Memory Loss (X Pill)

For days after the cataclysm, parts of my core-crux began to swell with blood. Staring at a stop light clutching the brake, or turning the faucet knob, completely naked, gaping over the course of water; homesick and struggling to remember certain details- I am left with this: spilling red and warm, in the passenger seat of my own car, stop sign and street light. And then I breathe. A radio knob cranks in my ear, and I am connected to a wavelength where time travels in hertz, steadily increasing with every second we are sitting in the dark in my car. 245 hertz and I can barely hear him say, "Just let go of me," under a high-pitched whine, he snaps two fingers and matches appear from his fingers, he is going to set himself on fire if I don't hold onto his hand, which I seemed to be fiercely molding into my own. I cant help but think I should just leave, but if he's a serial killer then what's the worst that can happen to a girl who's already cursed looking into his eyes. I think i'm already hurt. He forces himself into his mothers room to find what he's stashed behind a wicker basket and boxes of old clothing. "I had to do it, you made me sad." And he kisses me with stomach acid hot off of his breath. I keep thinking, 'Maddie, just leave, you are clean off of him for the first time." But, we go smoke a cigarette outside of our apartment building. Two days later, and the insistent ringing dies from numbness. We sit with his best friend in the living room, and he gets nasty drunk, when last night he promised it would never happen again. I don't acknowledge it. But he likes to rage, in the dark of his room, "I love you though, and you know that," I try to take my guts out but without them, you still hate me. And all I want for him is to know I didn't cheat. He forgives me by fucking me so hard into a wall and turns me around, pulling a heavy hand back to hit me smack across the face. "When I hit my girls, they never tell," I can hear the ringing even softer than before, I notice it, in my car in the middle of December leaving his house at 4 in the morning, when I turn a left onto Revolution Street and see the blistering red and green Christmas lights intertwining the line of trees. I am only seventeen, and my mother lies asleep in bed , with the back door unlocked and I fins my way up the stairs in the backyard . A black pair of shoes sink into dog shit and yellow stained grass in the corner of the yard. I pay it no attention and slink into the furnaced house as if this was the end.