We are the only ones who see her. We, the sad and desperate, the drunk and lonely, the short and shy and full of shit, both in thought and in speech. We like to lose ourselves in smoke, in flavours and in music we deny liking when sober. We don’t care and we’re not afraid to make a fool of ourselves – we’re not shameful, we’re just living our lives to the fullest! We use jokes and alcohol to make ourselves smarter and funnier. We are everywhere, at any hour, laughing, howling like rabid wolves in search of a prey. We see it. We approach it. We sniff it and, if lucky, touch it.
If it’s weak, then we might as well taste it, lick it hungrily and snatch it to our secluded sanctuary. There, we can approach it directly. We have no scruples, there is no other form of being rational other than our own vision, our inner law – the one we sketched and perfectioned during years of standing in the dark, doing nothing… absolutely nothing. Lacking courage and self-confidence, we’ve waited and hoped. In vain. And when we realized we are becoming desperate, we stormed out and now we are satisfied with whatever comes easily.
We try to be gallant, soft, sophisticated. We do it all by the book, as they like it. They say we’re just good buddies and fun to be around. Why not more than that? We know “no” means “yes”. We know you like the good stuff at first sight and like to do the dirty business after 2 hours and 4 drinks (that we offer to buy, just for you, sweet prey).
We like the crowd, we like their attention. We feel loved, admired, adored. And then, suddenly… there! In the crowd, we see her. We like her type. We like her. Shy as we usually are, now it’s all gone. We attack.
Why so shy, darling? Why so stiff and silent? Is the music too loud, can’t hear us? We know you’d love to. Let us come closer to your pretty face and whisper our howls in you ear. We leave our breath’s imprints on you neck that just turned away in the opposite direction. Sweet fool, you’re ours. You’re mine.
Just the perfect specimen: shy, drawn in a corner in her silence. Not too fat, not actually skinny and far from beautiful – acceptably pretty. Her presence has nothing special to say, but in my ears and eyes it sings and it dances. As I watch her, I can almost taste her lips, smell her hair, feel her skin against mine as I trap her between my demanding, sweaty body and a hard place. Her struggling, her screams, her cries wake and arouse the wild spirit inside me.
You can’t run and you have nothing to hide from me. Why run in the first place, no one else wants you, anyway. No one would be mad and blind enough to like that sad face, that pitiful smile that hides your deranged spirit. You’re weak and faulty, your mouth denies what your body shows. You’re lost and alone, and what a sorry presence you are… Loneliness has driven you crazy, you can’t think straight, your childish mind is trapped in a sloppy young woman’s body.
If you’re broken, then I’ll fix you. Taller, heavier, sober and bleak – you’re perfect to me. A pitiful creature belongs to her kin. I’ll have you now, tonight, tomorrow, forever, because there’s no one else who would want you. For those who you long for, you’re a disease. For me, you’re the prize, the fresh catch that I get to show off with. You call it humiliation, I call it benefaction. It’s all you deserve and you know there’s no escape, not even in your mind. It’s your choice: think elsewhere and go insane, or think of me (and only me), or don’t think at all and let me have you, tear you apart, taste you and consume you.