back until she realized what I was actually doing and returned the kiss, but with less fervor than me, less passion because of her confusion as her mouth lightly pecked against mine. "You taste drunk," she mumbled in between intakes of air, "Are you sure you're okay?"