Disgruntledgrunt1577
Learning
So here we are again.
October 13th, it's your birthday.
I haven't spoken to you since July, the last time I was home, when we were still "dating".
If you want to call it that. I mean, I did.
Six months in a third world shit hole, I spent every day wondering if it was going to be my last on two legs, or the last at all.
And you were there, in letters, emails, everything.
My constant companion and my other half.
Then I was there in person.
You were in my bed, in my arms.
Nothing had changed.
Until I had you, and realized that you hadn't been faithful. Not one bit.
But that was the tip of the iceberg.
I thought the things I've done made me the dehumanized one, but you took it to a new level.
I spent our time apart doing my job, staying alive.
Telling myself we were right this time, and it was going to work.
You spent our time apart with someone else.
Neither him nor I knew of the other's existence.
But he came to know me.
I forced a confession from you, you were in tears, I had fire coming from my mouth.
Maybe, just maybe if it had been one time.
It might have been forgivable.
I get it, okay? I'm not the easiest to love.
I never have been.
Two tours, a Purple Heart, and other not so distant memories all attest to the fact that I haven't gotten any easier to love.
But I loved you. And that always meant something to me.
But yet you still betrayed me.
The only reason you had even picked me up from the airport was because your lover had been rehab for heroin.
Apparently you have great choice in the opposite sex.
Even now, months later. My blood still boils.
I overreacted and that's an understatement.
I can still see it now in slow motion.
I flung your clothes at you, this crying shape on my bed.
I couldn't see anything but red.
To the dresser.
Snatch the .45 that's more of a faithful companion than you ever were.
Out to my bike, no going back now.
When I arrived at his trailer there was only one thing on my mind, and I was going to get revenge one way or another.
But he was waiting for me, of course.
You called him, to protect him, warn him, I don't know. I don't care.
I want blood.
Words, he's speaking at me, yelling, making his intentions clear.
"I'll f*cking kill you" he says.
"I'm ready, how about you?" I think now I more hissed it than actually said it.
The .45 is now in his face.
My hands are shaking in anger.
My temples, throbbing.
I don't pull the trigger.
He's still trying to act tough.
Telling me to do it, just f*cking do it.
I've had enough.
The killer comes out in me.
The weapon that was sharpened to such a fine point.
I know I hit him with the pistol.
Down he goes, me with him.
I'm on top of him.
Seeing red.
Elbows, fists, any form of pain I can inflict.
Blood, everywhere.
He wasn't moving when I left.
The neighbors called the police.
I turned myself in, fully ready to take responsibility for my actions.
Why wouldn't I? Like I have anything else to lose at this point.
But the police don't have anything for me.
"you think we're gonna arrest you for whopping a junkie's ass? Good one"
I spent the rest of my time home away from you.
Erasing your memory with everything I could find.
Falling in with old friends, skinheads and hooligans.
Drugs, liquor, anything to erase how bad you cut me.
And then I left again.
Home not at all what I thought it was.
Not at all what I had suffered for.
A lot has happened. A lot. And while I don't think of what I did to him often, I have tonight.
Did he deserve what I did? I think so.
Was it the right thing to do? No.
I shouldn't have done it.
If you want to throw your life away with a heroin addict, that's your mistake.
What bothers me is that you have absolutely everything.
Parents that love you, a college scholarship, everything that matters.
It completely and totally goes against any logical train of thought in my head that you'd look at all that, weigh it, and then decide that it was worth cheating on me and jeopardizing your entire future.
He's a piece of shit from a trailer park who gets his kicks from jabbing needles in his arm.
You (used to be) someone I trusted, who I was happy to bring home to my Dad.
Someone I wanted to be seen with.
It will never make sense to me.
But I really don't care anymore.
A part of me will always love you.
It was your picture in my helmet every f*cking day I carried my rifle outside the wire.
It was you who was by my bed when I got nearly kicked the bucket.
I guess I just can't forget that.
But apparently all that was just a lie.
Which is old news for me.
And here I find myself on October 13th yet again, dreading what might happen.
And sure enough my phone goes off with your name on it, asking why I didn't wish you a happy birthday, and how much you missed me.
I really guess some things never change.
You won't get any answer from me.
As far as I'm concerned you're just another casualty of a war I don't want to remember.
Whatever I thought we meant you threw out the window, and that's on you.
I'll pick up the pieces on my own.
It's only fitting that the Red Hot Chili Peppers came on just before you showed up again.
"How long? How long? Will I slide?"
October 13th, it's your birthday.
I haven't spoken to you since July, the last time I was home, when we were still "dating".
If you want to call it that. I mean, I did.
Six months in a third world shit hole, I spent every day wondering if it was going to be my last on two legs, or the last at all.
And you were there, in letters, emails, everything.
My constant companion and my other half.
Then I was there in person.
You were in my bed, in my arms.
Nothing had changed.
Until I had you, and realized that you hadn't been faithful. Not one bit.
But that was the tip of the iceberg.
I thought the things I've done made me the dehumanized one, but you took it to a new level.
I spent our time apart doing my job, staying alive.
Telling myself we were right this time, and it was going to work.
You spent our time apart with someone else.
Neither him nor I knew of the other's existence.
But he came to know me.
I forced a confession from you, you were in tears, I had fire coming from my mouth.
Maybe, just maybe if it had been one time.
It might have been forgivable.
I get it, okay? I'm not the easiest to love.
I never have been.
Two tours, a Purple Heart, and other not so distant memories all attest to the fact that I haven't gotten any easier to love.
But I loved you. And that always meant something to me.
But yet you still betrayed me.
The only reason you had even picked me up from the airport was because your lover had been rehab for heroin.
Apparently you have great choice in the opposite sex.
Even now, months later. My blood still boils.
I overreacted and that's an understatement.
I can still see it now in slow motion.
I flung your clothes at you, this crying shape on my bed.
I couldn't see anything but red.
To the dresser.
Snatch the .45 that's more of a faithful companion than you ever were.
Out to my bike, no going back now.
When I arrived at his trailer there was only one thing on my mind, and I was going to get revenge one way or another.
But he was waiting for me, of course.
You called him, to protect him, warn him, I don't know. I don't care.
I want blood.
Words, he's speaking at me, yelling, making his intentions clear.
"I'll f*cking kill you" he says.
"I'm ready, how about you?" I think now I more hissed it than actually said it.
The .45 is now in his face.
My hands are shaking in anger.
My temples, throbbing.
I don't pull the trigger.
He's still trying to act tough.
Telling me to do it, just f*cking do it.
I've had enough.
The killer comes out in me.
The weapon that was sharpened to such a fine point.
I know I hit him with the pistol.
Down he goes, me with him.
I'm on top of him.
Seeing red.
Elbows, fists, any form of pain I can inflict.
Blood, everywhere.
He wasn't moving when I left.
The neighbors called the police.
I turned myself in, fully ready to take responsibility for my actions.
Why wouldn't I? Like I have anything else to lose at this point.
But the police don't have anything for me.
"you think we're gonna arrest you for whopping a junkie's ass? Good one"
I spent the rest of my time home away from you.
Erasing your memory with everything I could find.
Falling in with old friends, skinheads and hooligans.
Drugs, liquor, anything to erase how bad you cut me.
And then I left again.
Home not at all what I thought it was.
Not at all what I had suffered for.
A lot has happened. A lot. And while I don't think of what I did to him often, I have tonight.
Did he deserve what I did? I think so.
Was it the right thing to do? No.
I shouldn't have done it.
If you want to throw your life away with a heroin addict, that's your mistake.
What bothers me is that you have absolutely everything.
Parents that love you, a college scholarship, everything that matters.
It completely and totally goes against any logical train of thought in my head that you'd look at all that, weigh it, and then decide that it was worth cheating on me and jeopardizing your entire future.
He's a piece of shit from a trailer park who gets his kicks from jabbing needles in his arm.
You (used to be) someone I trusted, who I was happy to bring home to my Dad.
Someone I wanted to be seen with.
It will never make sense to me.
But I really don't care anymore.
A part of me will always love you.
It was your picture in my helmet every f*cking day I carried my rifle outside the wire.
It was you who was by my bed when I got nearly kicked the bucket.
I guess I just can't forget that.
But apparently all that was just a lie.
Which is old news for me.
And here I find myself on October 13th yet again, dreading what might happen.
And sure enough my phone goes off with your name on it, asking why I didn't wish you a happy birthday, and how much you missed me.
I really guess some things never change.
You won't get any answer from me.
As far as I'm concerned you're just another casualty of a war I don't want to remember.
Whatever I thought we meant you threw out the window, and that's on you.
I'll pick up the pieces on my own.
It's only fitting that the Red Hot Chili Peppers came on just before you showed up again.
"How long? How long? Will I slide?"