Direction

They all had this impression about my life, about who I was, that was only partially based on fact. It was mostly Vanessa's verbose imagination, and its effect on me. I found my hand almost unconsciously moved to the keyboard, compelled to express at least something over those days and weeks in response to her. Maybe they loved the person I became...the person Vanessa was writing to. As I reread them, I sort of did too.

I didn't get a big head. As a good friend would always remind me, "of course you're going to like your own stuff, dude...everybody likes the smell of their own farts." He was probably right. My sentimental catharsis was probably just a few shitty lines of mundane commentary and some strange poetry to everyone but these girls. It didn't bother me. Besides how could I have honestly written anything at all if I had tailored it for droves of strangers anyway? It wasn't important that they understand, only Vanessa.

But now, in the real world, I needed to separate myself from her. I could ask Vanessa to pretend we were together, I thought. But, I was not comfortable with that either. That's probably what she wanted. Vanessa's dangerous entries had made her a threat, and I'm not sure I could trust her or myself in that situation.

Why was I even thinking about all this? They were already controlling my thoughts, directing my mind like the conductor of an orchestra. I became defiant. Even if I loved the person Vanessa was writing to, I knew it wasn't me. I decided to remind them. I didn't know exactly what to say (as usual), but I had to tell them I wasn't interested. So I wrote some bad poetry.

Smile, dance, with playful feet
There is no need to be discrete
Belong to no one less than I,
Most around would qualify
I take your silver, shave a trace
And back into your hands I place
I am not bothered, lesser still
To follow whims, a want fulfill
Spend it wisely, not on me
Why for fruit high on the tree?
High it is, but that is all
Pick a breed who dares to fall
Rivers rise and hearts will mend
But never will this levee bend

I knew nothing I could say would prevent them from being friendly. I didn't want to hurt their feelings. Of course, there was something preventing decisive action besides mere civility. Something inside me definitely wanted to know Jen's testimony was true.

And, there was a hidden agenda. I wanted to feel the wonderful anger again. In the room with Jen it was more than just that. I could see the genuine desire in her eyes as she held me in her hands. She seemed almost drunk with lust over my momentary hesitation to stop her. Before my eyes she seemed obsessed with any amount of pleasure she could enforce on me. As if I had broken only for her. She wanted desperately to become my fantasy.

As I politely requested her to stop I felt not just anger, but what could perhaps be described as rage. Spectacular, wonderful rage, enveloping my body. As she was buttoning my pants I knew that she was desperate to understand my desires, and to satisfy them. She couldn't have known that resisting her was this desire.