ETHEREAL

CHAPTER 29

I groan internally, at how I really don't have the money, but this is important. This explains the extreme mood swings, and how my hormones were so out of control that I nearly died because of how I couldn't handle all of my up-and-down emotions that seemed to be all over the place, besides how Damien is an asshole jerk that continually tries to break me down. I start to feel better, even after a day of just starting the medicine, but that is probably somewhat of a placebo effect. I'm grateful as to how I have less of a chance of getting pregnant, because I don't want to ever have any children, at all. Taking care of myself and my parents is enough.

"You look relieved - a reaction that I don't typically get?" The gynecologist is bewildered.

"Yeah... I don't want to ever have any children." I don't understand why some people think that a woman's main purpose in life is to have babies. My grandmother died from the various health complications that arose from having thirteen children and three miscarriages.

    Two days later, we make plans to go ice-skating on Friday night. The day of, I text him and ask what time we should hang out tonight. He texts me back, "We had plans?"

I throw my phone down and sigh. I can't decide if his short-term memory has been completely depleted from his overindulgence of drug and alcohol abuse, and/or if he is just especially air-headed and ditzy. I reluctantly text him back, even though I feel like ignoring him for the rest of the night, or the rest of my life in general.

"Seriously? Are you high or something? We had plans to go ice-skating tonight. You said that you wanted to go."

"I never said that. Maybe you made these plans without telling me."

"Your memory is completely shot from all of those times that you got blackout drunk & high. You're like the worst boyfriend ever. You can't even like any of my pics, and you're obsessed with your ex-girlfriend."

"I'm not obsessed with her - all of my girlfriends have actually said that I was their best boyfriend, and they wish that we were still together."

"Well, they must be as high and delusional as you, then!"

"The only reason that you have followers is that you show your face. Not your 'artistic' talent, Skye. No one actually cares about your pictures! If I showed my face more, I would have even more followers than you!"

I don't even care about how many followers I have. I don't want to be famous - I just want to be successful. He is such an asshole, and I feel like he genuinely hates me. I just wanted his support. But, why would I even want to mistakenly wish for that?

"You're like addicted to porn, and all you do is drool at half-naked women, with their fake, over-exaggerated hourglass plastic bodies, on tumblr and Instagram. Like that time I walked in on you watching a YouTube video of a girl's face covered in cum. All you do is gawk at them, and sit in your disgusting, trashed hole of a room and play video games. You don't even deserve me."

"That's not true, if I said half of the mean things that you say to me, you would break up with me."

"I should've broken up with you a LONG time ago, at least I don't fetishize and objectify guys! & I'm not obsessed with my ex-boyfriends!"

"You are going to hell... you are selfish and foolish. They just remind me of you!"

"That's a load of bullshit, and you know that." I think that I truly, deeply hate him, as much as I love him. "You're just a stoner alcoholic that is addicted to porn." I feel addicted to him, and it bothers me that I don't even know why he would say these things to me, or treat me so poorly. No one deserves to be treated like how he has treated me, and how he continues to treat me.

"I'm sorry babe, I've been cutting myself, I'll kill myself if you leave me, Skye. I haven't been eating anything, either."

"You really need help, seriously, Damien, and I love you, but you can't continue to treat me like this. You have to promise to try to get better."

"I promise."

I don't believe him, but I want to. So badly.

The next night, Damien texts me, "let's hang out tonight!"

I smile at my phone and immediately feel self-conscious for how my parents will ask me now, "Why are you smiling at your phone?!" I feel like I even have to control my facial expressions in this overly controlling house, especially around my overbearing father.

"Let's get drinks at The Cheesecake Factory," I suggest, because I just want to spend one night not thinking about everything, even though Damien has that effect on me, no matter what we do, anyways. But, I could use a fancy drink, or at least it is fancy for this area, and I want to dress up.

I lean over to step into my black Jessica Simpson booties and my boobs nearly fall out of my olive green, draped with golden chains Miss Sixty dress. I stumble backwards, and check my hair and make-up in the mirror one last time before leaving my house. I love wearing smoky eyes paired with pale pink lip gloss. I ruffle up my layers a bit and touch up my gloss again.

"You look nice," Damien says as I reach over the middle to kiss him hello, and he turns his head away. "Ughhhh, lip gloss, really?! Why do you wear that stuff if you know you're going to kiss me?!"

I laugh at his indignant tone and smile. "I wanted to look good."

He stretches his lanky, long legs out and I look away before I start drooling, and press the pedal to the floor, made easier by my five inch heels, with a hefty two inch platform.

"You're so hot when you're driving in heels, babe." He runs his hand over my bare thigh, and I smile at him, and almost wish we were just at his house now so that I could make out with him, instead of drive. The Scion groans and moans as I push it further.

At the restaurant, I order a sour apple martini and Damien orders a Long Island Iced Tea, because I told him that it is the strongest drink here. He sips on it and nearly chokes. "Damn..." He lays back in his seat. "I didn't think that you would be right about that."

"I don't know if I should be insulted or pleased," I laugh.

He reaches over to caress my thigh, and twirl pattens there with his long fingers. "Don't be mad, babe."

I never could be, for long, with him, and that is the problem. I brush away this thought and suck down my drink.

"I want to dance!"

Damien looks around at how people are just standing or sitting, talking, with drinks in their hands, and no one is dancing, although the music is blaring, louder than at a nightclub, and we are in the bar area, not technically in the restaurant.

"Babe... Skye. This isn't Spencer's friend's loft in Baltimore." He smirks.

"I don't care! I want to dance for you." I pout.

"You can dance for me at my house..." He lowers his voice. "....on my dick."

I gasp and we laugh together. I love the outrageous things that he says. I stand up and stumble a bit, sliding, on the overly polished marble floor. Damien's face falls and turns into shock, as he jumps up to catch me from falling.

"Damn, babe, are you ok? I guess this is really slippery. Are you ready to leave?"

I smile into him, and look up to adore how he is still taller than me, even when I'm wearing high heels. "Yeah." I clutch onto him, tighter, further leaning into him, with his arm around me.

My mind feels fuzzy in the best way possible, and I feel high, on our love. I will love him forever. Forever Damien and I. I beam, smiling, at him, and he asks me, "What?" I think he looks the same way at me. I hope that he feels the same about me.

After a night of drinking and cavorting; dancing; twirling around and making out with him, I awake to find myself clawing at the cold glass of the windowpane in my room, and only the abrupt chill woke me up. I felt this enchanting lure, like a siren's song, to open my window and jump. Frightened, I stumbled back into bed and laid awake for hours; with eyes rolled back into my head, staring at the ceiling. Sober and alone.