I, However

This is absurd. I've lost my mind. Have I ever had good common sense? If so, it surely isn't today. Not when I'm standing in this Canadian airport searching my bags for a passport I can't seem to find.

Hailing a taxi in Halifax is about as easy as finding one in Hammond, Indiana. Either way I want to run back to Chicago, bury myself deep in the city until I am sure I walk through the night completely unnoticed. Not like this. This is horrifying. It seems as if every step I take is on record.

I decided to shoulder my overnight bag and walk the distance to the hotel. Visions of Chicago dancing in my head as I walk through these unfamiliar streets. I feel a pang of regret as I realize you have built your new life in this city, and I feel so out of place. Out of character. Already, I feel homesick- even when I know I will be here less than one day. The thought crosses my mind that I would have never been able to move here for you. And at that thought, I know... this is not starting out well.

I am too ignorant to leave things well enough alone. Too controlling, too obsessive to leave you in the past. I must dig you up from your grave myself, exhume you... just so I can prove to myself I have left you broken. Stand back and admire the anguish I caused in you again. See the wounds left behind, scarring your life with my own bare hands. I smirk to myself as I check into the grand Hilton of Halifax and proceed to my suite on the highest floor.

It was already past 9 o'clock. The sky was dark. I wonder if you're up for a quick rendezvous? I want to get this show on the road. I jump on the bed and walk back and forth over the mattress. Pacing as I punch your number. A bad habit, standing on beds. A bad habit derived from my beautiful lover with long black hair. He's strange. You'd probably love him. Lust after him as you do for me. I think you do have a fetish for all things deviant, even if you wish you didn't. But you have not yet met deviant.

You answer the phone, sounding weary. Ahh, the moment we have all been dreading. Sarah has arrived! I almost feel sorry for you. Almost feel guilty for pushing you to agree to something we both know you don't want. Can you handle this meeting? I catch a glimps of myself in the mirror and have to hold back a laugh as I whisper poetic proposals into the phone. I'm standing on the bed in black boots, bouncing up and down lightly. The rest of my outfit is equally rediculous: a scandalously short plaid skirt and a tight black tank top. I turn to the side, admiring the view. Rock back and forth on my hips. I rock a little harder and watch my breasts bounce up and down in the mirror. Could I possibly be more neurotic?

I myself suggested this insane meeting. Not for any particular reason but that I could. I fear you, I hate you. You control some small part of me, a part of me that will always be attached to you. I am sorry to say that I did love you. I loved you with every drop of energy in my soul. Every fiber of my being. I would have died for you.

I ask you to come over, meet me in the lobby for a drink. Maybe tonight you will die a little for me, Matthew.

After I hang up the phone, I go back to admiring my reflection in the mirror. I run my hands through sleek blonde hair and examine my modest makeup. Push my hand flat against my soft tummy. I am excited. My nipples are poking up through the black tank. The cold metal curve of my nipple ring is fairly evident beneath the thin material. I feel so whorish, and that makes me wet. But most importantly, I feel desirable. And the ways I can use that against you are endless. I jump off the bed and stride over to the mirror in a mere fraction of a second, running my tongue over perfectly white teeth. Across perfectly natural fangs. Years of orthodontal work pays off. My eyes glint in the mirror, reflecting something I know can only be conveyed accurately in person. I want to fxck. I want to fxck you up.