Bathroom Stall Lust
This is just a one-shot I wrote for my FP account, and I thought I would post it here. It's kind of creepy. No, wait, it's really creepy. Enjoy.
It is quick. Rushed. Bathroom stall lust. Touching, twisting, taking over. You don’t know me at all. Not even my name. You’ve met me in here over and over, and never learnt a thing about me. You don’t know that the first time you found me, I was on the verge of committing suicide. I was about to slit my wrists with a kitchen knife when you found me, curled in the corner of the stall with the broken toilet that no one bothers to use.
You don’t know that I am a year younger than you. Fifteen. You don’t know that I have no friends, or that my mother left when I was three to marry some old millionaire, and slowly leech away his money. You don’t know that I have scars on my arms, and track marks from the heroin needles.
You don’t know that I know you, that I know all about you. That I obsessed over you, jacked off to the thought of you, long before the bathroom. You don’t know that I wait in the shadows after your soccer games, watching you as you soak up the glory of your latest win.
You don’t know that your best friend is bleeding, bleeding for you. You don’t know that he wants you. You don’t know that he watches you in the changing rooms. You don’t know that he dreams about you.
You don’t know much of anything really.
But I know. I know all about you. I know all about your best friend’s sick obsession. I know that the school adores you, but you loathe them all. I know everything.
I know that when I walk into the bathroom at lunchtime, you will be waiting. I know that you will be with your real best friend when we meet, with that bottle of bourbon in your hand. I know that you will be too drunk to talk, but we will fuck there on the floor, cold and longing for something more.
I know that by the time the bell rings we will be done. We will split and go our separate ways. I know you will drop off the bourbon on the way to class, but will fall asleep halfway through the lesson. I know that your best friend will carry you to his car and drive you home. I know that he will tuck you into bed and kiss you goodbye. He will flinch at the taste of bourbon and something he cannot identify in your mouth, before drawing the curtains and going home to bleed over you a little more.
Will you be proud when you reach the end of high school and realise you spent most of it fucking your stalker in a toilet stall? Will you be proud when you realise you are dead inside, your only light the bourbon? Will you?
Will you be happy when you find your best friend with a bullet in his brain lying across your doorstep? Will you be happy when they term it suicide? Will you be happy when you come to the toilet stall and find me there? Will you?
Will you be envious that he has escaped this monotony of a life? Will you be envious that he doesn’t suffer anymore? Will you?
Will you then turn to me in your misery? Will you LOVE ME?
I love you.
With all my crazy heart.
I love you.
With all my messed up mind.
I love you.
And I will love you until I have no heart left to love with, until I die trapped in a padded cell, caressed by a straight-jacket.
I will hold onto that feeling, hoping that maybe one day you will love me too.
I will dream that our stall time is love not lust. That it won’t be over when the lunch bell rings.
That you WILL want me. Love me. Hold me. Kiss me.
Kill me.
Death by love. Not by the kitchen knife in the end, but by obsession and longing.
. but . he . has . killed . me . even . so .
Goodbye, my love.
Well, I hope that was okay.