So much good

I went to another party, a disco, a house party, whatever. It all comes together like one thick mass after a few days. Only the special ones stick in the memory, and that was the case this time. I think I met a girl at someone's apartment, pretty, nothing special, but a nice personality. I'll stick with the apartment story so I don't have to repeat the same arguments over and over again. We had a great conversation, and a general feeling of sympathy filled my soul, so I shuddered when I heard the lyrics:

"I've heard so many good things about you." "Fuck, my curse, my curse, my mark. Why? I'll explain. I've always tried to be myself, in a way that wouldn't hurt anyone. Help others, serve, I read a lot of Nietzsche, and I turned out to be useless. People take advantage of that, and then they're thrown away. A person is like a disposable product, used up and discarded. It was the same with girls, but they prefer to be a little afraid. A bit of unpredictability, madness, uncertainty, and they can't count on any of that from me. That's precisely why this text brought me out of the blissful state of trivial conversation. I pretended with a poker face that everything was fine, but inside I was boiling. She had some problem, she wanted to talk about it, and I had had enough. I felt like throwing up; another person who saw me as a confidante, confessor, advisor twisted my gut, and my loins buzzed anxiously. We went out into the hallway and outside.

"Do you have any siblings?

" "Yes, quite a few.

" "Nice to have you, I only have a brother, my sister's away.

" "Well, I have a few more, I don't know how many exactly, maybe something's on the way, this way or that.

" "Don't say that." Her eyes began to reflect the moonlight more vividly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

"No, that's not the point." Take care of your siblings, truly, always and everywhere, because if it's too late, you can't regret it later.

"Yes, but sometimes they don't want my help, or our definition of help differs... which ends up being the same.

"Help is always needed because..." She couldn't help it, she burst into tears, and put her hands to her face. I turned around, went over, and hugged her. I felt her body with my whole body, her hair flowing across my face, the skin of her face rubbing against mine. Tears from her cheeks ran down my sweatshirt.

"Please, cry, it always helps." We stood there, entwined, like star-crossed lovers, like...

" "You're so good." No, I couldn't stand it anymore. I pushed her away, and she smiled. The last straw was enough, and I ripped her shirt off.

"What are you doing?" This isn't like you. I ripped off her bra, her breasts heaving in spasms of sobbing, punctuated by questions about my behavior. I crashed my lips into hers, brutally, she was mine. When I stopped her to unbutton her pants, she continued:

"What are you doing, you're so nice." I couldn't change her image of me. I'd had enough of this form, she was drinking me in, I wanted to be like a barbarian, conquering with brute force. Like a Neanderthal, pressing me against the cave wall with a club and covering me. I entered her, she howled.

"How am I supposed to understand this?

" "I'm fucking raping you." I groaned, incredibly aroused.

"But it's not you. But..." I howled, I wanted to hit her, but wait, I'd already crossed all the lines. I hit her, once, twice, backhanded. Until she fell silent, but for a moment:

"It's not you." "I raped her, I hit her. To no avail, I was close to breaking down, still the same, nothing can change, I'm lost. I put on my pants, sat on the curb, and cried. My grief was overwhelming, I realized there was nothing I could do.

"Don't cry, nothing happened." Moments like these happen, and I don't blame you for that. She stared at my soaked face, I stared at hers, and I howled, like an animal, loud and resounding, powerful. My guts were screaming for help, my mind was screaming for help, but nothing happened. We returned to the apartment, and I ate five sticks and drank a sea of ​​alcohol, maybe a lot, maybe more.