Showing posts with label Acceptance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Acceptance. Show all posts

Monday, September 5, 2011

Acceptance

We didn’t get back to Renolds’ apartment it was four am. I was grateful for her lumpy couch that smelled questionable. I let myself fall head first into my dreams.
I woke with an odd aftertaste of last night. My clothes smelled like stoner. I forgot where I was with a panic. I looked for a mirror to make sure I was still myself. Then my memories caught up to me. I sat back and sighed. I wanted something… I couldn’t quite pinpoint what. But I could tell I didn’t want to go home.
My stomach rumbled and the smells from the party swirled around me. I started gagging as the air suffocated me. I ripped off the clothes Renolds dressed me in the night before. I kicked the black dress across the room and clawed at the underwear until I was standing there naked. I closed my eyes and took three deep breaths.
I wanted to shed myself of this dream. I wanted to be back to my normal life. I wanted to stand in front of Lika again and kiss her. I wanted to go through my bicuriousity on my own. I didn’t want to be pushed into all the shit Renolds was pushing me into. I wanted to take it slow.
But I was already past slow. I felt like a gleaming green light. Open for anyone to mess with. I didn’t feel like a person anymore. I didn’t feel like there was such a thing as love. Only lust and sex and other disgusting things. It was like people only went around looking for an orgasm. I wasn’t like that.
On the third deep breath, I realized that I should feel like that. I should be appalled. But I wasn’t. I found it fun, different. It was like I was putting on a show for the world. I wasn’t Florence Lee anymore. I wasn’t the girl with the pigtails and innocent smile who thought kissing boys (or girls) was disgusting. I wasn’t the perfect Christian, waiting for marriage. I was a normal, human, teenager. I was horny and questioning and open to possibilities. I wasn’t perfect. But that’s what being human is: being imperfect. Being sexual. Being whoever the hell you are.
But the person I “should” have been being was strangling the person I was being. So I took one more deep breath and pushed the innocence away. I let go with a smile and felt brand new.
“I hope you didn’t sleep on my couch like that,” Renolds stirred me out of my thought process.
“No. I just needed air,” I hastily tried to cover myself up.
“Go take a shower. I’ll get you something to wear,” Renolds shuffled back into her room.
A shower and a pair of jeans later, I was ready for whatever Renolds had planned for me that day.