Midnight Memoirs: As Long As You Do It Well

Wow, so blue.

I’ve never seen such a pristine sky. The floating white cotton-candy clouds scattered in the bright blue looked like islands where angels belonged. Standing in a 35-degree weather with a crop top and denim shorts, I waited for my boyfriend to pick me up. In just a day, I was flying off to the land of spiders and all sorts of creepy-crawlies. I felt my heartbeat slacken as I began processing how much time I have left with him. But as I saw him pulling up, any sentimental feeling I had left was knocked out.

“It’s your last day here. Let’s do something crazy. Let’s spray paint that building we pass by every day!”

“What? No! Are you out of your mind?”

“Hey, come on. Sometimes, it’s alright to be bad as long as you do it well.”

During my last night before my new adventure, we painted the wall of an apartment building white, blue and red, and had a wondrous time. But that wondrous time was like running water. On the day of the flight, he drove me to the airport and squeezed me one last time. That one last time felt like a curse.

When I landed — after being delayed for nearly five hours — the spider-infested land froze my bones with its barren cold. I couldn’t decipher the train announcements because of the crappy speaker, and found that I had accidentally ended up somewhere two hours away from home. I remember police officers walking by when my friends and I were smoking pot on the sidewalk. I caught a guy filming me on the train with a sadistic grin on his face. 

And yet despite all the shit I went through, none of those came close to what I was about to encounter. It started with the texts…

“Hi French fry.”

“What’s shakin’ bacon?”

I got to know Chris on social media. After texting on and off for almost a month, we decided to have a spontaneous rendezvous. Getting off the tram, I scanned around. I was like a motion sensor security camera trying to identify its target. Within 3 ticks of the second hand, we locked eyes. First, I saw his build and then I heard the accent. I could swear my pupils must have shapeshifted into stars. He had this mysterious magnetic force that unbolted the screws in my head. But while eating dinner, I felt the screws tighten up again. Our conversation was like a not-so-pleasant Uber ride. He was introverted — kind of dorky. Our talks seemed to hit so many sharp breaks and red lights which got me feeling like I was car sick.

On the way back home, my mind kept playing out our dinner together on a loop. The dinner was like sitting in a weather where the sun couldn’t be burning brighter, but the air, the chair, the floor and even I weren’t being warmed by the blaze. Like there was something blocking the heat. Lying in bed, right before jumping into and falling down the rabbit hole to meet Alice in the abyss of dreams, I realized how alike I was to a vintage scarf. Chris probably just appreciated its design but didn’t find it interesting enough to pick up and actually wear.

But with the next daylight, I was brought with a piece of grand news. There was the slightest of a hint he might want to wear the scarf. 

He asked me to hang out on Friday.

Oh my god! God must have answered my prayers and summoned the cupid at Piccadilly Circus to secretly shoot an arrow at his heart! This is a miracle.

With fast heartbeats like the intro to Taylor’s Wildest Dreams, I sailed my ship to his home Friday night. After having some small talk and devouring two tiny blocks of happiness, we headed out to hunt. As we walked in the city, the ‘special’ brownies in our stomachs started to weave invisible wires that wrapped and compressed our brains. We saw people dragging their sleeping bags on the streets and thought they looked like kings and queens wearing their weighted robes. The stars tried and failed to outshine our auras. And everything just seemed so hilarious. We were in Winter Wonderland.

I wouldn’t say our hunt was a big success but we managed to bring a couple of preys back to his. Relaxing on the sofa with legs crossed, we watched Rick and Morty while enjoying our food. No matter how hard I was trying to focus on the plot, I couldn’t help but be distracted by the vibrant colors beaming out of the laptop. They were beautiful and mesmerizing. And as the episode ended, he proved my blossoming hypothesis true by wrapping his warm arm around me.

Oh shit.

My brain went blank and I looked into his eyes.

Wow, so blue.

I’ve never seen such pristine eyes. Maybe those brownies did a number on me or maybe there was something in the air, but the white wiggly scribbles in the bright blue looked like strings that tied my soul to his. Those eyes were piercing — like he could see all my thoughts. I quickly broke eye contact — a thinly veiled attempt to hide my twitchy heartbeat — and resumed watching the cartoon. My efforts of distraction were futile because they sure as hell didn’t stop my mind from getting carried away in its secret fantasy. I could see my fingers tracing down the lines of his biceps. I could see myself gripping his neck and attacking those cherry lips of his. I could envision myself utterly destroyed — my arms tied at my back with his necktie, lying prone on soft twisted sheets as he pulls my hair with one hand and grabs my hip with another. 

And it was like a bell going off in our hearts, enchanting and beckoning us to start feeling each other’s body temperature, feel it rising to the boiling point. We locked eyes again. Oh fuck.

He was so rugged yet gentle. His mercilessness unleashed this filthy little monster in me. And every time he showed care, it groomed that little monster. He tossed me on the bed and tentatively drank from the sweet waterfall. Our gasps enveloped the sound coming out of the cartoon. With one arm, he flipped me over like a pancake and through the mirror in the room, I saw us merging into one as we lost more and more control — giving in to our animal instinct. It was the hottest shit ever. I saw him knitting his brows while pounding me and biting my neck. He fucked me so hard that made Mammon no longer want anything less.

Choke me. Fuck me harder. Do whatever you want to me.

I couldn’t stop him from ravaging past trees and planting new seeds in my garden.

Lying in bed, being spooned by him, I saw fresh red freckles on my shoulder. My garden was overrun by plants that grew cute little red fruits. While chit-chatting with Chris, I felt my core shivering, but I wasn’t quite sure if it was because he hit the spot too good or because I knew deep down I did something bad.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I honestly don’t think I can say no to this mystical interlink if there’s still a next time.

Curse. The word ‘curse’ has always carried a negative connotation. No one in the world would be happy knowing they are cursed. And I used to think that my curse was the most crestfallen, wretched thing that could happen to me. But if this curse gifted me a garden filled with the color of passion; the most heavenly scenery to savor — even if it means that I have to bury you under the roots of rosary peas — I’d choose to be cursed.

I mean, it’s alright to be bad as long as you do it well… right?

Written by AJ

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