The Bad in Each Other: A Series
by Alice Loveless
Chapter 1
I guess some people are hard to love.
Or they’re too easy to love, and that’s the problem.
Not to mention that you could love someone and still be wrong for them.
I thought about all of these things when I turned around and headed east. He turned around and rode his bike west. And just like that, we were done. Or so I thought.
One of the only things I remember from last summer was being lazy at the park with Zack, listening to Mac DeMarco’s “Dreamin’”. We spent hours talking about nothing important, watching couples around us looking really happy and in love. For a second I thought about how we must’ve looked to those people. They could very well mistake us for one of them. Nothing crazy happened that day. The only reason why I still think about it six months later is because that day would lead up to the worst night of my life.
I could’ve gone home to my Capitol Hill studio apartment when the sun went down a few hours later. But I didn’t want to throw up again. Shortly after summer began, I started doing it regularly. My body had forgotten how painful it was. When it ended the fight with food two years ago, it really thought that I would never let it suffer like that again. I’d let it down. Fortunately, the guilt of not having a summer bikini body couldn’t compete with the guilt of hurting the shell that houses my soul. So that evening, I decided I should be around other people as much as possible. It’s easier to relapse when no one’s watching, I had discovered.
I went over to Zack’s equally tiny apartment a few blocks away. He too was happy to have a company at all. You see, we’re not the most stable people in 20-mile radius. But nothing could’ve prepared me for what I was about to experience as the night progressed. We were watching his favorite movie, The Big Lebowski, when he opened his fifth can of beer. I began to feel uneasy. I knew something was going to happen, and I wouldn’t like it.
True enough, things got out of hands pretty quickly. Zack started opening up about things in his past that weren’t necessarily cheerful. Everything I thought I knew about him was a lie. When we first met, I’d asked him why he moved back to Seattle after attending an out-of-state university for a little less than a year. I remember him saying, without looking directly to my eyes, that it was for financial reasons. But now Zack told me that a few months before he left that university, he threw a party at his apartment on the 11th floor. Later that night, when he was talking to a guest, he saw someone jumping down the balcony to his death. Zack saw everything, and was distraught.
That image was all he saw whether he’s awake or asleep. His parents were getting worried so he moved back to Seattle to be closer to home. When he’s telling me all of this, I was left tongue-tied. At one point he started yelling at me and throwing things – though not in my direction, but still I was really scared. I was in a small space alone with a guy I couldn’t fully recognize. I could’ve left but I stayed because I saw something familiar in this fucked-up scenario.
Then it hit me. I’d seen this before. I’d seen this with my 13-year-old self. Right at that second, I could feel my blood boiling. I had spent the last four years trying to heal myself. I had tried to bury the discontented, sad, angry person I once was deep in the ground, but here he was, reminding me that the demons would never go away.
The yelling didn’t stop right away. I was so frightened and confused because at that moment I realized I wanted to help him, but it meant that I had dig up the grave where I put my past to sleep. Somehow I got him to sit down on his bed, ready to yell back at him. Instead, I looked into his eyes and I saw a lost boy. I’d seen a lost person too, when I looked into the mirror a few years ago. We just stared at each other for a while.
The following 24 hours went by really slowly. I contemplated taking some space away from him, but I couldn’t get myself to do that. I barely had my feet on the ground, but at that moment I wanted nothing but to get him back up. I realized I might be in love with him.
The Bad in Each Other is a month-long series written directly from the life experiences of writer Alice Loveless. To protect the identity of the people involved, all names in this series have been changed, and including the writer’s.
The writer can be reached about the series at alice.loveless96@gmail.com
Chapter 2
I remember every thing from last summer. I remember his eyes, the most important shade of blue I’ve ever seen. I remember his crooked smile (and crooked heart); the feel of his rough hands. I remember all the 3 am text messages, when I could almost hear tears rolling down his face, forming tiny pools of frustration on his pillow. I remember his body seeking warmth from mine, and I gave it all. Different memories of him played all day in my head like movie clips. It’s worse at night, when those clips kept me awake.
***
“I looked up suicide methods the other day,” Zack said lightly while playing with my hair. We were lying on my bed,
I snorted. At this point, I was getting used to his dark sense of humor. It’s even rubbing off on me. So I played along. “Yeah? I wouldn’t recommend hanging yourself. You’d die looking really ugly,” I responded. I loved it when he played with my hair. “I would go for a really slow one. Carbon monoxide, maybe. Lux Lisbon looked gorgeous doing it.”
I looked up to see how he would react. He wasn’t smiling. He gazed at thin air and said, “Pills. That’s how you do it. You swallow a bunch and get comfortable with your blankets and everything. That’s it, then you don’t have to worry about shit anymore.”
I got up and wrapped my hands around him. He planted kisses all over my shoulder, and I wondered how could I love someone so beautiful but morbid at the same time. That’s the thing with Zack. I never knew when he’s playing around and when he’s not. With him I could never be too careful and although I cared about him more than I care about myself, it was getting really exhausting to guess his moods. It took me a while to finally admit that I didn’t understand him at all, and all the things about him I thought I knew were only the tip of his iceberg. But if I had to drown myself in the ocean just to see a glimpse of the bottom of it then…I’d rather not.
***
I was alone in my apartment. I hadn’t talked to Zack for three days because well, maybe he’s not in the mood. I could never know for sure. I picked up my favorite novel, Love in the Time of Cholera. I’d read it five times over two consecutive years. Marquez is romantic all in the explicit, non-forgiving ways, and every time I read his works, each left a hole in different parts of my heart.
I had the thick novel on one hand and the other stroked my flattening stomach. I smiled at
my little ‘achievement’. I’d been so good lately, by the unhealthy thinspiration blogs’ standards. I’d been only eating one meal a day. I felt a little weaker, but I was closer to being beautiful, right? Nothing felt as good as skinny feels, right? Wrong. Wrong. It’s hard to forgive myself now for what I was doing to my body, but at the time it only felt right.
I walked over to the fridge. There’s a giant pizza box from when I had a girls’ night a few nights back. My stomach growled at the sight of that, as if screaming, YES! FINALLY! I stood there for a while with the fridge open, thinking what I should do. I mean, I’d been reallygood the past two weeks. Maybe a couple of slices wouldn’t hurt.
‘A couple of slices’ turned into finishing the whole box in 20 minutes and I suddenly felt sick. I felt disgusting. I ran to the bathroom and stuck my fingers down my throat. I cried silently as I flushed all the food down the toilet. I was a failure. I’d failed my body. Now my stomach was aching, my throat hurt. I imagined my mother and father crying, thinking what they’d done wrong – just like they did a few years ago when I still lived with them. I sat in the tub hugging my legs and whispered to anyone who’s listening, “Will this ever stop?”
Then my phone rang. I ignored it but it rang again, so I dragged myself out of the bathroom and cursed whoever it was interrupting my self-reflection. It was Zack. I picked up the call and my heartbeat was picking up speed. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew I wouldn’t like it.
“Alice, are you there?” he said. His voice was breaking. He’s sad again.
I didn’t know, was I there? For him? Honestly I was numb after throwing up that much. It hurt too much that I couldn’t feel anything shortly after. I was very much not ‘there’. But I could hear Zack calling for help. I couldn’t hang up the phone now, not when he sounded like that. I wanted to be selfish and I had every right to, but it seemed like when he’s around, I was never my own priority.
I longed for the time where I could focus on myself and heal my own wounds without interruption. I longed for the time where I could help him heal his wounds with kisses. I tried to be accommodating to two different people and it had been proven again and again that I would always choose one over the other. And it’s never myself.
I gulped, feeling the lump in my throat. Trying not to sound broken as much as possible, I said, “I’m here.”
The Bad in Each Other is a month-long series written directly from the life experiences of writer Alice Loveless. To protect the identity of the people involved, all names in this series have been changed, and including the writer’s.
The writer can be reached about the series at alice.loveless96@gmail.com
***
“I looked up suicide methods the other day,” Zack said lightly while playing with my hair. We were lying on my bed,
I snorted. At this point, I was getting used to his dark sense of humor. It’s even rubbing off on me. So I played along. “Yeah? I wouldn’t recommend hanging yourself. You’d die looking really ugly,” I responded. I loved it when he played with my hair. “I would go for a really slow one. Carbon monoxide, maybe. Lux Lisbon looked gorgeous doing it.”
I looked up to see how he would react. He wasn’t smiling. He gazed at thin air and said, “Pills. That’s how you do it. You swallow a bunch and get comfortable with your blankets and everything. That’s it, then you don’t have to worry about shit anymore.”
I got up and wrapped my hands around him. He planted kisses all over my shoulder, and I wondered how could I love someone so beautiful but morbid at the same time. That’s the thing with Zack. I never knew when he’s playing around and when he’s not. With him I could never be too careful and although I cared about him more than I care about myself, it was getting really exhausting to guess his moods. It took me a while to finally admit that I didn’t understand him at all, and all the things about him I thought I knew were only the tip of his iceberg. But if I had to drown myself in the ocean just to see a glimpse of the bottom of it then…I’d rather not.
***
I was alone in my apartment. I hadn’t talked to Zack for three days because well, maybe he’s not in the mood. I could never know for sure. I picked up my favorite novel, Love in the Time of Cholera. I’d read it five times over two consecutive years. Marquez is romantic all in the explicit, non-forgiving ways, and every time I read his works, each left a hole in different parts of my heart.
I had the thick novel on one hand and the other stroked my flattening stomach. I smiled at
my little ‘achievement’. I’d been so good lately, by the unhealthy thinspiration blogs’ standards. I’d been only eating one meal a day. I felt a little weaker, but I was closer to being beautiful, right? Nothing felt as good as skinny feels, right? Wrong. Wrong. It’s hard to forgive myself now for what I was doing to my body, but at the time it only felt right.
I walked over to the fridge. There’s a giant pizza box from when I had a girls’ night a few nights back. My stomach growled at the sight of that, as if screaming, YES! FINALLY! I stood there for a while with the fridge open, thinking what I should do. I mean, I’d been reallygood the past two weeks. Maybe a couple of slices wouldn’t hurt.
‘A couple of slices’ turned into finishing the whole box in 20 minutes and I suddenly felt sick. I felt disgusting. I ran to the bathroom and stuck my fingers down my throat. I cried silently as I flushed all the food down the toilet. I was a failure. I’d failed my body. Now my stomach was aching, my throat hurt. I imagined my mother and father crying, thinking what they’d done wrong – just like they did a few years ago when I still lived with them. I sat in the tub hugging my legs and whispered to anyone who’s listening, “Will this ever stop?”
Then my phone rang. I ignored it but it rang again, so I dragged myself out of the bathroom and cursed whoever it was interrupting my self-reflection. It was Zack. I picked up the call and my heartbeat was picking up speed. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew I wouldn’t like it.
“Alice, are you there?” he said. His voice was breaking. He’s sad again.
I didn’t know, was I there? For him? Honestly I was numb after throwing up that much. It hurt too much that I couldn’t feel anything shortly after. I was very much not ‘there’. But I could hear Zack calling for help. I couldn’t hang up the phone now, not when he sounded like that. I wanted to be selfish and I had every right to, but it seemed like when he’s around, I was never my own priority.
I longed for the time where I could focus on myself and heal my own wounds without interruption. I longed for the time where I could help him heal his wounds with kisses. I tried to be accommodating to two different people and it had been proven again and again that I would always choose one over the other. And it’s never myself.
I gulped, feeling the lump in my throat. Trying not to sound broken as much as possible, I said, “I’m here.”
The Bad in Each Other is a month-long series written directly from the life experiences of writer Alice Loveless. To protect the identity of the people involved, all names in this series have been changed, and including the writer’s.
The writer can be reached about the series at alice.loveless96@gmail.com
Chapter 3
My waist hadn’t stopped aching since the last time you wrapped your arms around it. My lips hadn’t stopped talking about you since the last time you kissed it. Layers of coffee stains covered your taste on my tongue, and I tried my hardest not to scrape my tongue looking for the last bit of you. My brain had been projecting the same image of you, of us. Lying on my twin bed felt like being on a lone boat in the middle of the ocean.
Four weeks. It had been four weeks since we broke it off. I didn’t know about you but I was having a bad time dealing with it, to say the least. No matter how busy I tried to be every day, you still managed to creep into my brain. Maybe that’s a wrong metaphor. Maybe you never left my brain in the first place. Now, listening to our favorite Ty Segall song, my mind takes me back to the time we kissed for the last time.
***
I had moved from my Capitol Hill apartment to a house in the U-District I shared with ten other people. I thought it was a good idea to be around more people. For the longest time Zack was my sun, my life revolved around him. While at the time I was still seeing him, I could already feel us drifting apart. Were we sick of each other? Were we sick of whom ourselves became around each other? I don’t know. Maybe a little bit of both. But I knew I needed a new start. His depression was rubbing off on me. It made my recovery harder.
Zack came over shortly after I had settled in. We were going to have a little housewarming. “Just you and me,” he said over the phone that morning. I could hear him smile. We fooled around all day catching up on Breaking Bad, playing with our fingers, laughing. It was the middle of September. Summer was wrapping up, just as our relationship was. He was not merely a summer fling. He’d been in my brain a while before summer started and he would stay there one infinity after.
***
I remember one of my favorite movies Like Crazy, which is a story about a couple, Anna and Jacob, and the deterioration of their relationship over the years as it was challenged by distance. On their first date, Anna read Jacob a poem she’d written.
I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it.
But I didn't, not really.
Only the smudgeness of it;
the pink-slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it.
I didn't realize it would sometimes be more than whole,
that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea.
Because it's the halves that halve you in half.
I didn't know; don't know, about the in-between bits;
the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me.
I had always been the one who loves more; that’s my thing. I fall in love about a hundred times a day, with strangers whom I have half a second of eye contact with. I could accidentally brush someone’s hand while crossing the street, then my eyes would meet theirs and I would feel some connection with them. It’s like a one-second love story. I would imagine their life stories, their laughter. No matter how brief, our life has intersected. Life is beautiful that way, I think. I’d “fallen in love” with so many strangers and when I met Zack suddenly it became a real thing. Like love is not only an option or an imagined scenario, but a tangible thing that I needed to give and receive.
It took me a while to realize that love does not necessarily mean you should heal wounds and fill in holes. It’s also important to step back and realize some flaws can’t be fixed, that I had to love Zack and the “gory bits” of him all the same, while wounded and scarred myself. I never knew what it is that killed us. I like to think that we once had tried to understand each other but we just couldn’t. I guess we couldn’t understand ourselves in the first place.
***
He kissed me as the sun set. For the first time, I didn’t want more. It was enough. That kiss was a kiss above all kisses; it marked the end of us. It tasted like farewell. I can’t remember much of the next 20 minutes or so. I think we just went through the motion of breaking up, saying all the “This is not working out,” and “I’m sorry,” and whatever it is you’re supposed to say. I meant them, though, I think. Then I walked him out of my house. I decided to go for a walk as well.
I guess some people are hard to love.
Or they’re too easy to love, and that’s the problem.
Not to mention that you could love someone and still be wrong for them.
I thought about all of these things when I turned around and headed east. He turned around and rode his bike west. And just like that, we were done.
Fin.
The Bad in Each Other is a month-long series written directly from the life experiences of writer Alice Loveless. To protect the identity of the people involved, all names in this series have been changed, and including the writer’s.
The writer can be reached about the series at alice.loveless96@gmail.com
Four weeks. It had been four weeks since we broke it off. I didn’t know about you but I was having a bad time dealing with it, to say the least. No matter how busy I tried to be every day, you still managed to creep into my brain. Maybe that’s a wrong metaphor. Maybe you never left my brain in the first place. Now, listening to our favorite Ty Segall song, my mind takes me back to the time we kissed for the last time.
***
I had moved from my Capitol Hill apartment to a house in the U-District I shared with ten other people. I thought it was a good idea to be around more people. For the longest time Zack was my sun, my life revolved around him. While at the time I was still seeing him, I could already feel us drifting apart. Were we sick of each other? Were we sick of whom ourselves became around each other? I don’t know. Maybe a little bit of both. But I knew I needed a new start. His depression was rubbing off on me. It made my recovery harder.
Zack came over shortly after I had settled in. We were going to have a little housewarming. “Just you and me,” he said over the phone that morning. I could hear him smile. We fooled around all day catching up on Breaking Bad, playing with our fingers, laughing. It was the middle of September. Summer was wrapping up, just as our relationship was. He was not merely a summer fling. He’d been in my brain a while before summer started and he would stay there one infinity after.
***
I remember one of my favorite movies Like Crazy, which is a story about a couple, Anna and Jacob, and the deterioration of their relationship over the years as it was challenged by distance. On their first date, Anna read Jacob a poem she’d written.
I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it.
But I didn't, not really.
Only the smudgeness of it;
the pink-slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it.
I didn't realize it would sometimes be more than whole,
that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea.
Because it's the halves that halve you in half.
I didn't know; don't know, about the in-between bits;
the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me.
I had always been the one who loves more; that’s my thing. I fall in love about a hundred times a day, with strangers whom I have half a second of eye contact with. I could accidentally brush someone’s hand while crossing the street, then my eyes would meet theirs and I would feel some connection with them. It’s like a one-second love story. I would imagine their life stories, their laughter. No matter how brief, our life has intersected. Life is beautiful that way, I think. I’d “fallen in love” with so many strangers and when I met Zack suddenly it became a real thing. Like love is not only an option or an imagined scenario, but a tangible thing that I needed to give and receive.
It took me a while to realize that love does not necessarily mean you should heal wounds and fill in holes. It’s also important to step back and realize some flaws can’t be fixed, that I had to love Zack and the “gory bits” of him all the same, while wounded and scarred myself. I never knew what it is that killed us. I like to think that we once had tried to understand each other but we just couldn’t. I guess we couldn’t understand ourselves in the first place.
***
He kissed me as the sun set. For the first time, I didn’t want more. It was enough. That kiss was a kiss above all kisses; it marked the end of us. It tasted like farewell. I can’t remember much of the next 20 minutes or so. I think we just went through the motion of breaking up, saying all the “This is not working out,” and “I’m sorry,” and whatever it is you’re supposed to say. I meant them, though, I think. Then I walked him out of my house. I decided to go for a walk as well.
I guess some people are hard to love.
Or they’re too easy to love, and that’s the problem.
Not to mention that you could love someone and still be wrong for them.
I thought about all of these things when I turned around and headed east. He turned around and rode his bike west. And just like that, we were done.
Fin.
The Bad in Each Other is a month-long series written directly from the life experiences of writer Alice Loveless. To protect the identity of the people involved, all names in this series have been changed, and including the writer’s.
The writer can be reached about the series at alice.loveless96@gmail.com