I don't want to die, i just want to get the SHIT KICKED OUT OF ME (Drunko de Mayo edition)

I quickly changed after a moist, silent day. I'd been sitting in the printmaking studio waiting for my extra large print to finish up in the printer. Line by tiny line, ink laid down, zippppppppp, flip, switch, swiisssh. Another line, building upon more lines to make the image for me. Mesmorized.

Quick look at my bank account. I am not surprised by the lack of funds but still saddened. My desperation for money today found a way to make the sky a little bit blacker. The rain a little bit thicker.

I dumped the change jars I'd been gathering over the past couple years into a thin plastic bag, lugged it over to my purse and tossed it in. Coat, heels. Gone.

Mmm, I've taken too long. The bank was about 15 minutes away and I absolutley haddd to get there before it closed at 5. It was 4:36 pm and I feared I'd be lugging my sack of booze money around to the bars that night, scooping out handfulls of nickels and dimes to pay for a few margaritas and Dos Equis. I was completely unsure how many I would be able to consume before the bag emptied.

50 dollars later and the congratulations from the banker on my surprising luck and a "party hard!" I was booking down main street. I popped into Happy Harry's mostly to get cigarrettes, but also to quench my curiosity of wondering whether they really put out a table in the front of the store with surgical masks and hand sanitizer with a sign reading "SWINE FLU" atop it. Both desires were confirmed.

La Tonalteca was a mess. A hot mess! I rushed up to the bar where Greg and Jan sat, threw out 3 bucks to the bar tender and received the first of many margaritas I would purchase with the fresh, crisp $20 bills turned magically from copper and silver disks into delicious little slices of green.

More people eventually gathered around us. We claimed our corner of the bar, our bar tender claimed as well. He was making us personalized shots, "forgetting" to take our money and taking shots of Don Julio with us in between hustling to serve other thirsty mouths. I had called Ben and he was on his way, Sarah, Mara, Natalie, Nikki, Jan, Tyler, Ryan and Greg all drank. Sombreros. I'm drunk. Very drunk.

Things were darker, somehow. But i was happy. It was raining, but I was happy. We moved to Dereks place on Thompson circle to continue drinking. Ben's music (himself) was playing in his car. Such a streched out, ghostly voice. But perfect. I had to kiss him for it and sometime later we went inside.

I don't remember much now. I believe we were drinking in the living room. It seemed things were dying down, and the slowness started to make me aloof.

Enough.

I demanded Ryan beat me up and we went outside. He didn't question me much. I think that's a brave thing to do. To not ask questions, that is. To just slap a girl around if she so desires. Just give me a ciggarrette and a blindfold and let loose. No mercy, Ryan Palmer. I deserve no such thing.

I put out my ciggarette while Dorothy warms me up with stinging slaps. It's not pain I feel. It's ecstacy. It's running through my hair, soaking me. The rain. Come.

From under the blindfold, I can see the porch light shining on the slippery grass. Ben is standing back against the house. Mary and Derek are somewhere, I think they were uncomfortable with the situation. Ohh, who could blame them? What is wrong with this girl?

I can still see the light through the grass as I hear Ryan preparing. Speaking of a safe word that I purposely don't listen to. I don't believe in having control over my own safety. I am never safe.

He finally comes without warning. I am blind, and the force of his fist feels more like rocks or brutal wind. I am a whirlwind of pain and fire. He unleashes fury against my face until I can't speak. Until I'm laying in the mud, blindfold still tied around my eyes, the rain pouring down, slipping across my swelling cheeks, the broken blood vessels. I put my hands up to stop him and he asks for the safe word. I don't know it, and put my hands down, motioning them towards him for more. He hits me a few more times and then black. More than blindfold black. This time its lights out.

When I come to I am smoking another cigarette with a jacket hanging around my shoulders. Shivering. "I love you Ryan Palmer", I slur.

I spit out some blood, finish my cigarette and put it out on my wrist.


I don't want to die. I just want to FEEL.