Imperfect Without You

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: House of Ghosts
A young man remembers his first and last girlfriend, as he leads a path of destruction, which leads him to his own demise.

Submitted: March 28, 2016

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Submitted: March 28, 2016

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A young man walked into Donut Star, and ordered a coffee. He placed the coffee on a table in the far corner of the shop. He placed his school bag and binder aside and pulled out a Marlboro cigarette. He lit up the cigarette as he sat down. Taking a few drags of the solo cigarette, he noticed an old man turn around a few tables in front of him.

 

“Can’t you read son?” The old man, asked in disgust, pointing at a sign on top of the young man’s head, that read “No Smoking.”

 

The young man looked at the sign, turned back to the old man and casually took another, long drag of his cigarette.

 

“Put it out,” demanded the old man.

 

The young man took another long and lonely drag of the cigarette, blew out the smoke and pulled his sleeve down, to reveal fresh razor scars on his wrist. The young man pushed the cigarette against his skin, looking at the old man dead in the eye. He didn’t even blink as the cigarette smoke ceased on his burnt skin.

 

“You freak,” remarked the old man as he stood up and left.

 

The young man showed no emotion as he casually pulled up his sleeve and pulled out another cigarette, only to light it up like before. He took another drag as he noticed a few customers come into the store, ordering donuts.

 

“One maple and one sugar please,” remarked a young woman.

 

The young man stopped the cigarette a few centimeters from his lips, as he heard this.

 

“I’m never going to leave you,” said a whisper, “it’s you and me until the end.”


The young man stared at his cigarette as memories began to pour into his head.

 

“Remember me?” The whisper asked, “I’ll always be here.”

 

He focused on his cigarette as he began to remember her. The first time he met her, was at that exact same spot. He was adding sugar to his coffee, revealing scar free wrists, as she walked in the store. He focused on every step she took, looking as beautiful as no other, in tight blue jeans and a red top, with perfectly curled brunette hair. She ordered a maple and sugar twist. She apparently forgot her money because she was searching her pockets frantically.

 

“How much?” The young man asked to the cashier, handing her a twenty dollar bill.

 

“Thank you so much,” she said with a smile, “I couldn’t find my money and I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

 

“Yeah, no problem,” he said, “what’s your name again? I think I’ve seen you around school.”

 

“Oh, Rosie and you?” She asked, eating her donut.

 

“Erick,” he whispered as he tasted his coffee.

 

“Well, thanks for saving my life Erick, we should talk more,” she stated, smiling again with her rich red lips.

 

“Well, I have time, can I walk you to your first period?” He asked, again, sipping his coffee.

 

They walked together, almost in sync, smiling, laughing. They reached her class, giggling.

 

“Thank you so much Erick,” she said, smiling, “I haven’t had a conversation like that in a long time.”

 

“I feel the same way,” he said, “but before I go, I really have to tell you something else.”

 

“What is it?” She asked, smirking.

 

“You look beyond beautiful right now and believe me when I say this, I really want to talk to you more,” he said, looking at her, deep in her beautiful hazel eyes.

 

“Well, thank you so much,” she said blushing, “maybe you can give me your number and we can talk more.”

 

And so, they exchanged numbers and yet, a couple more smiles. Then came a regretful goodbye hug. In a few months, casual talking turned into flirting and hugging turned to kissing and hand holding. He eventually asked her to be his girlfriend, with a bouquet of flowers and a poem. Everything went fine and began to progress. Kissing on the cheeks turned to lip kissing, then to tongue and eventually lip biting. Eventually, a few months into their relationship, they ditched school together and went over to her house. They began to kiss each other with more passion, hug each other closer and tighter. Eventually, they began removing clothes and began tasting every inch of their sexual desires. After, breathing heavily and sighing in relief, lying close to each other, she reached over for his hand and wrapped his arm around her.

 

“I’m never going to leave you,” she said in a faint whisper, “it’s you and me until the end.”

 

They laid there, for hours, just talking about life experiences. He revealed he never had a girlfriend and that he just lost his virginity. She confided to him, her past abusive relationships. They began sharing each other's morals and beliefs, like being a pacifist and using nonviolent resistance. They shared idols like Gandhi and Malcolm X. They began listening to Oldies, like Rosie and The Originals, Mary Wells, The Marvelettes and Gene Chandler. They softly and passionately kissed, as they listened and admired the beauty of past generations, without saying a word. They began doing such things for a few more months. On their 6 month anniversary, he wanted to surprise her at her family party, with flowers and gifts, and another poem he wrote, just for her, titled “Perfect with You”. He walked over to her street and noticed her house’s driveway empty.

 

“She told me she was having a family party,” he thought to himself, “that’s why she couldn’t talk to me today.”

 

He walked up to her house and noticed the front door left slightly open. He walked inside and heard the sound of a bed slamming and groans of pain, as Oldies played in the living room. He walked over to her bedroom door, which was cracked open slightly. He peered in and saw his girlfriend making love to another man. He watched for a few minutes as a single teardrop fell down his eye. He walked into the kitchen and found a pen. He scribbled out the title of his poem, and reworded it, to read “Imperfect Without You”. He left the poem and the flowers and gifts, on the counter and walked out. He showed no emotion. He ignored her text messages, her phone calls and walked right by her the next day at school, without emotion, not even acknowledging her presence.

 

The young man came to, looking at his wasted cigarette, when he felt his phone beginning to vibrate in his pocket. It was her calling. The young man threw his phone against the wall and walked out of the shop as the high school bell rang, across the street, leaving his bag and his binder in the shop. He walked opposite from the school, to his house. He walked in the front door, without closing it. He played “Two Lovers” by Mary Wells on his stereo as he lit another cigarette. He took a few drags as he walked to his room, looking at his cap and gown hanging in his closet. He looked over to the calendar, to a date circled, named “graduation”. He walked into his parents room and reached into his father’s shoes, pulling out a shoe box that contained a small handgun. He pulled out a glock 9 from the box, walked to his room and placed it on his nightstand. Under his pillow, he pulled out a razor and a note. He cut himself and with his blood, he wrote “Imperfect Without You” on his wall. He sat on his bed and placed the note on his nightstand. He sat on his bed for a few seconds and put the cigarette out on his scar covered wrist, again.

 

He read his note:

Because of You

 

Let these cigarettes corrupt my lungs,

Just how my heart was corrupted by your hugs.

Let this razor create more scars,

And let my soul finally reach the stars.

 

I hate this constant empty feeling,

Like I’m doing everything but healing.

I honestly can’t take this anymore,

I wish I could have had this courage before.

.

Please, please, lay me down to rest,

Only then, can I be truly blessed.

I finally give up and I have to say bye,

Please, promise me you won’t cry.

 

I hate myself so damn much.

 

A teardrop fell down his cheek this time, as he grabbed the glock from his nightstand, put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Blood spilt over the black cap and gown hanging in his closet.


“Two Lovers” by Mary Wells, finally came to an end.


© Copyright 2017 Erick Inzunza. All rights reserved.

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