The devil's a liar

Heres me: I think I have to throw up. Theres a topless girl next to me. And when I say girl I don't mean 12 year old you sick fuck. She's more like 20. She doesn't make me ill. She's good looking. But I think: I'm ill. I run to the bathroom where I'm met by the devil. The smell in the bathroom alone is enough to set me off. Huhhhghh. Followed by other, less productive heaves. Here's the devil: God hates you. Me: Liar. My eyes are red, teary and my skinny, naked chest trembles. I'm not afraid of you, Devil, I think. And I'm not. My throat hurts. The devil has some power, I'm convinced. I'm ill, aren't I? And I am. My throat kills and I can't tell if it's from my short stints with smoking or from hacking up last nights beverages. Either way, the Devil, convinces me that neither could possibly be good from me. Except he places the blame on God. Liar, Devil, I tell him as I flush the toilet and watch him whirl counter-clockwise down the whole. Me, to myself in the mirror: What was I thinking?

There's a girl in my bed, and I'm both glad I wasn't thinking clearly (how else could she have gotten there), and glad I was thinking well enough (I didn't have sex with her). See, here's the deal. I knew her. It wasn't like I just met her at a party and clubbed her over the head and dragged her back to my cave to snuggle up next to her. I'd seen her at my house before. She had slept with my roommate Steve. I liked her, however, he had stopped talking to her. She liked me too, I think, she offered to talk me to the coast. Too bad I just flushed the devil, too bad I felt like I got the death blow.

Yeah, it's strange. But not that surprising. We went to the coast. After another encounter with the devil in the bathroom, I recovered from the death blow and we took off to the coast. Heidi came and kept us sane. We had a great time. It was perhaps my best day on the beach. We enjoyed each other's company. But it was too good to go one again. She's moving; she slept with my roommate. Shit. It'd never work out. Well, maybe. She texts: Are you busy? I'd love to borrow you and Heidi for a little while?...

Here's me to my roommate: Does it make you feel uncomfortable that I want to spend time with girl mentioned above? He says: Kind of. And that's all that really needs to be said. I feel bad for her. I liked spending time with here, but roommate was just going to make her uncomfortable. No, I was never going to sleep with her -- he had done that. We were never going to get married -- she was leaving. But Heidi and I could use some other company right about now. And that doesn't seem like it's going to happen with this one.

Girls: there coming into my life as quickly as they are leaving from it. Awaiting the next.

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