It is all over. This brings with it some stress, but the relief is much greater.
Roxanne invited me out for a drink last night. Initially, I resisted her invitation, but casual social outings are supposed to do me some good, as I have read somewhere – most likely a reputable source, like the very prestigious, scientific, and progressive Cosmopolitan Magazine.
It all started out well enough, which is shocking when Roxanne is involved. Very quickly, she found herself bored. I do not judge her for the boredom she experiences often, and the awful things finding herself with a brain on the verge of a shutdown from lack of stimulus compels her to do, because I feel that space that aches to be filled with interesting things, too, and with just as much intensity.
She called Kawika to ask if he would permit her to blow him (Just like that, I promise), but he refused to speak to her. And while I found this material to laugh at, one can’t very well be so open with their ridicule, as it can be perceived as a type of hostility that I did not have the desire to back up with action, should it have resorted to that.
It is all so silly, the way women go at each other, blindly but with such force, that it is bound to do some damage. Roxanne felt no desire for Kawika. What she wanted was to have everything that belonged to Marissa, because a friendship between women cannot possibly exist with all the insecurities we possess. All we want is to be better than the person we dislike.
I went home and told Marissa what had occurred. The reasons are unknown to me. Perhaps, I am tired of my life and the people in it, and I am set to destroy everything, or watch it destroy itself. Perhaps, I care about Marissa, at least to some extent.
Nothing positive came of my good deed. She had trouble believing me, choosing instead to hang on to a dying need for Roxanne to be a decent human being. Quickly, it all turned into dizzying panels that I was painted into. Roxanne drove to our apartment, and accused me of sleeping with Kawika. Marissa wailed, as she does when she cannot process information, because to do so may cause her to die. I called the police when Roxanne wouldn’t leave the premises, and once they arrived, Marissa denied that she knew me at all. Too tired for an argument, I left for my parents home, like a child kicked out of the sandbox.