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Member
Join Date: May 2004
Location: Illinois
Posts: 1
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claire
this isn't the best but i would appreciate any comments or criticisms, thank you
she was beautiful in a fragile way, but she was very alive to me. i knew her as innocent. my claire. my reason for living. she always had her fingers on my face, kisses on my cheeks; a smile that told me she saw nothing but wonderful in me. and we were silly, poking and laughing, fun in our own strange ways.. because we understood. it was like our language. there were never any insecurities between us. to even think of anyone else was outrageous. we fit. she was my other half. the sum of our parts seemed to equal more than all the good in the world. and i lived in her. i remember the way her cheek would find mine in the night; squeezing my hand or scratching my stomach, reassuring me that she was there and she had me forever. forever was our plan. so when i started noticing the scars on her arms and legs, i didn't know what to think. were there things she kept from me? could it be my fault? something i said, something i did.. ? the questions ran on and on, but i didn't want to push it. i just let it go. now i realize that she wanted me to see her scars, notice that she was in pain. it was her silent but screeching cry for help and i ignored it. i didn't want to know. i just wanted us to stay happy and her to stay mine. gradually, she quit eating.. seemed further away, distant, always somewhere else. months went by and she was withering away, but i still kept quiet. i didn't know what i'd do if i was, infact, the reason she was falling apart. as time went on, she appeared to be lost deeper and deeper inside herself. eventually, i had to know. i thought she'd be straight forward and tell me. i thought she had been waiting for the day when i'd finally acknowledge her repeated cries for help. i really believed i was going about it the right way. so one day when i noticed a deep fresh slice straight down her wrist, i blew up. i was being dramatic. i was playing soap opera hero. i just wanted her to know that i cared. i grabbed her by her shoulders and slammed her up against the wall. this was the first time i'd ever been violent with her. i hated myself more than ever, but i felt that i had to do it. i thought she would give me some sob story about how she'd been depressed lately because our money situation was bad, always more bills, but i was wrong. she took me by surprise when she started screaming, "DON'T TOUCH ME! YOU HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE!! DON'T PRETEND YOU CARE WHEN YOU HAVEN'T SAID A WORD THIS WHOLE TIME.. CAN'T YOU SEE SOMETHINGS HAPPENED TO ME?!" i stood there, dumbfounded, hands still pressed firmly against her frail shoulders, pinning her against the wall. she took my shock as an opportunity to slide out under my arms, grab her coat off our shabby 70s couch and run out the door, mascara staining her face. it was always the awkward times like these when i really knew i loved her. there was no doubt in this world. but now i had fucked up and approached her the wrong way about a serious problem. now, i was left with nothing. empty. completely shut out of the mysterious world of claire. my claire. i shouldn't have done what i did after that, but i couldn't help myself. i instantly ran to our room, frantically searching in the closet, under the bed, anywhere where her writing might be. i found an old box of pictures.. pictures of us, mostly. faded memories of the happy claire. the change was undeniable. i fished around under the bed for her box of journals and pulled them out. there were about ten of them. i stared at the outside covers for a long time before i made my decision. PRIVATE: IF YOU READ THIS, FUCK YOU was etched on the cover of every single one. i promise that i hesitated. i knew she had journals before, but it never seemed necessary until now. important. my sweet, sweet claire was falling apart and i felt it was my responsibility to dive into her private life (that she had only recently created) and save her from this mess. i suppose she didn't see it as my responsibility, though, the way she reacted when she walked into our bedroom, hours later, finding me sprawled across the floor with years and years of her deepest inner turmoil scattered around me. her voice: "baby i.." and i jolted upright, caught in the act. there was guilt written all over the room. her soft, apologetic tone shifted when she saw what was going on. "OH MY GOD.. YOU DIDN'T.. YOU.." from there on it was a screaming match. i don't even know what she said. i just know i was trying to defend my actions, unsuccessfully, while she was blaming blaming blaming me. i hadn't felt so defeated in as long as i could remember. my attempts to help this.. mysterious "problem" of hers failed continually and even after intruding on her darkest secrets (that i believed i already knew), i was nowhere closer to any answers. she kept on screaming and i gave up, mumbling something about the neighbors while she ignored me.
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