A word on horoscopes… and intimacy?

I’m an Aries. As the first sign of the zodiac, we like winning and coming in on top. We fiery individuals crave equal parts attention and alone time. We’re social butterflies, but hate it when people get too clingy or needy and we’re stubborn to a fault… imagine a ram butting its head over and over against a brick wall when there’s easily an entrance just a few feet further down the line. At our best we are passionate, independent, and daring. At our worst we are temperamental, reckless and self-involved.

All of this is according to a quick Google search I did but it pretty much fits me to a tee. I like getting attention (hey, who doesn’t?) but I value my me time just as much. I can’t stand when people get clingy – it’s a major turn off. I’m ambitious and competitive in things I care about but I put myself into a lot of unnecessary situations where I’m bound to get hurt (psychically, emotionally, etc.).

When it comes down to it, I don’t know how much I really believe in the whole horoscopes thing. I feel most of it could apply to any general reader and if you read something that you want to believe about yourself you’ll probably end up making that connection anyways no matter how big the stretch. But with that being said, I’ve always believed in it when applied to myself. A little backwards, I know. Trust me, I know. 

I bring up horoscopes now because about a week ago my friend was reading zodiac facts on twitter and came across one that basically said “Aries are heart breakers.” I scoffed at this of course. “Please, looking at the facts (and the past) I’m pretty sure I’m not the one who did any heart breaking,” I said. Which is perfectly true. I’ve never been in love or even close, but I’m usually always the one who gets hurt in all of the romantic or unromantic ‘things’ I get myself tangled in.

“Well, wait. I can kinda see how that’s true even for you,” said my best friend G. Um, what? Please explain further because I have no idea what kind of fucking alternate universe you’re living in right now.

According to her it’s because of the way I’m afraid to be vulnerable and intimate with people. Which is true and always has been, but I’ve changed a lot in just the past year. I like being intimate. I crave it, actually. But then I realized that’s a lot different then really being vulnerable.

I’ve laid in bed completely naked with someone who I was curious about and interested in but not in love with after sex. Sex in and of itself can be very intimate of course, but in this case it wasn’t really. Like I said, we weren’t in love. I don’t even know how much in ‘like’ we were if at all. But we just talked.

To me, this was the intimate part and I felt very vulnerable then and maybe I was. But looking back at that ‘thing’ and all of my ‘things’ with people in the past I feel like I’ve always been holding back. I’m myself and don’t try to be anyone different, but I still feel like I’m acting or putting on airs. I have a wall up without even trying… I don’t know how big of one it is, but it’s big enough to matter.

I would analyze it more like most other things about myself… but it’s hard when I can’t fully explain it or find the right words to even try.

So while it may be true that I’ve never broken any hearts, the fact that I can’t get rid of this always present wall.. that I’m always holding back… these things can be dangerous. To the other party or as it usually goes… to myself.

The Last Night

Maybe it’s ironic the last time I saw you two nights before you were drunk. That after downing shots and guzzling liquor, you thought of me and wanted me then. All I got out of it were your drunken texts and calls. You got pieces of me. You got satisfaction. You got your dick sucked for over an hour.

I got bruises. Four of them that formed a ring: two on my collarbones, two on my shoulders. That was the testimony to my night. But the only one I could explain was the bite mark on my shoulder that had bloomed into a flower like contusion. You got to use me, bend my body to your will. I was glad to do it.

Maybe it’s ironic that two nights before, you fell asleep. You didn’t mean to, you were supposed to drive me home. I remember looking at the clock on your TV, it was 6:38. It had been four hours of you, you, you. You taking whatever you wanted violently… bed shaking, legs quaking, chest heaving. Me bending backwards, forwards, over the bed for you. Your hands guiding me.

Until finally I said enough. You were supposed to take me home; it’d never been this late before. Close, but never this late. You fell asleep with your back turned towards me. I regretted de-spooning myself from you… regretted getting up and pulling your arms from around me. Regretted moving my arm out from under your head. But you didn’t try again. You fell asleep with your back turned towards me.

I tried to take up as little room as possible. I was cold, but the blanket was under you. Curled up, I became so small. I used myself for warmth when really it was your warmth I wanted. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remember is waking up. You asked me if I was ready to go. It was 8:20.

I looked like pure shit. My hair was a mess of tangles… we had tried to smooth it out the night before with your gay roommate’s brush but that did no good. My make up was all gone because you had fucked it all off the night before. Mere hours ago, really.

We rode in silence. “I don’t want to go to work,” you said. It started in 20 minutes and I didn’t feel sorry. “Do you have class today?”

“Just one,” I answered. It started in less then an hour. “But I feel like I won’t go.”

All this polite conversation – useless.

When you pulled up and stopped your car, I turned to you not knowing what to expect. I did this every time. But this time you kissed me. Four times. On my cheek, down the side of my face. God, that smile. I could forget myself completely with that smile. I could let it screw me over, not just screw me.