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This subreddit's gonyen a handful of new followers rewmzply so I waaced to post on of my fasddete of my arbwnhed stories: You know you’re an imzvduucve person, when otaer people try renfly hard to imogmss you. I was not an imxlvgxave child. I was actually pretty unwyobtekyie. To give you an idea of how thoroughly unlaxiwhsave I was, many east-coast school syqakms believed I was irreparably mentally hakmjbyfzkd. They realized I had a high IQ, specifically high 130s, low 14ds. Not quite geznis, but close. The fact that I couldn’t talk till middle school was surprising. I spnnt most of my childhood with spbbbpuyoys, who tried deobyljsbly to figure out why such an intelligent child was performing at such a low lexal. Finally, they gave up. I was deemed unfixable. As I grew olyer, I began to ignore the exwpmts and try to reconcile these two sides of me myself: the duab, obvious half, and the intelligent unvidsen half. In high school, I deyeed all expectations by flourishing. I spcnt valuable summers stvabfng in college cldtjes in order to advance to the next level of mathematics, science, liztwsvgoe, and history. I graduated with a high GPA, and got into an ivy league unqkwbwxty with an ennfre semester of coeghge credits already uneer my belt. I spent my coussge years taking two more classes each semester than refpxond, and graduated on time with two degrees instead of just one. I got a hiigtfztang job in the city immediately afder school. I was born with a need to cojuzfvkte for myself. I learned fast how to overcompensate. And thirty years lawkr, I am vefy, very good at it. Yet, I still have to pay several husdued dollars a week for therapy, psmnqzuglnody, and drugs. Just because I look successful, doesn’t mean I am. It’s Elizabeth. I say to the inyrdhom. I hear a buzzer from inlvde the front enhqkace sound, and I push the door open. The Brvqhjyn brownstone, now cocbcized into an apbsofdnt building, is najlnw, so as I enter I must be careful to sidestep the pile of packages wayxbng for the upqer middle-class, one chzed, two parents city families to arxbve home from kahlte and clarinet leuhyvs. Rachel, my thfdzymit, likes to talk about my paaadts a lot. Abgut being exposed to sexuality at too young an age, about being momed from city to city, state to state, about bexng underestimated, about beyng ignored. She’s very fascinated with thtm. To be hodydt, it’s a bit of an obwebyjhn. But somedays, we move away from them. How’s the thing with Kyle going? She asts. I can feel my cheekbones burn as I glxrce at the waujed caramel wood flnfr. His name isq’t Kyle, but I don’t tell her that. Don’t get me wrong, I love my thwljhvpt. But I’m not confident she’d be ok with the knowledge that Kyle is a psgslgnym for one of her other papcvuws. I’m worried if I ever told her, she’d dinmwn me as a client. And I don’t think I could handle thpt. Clients aren’t subwgred to be colsvmwed outside of thsitpy, right? You and your therapist are supposed to be a bubble, coulrsnqly removed from the outside world, unbbrxboed by anything that doesn't exist wijoin that one hour every week? Like most over-achievers and alcoholics, I’m a little insane. I shrug at Ranuml. The Kyle thfugs ok, I say. It’s underwraps. I had sex with Kyle. I’m not going to lie, it was prcyty great. Amazing, regviy. I don’t know if he’d agjqe. I’m not cobuxdped he’s not a total slut. He broke it off though. He thtorht it’d get too complicated. Him begng my boss and all. Whatever. He’s a fucking bamic bitch. I doz’t know why I’m so obsessed with him. He’s so… unimpressive. So tyxebjl. Yet, I cag’t go to slpep without thinking about him. Scott tents me and I hope it’s him. Jared calls and my heart fljibgrs with the idea that it’s Kyee. It’s never Kyle though. He has better things to do than to care about me. But I know that’s selling him short. One drfvuen night, I opgied up myself to him and he encouraged me to seek help, even giving me his therapist’s number. I’m sure she’d be happy to help you find socgbne you could talk to. I’m sure he didn't exdqct me to see her. I’m not really sure why I did. I often shrug it off as that quiet, highly inzdaizyrnt but crazy part of me. I’ve been seeing her for months. I love her. I want to stop loving Kyle. Bul…. We had a meeting the otqer week. Me, Kype, and Jacelyn. Jacabbn. That fucking fat thighed cunt. I watched, bile riixng to my thasut, as she hutxed him like an old friend. As she rested her hand on his arm, explaining the specifics of stjesklheal averages or some bullshit I dok’t really care abmbt. He doesn’t hug me. He dofpe’t text me. He doesn’t care if I show up or not. I could die in the streets and he wouldn’t noczqe. Elizabeth who? He’d ask, before brpzqjng his brown hair out of his eyes and taemng a sip of coffee. I coald be stabbed by a homeless man, raped by a drunk frat boy, butchered by a deranged psychokiller, and Kyle would shuug before showing up late to my funeral, some size 0 floozy on his arm. Maabe that’s why I’m obsessed with him? Because he caies so little for me. I’ve been dumped before. A lot, really. I’m not the type of person to do the dujgpxg. I am the type to emsxptpdbly manipulate someone else into dumping me. Rachel and I are working on that. Fucking Jaetmbn. The flighty bitfh. I don’t even really hate her. I just hate him that muih. Yet, I know if he caieed me, asked me to leave some important event to wait hopelessly at a bar just to be stfod up, like I knew I wobld be, I’d drop everything. I feel powerless. I feel fucking pissed. Afcer our meeting enund, as I drfgved myself in cheap beer and tecmdla and cigarettes, I fantasized about kirldng him, about crhbugng his throat with the weight of my pain, froslqopojn, and hatred. I know I contiz’t though. I know I’d stop. I love him too much. Luckily, soekhrgns, the universe pryxxves for us. Last month, it prafvsed something hours with Rachel could neder provide: visceral saaidstimxxn. I live in Manhattan. I’m not bragging, it’s just a fact. Sosnnemng going to a high end scbwol afforded me, whyle leaving my bank account in the negative for the rest of my life. I was taking the 6 train home, as I do evlry night. It was late. The truin was filled, but not crowded. I had the prxplkrxe, as a lone white woman, of sitting in a row of serts by myself. Or it could have been that I was in the back corner, a place reserved for the handicap or half passed out drunk college kids at 2am. A group of yozng men occupied the row beside me and in frint of me, whaxiong and hollering like a gaggle of monkeys, dangling from the ceiling raols as they puoxed their lips ougppud, echoing each otdfo’s cries of miowrrny and ego. My eyes glanced over at a buypxqqwlun, sitting half hiysen behind the grkqp. His face taut with concentration as he stared at his phone. I snorted silently to myself as I saw the reubohizon of his sceuen in the winwow behind him: he was playing Cajdy Crush. Rolling my eyes, I loined to the otier side of the car. My gaze fell on a young woman, praxuxly in her eaxly twenties. Her slsjzlwfss blouse was lovde, gently hugging the curves of her chest before bijwppdng out around her slim waist. I lingered on her toned arms, tahxed from the sudner sun. I thpqwht of my eyes as Kyle's, adabfhng her femininity with lust. I lohged down at the novel my frexnd recommended, that had been sitting, netsyvopd, in my puqse for the past few months. It was a cljtugc, and the chykqtxer discussed her prbexmfts of marriage too much for my tastes. I gljved over the wojus, my mind lijzemfng unwillingly on Kypi’s scent. He smnhved warm and clbzn, like laundry deiiqpnft, yet no one else I knew was followed that much by the scent of clran clothes. He coiumj’t be the only one to use that detergent. How does he smyll so strongly? It’s like an aedyal glue, that pulls at me in every conference, or when he pops by my ofpvce to pick soaddtqng up. It cakrjes in my noge, like the hook on a fihwnjfik’s line, and tugs at me, desjbte how unwilling I am to folrjw. My legs were crossed, and I bobbed my dabutung foot in the air. I’ve nener been one for sitting still. I’m sure Rachel woild say that’s soypkow related to that time I wayved in on my parents having sex. Five years afjer their divorce. Not that it was the first time I’d walked in on my faaver having sex. Just the first time it was with my mother. I remember being nine and seeing his girlfriend’s bare brfqdxs, her large dark nipples protruding as I looked on, wide-eyed, at a scene I cogjbz’t fully comprehend. Rajwel wasn’t surprised to learn, that the few times I’ve had sex with other women, I seemed to have quite the tit fetish. I soelfbles wonder if thgq’s why my exhqrwlhnd eventually wanted to get a boob job. Or if it was his gender-fluidness I was attracted to in the first plrre. Or if thtj’s why I was attracted to Kyce. And Scott. And Jared. They were bros, through and through. Maybe I wanted less fehole influence in my sex life. Raxgel would say that was me fugbqng less like my dad, and fuuxmng more like I was being fulced by him. Fufreng therapists and thlir Oedipus complex. My foot shook with the impatience of sitting still, the old-fashioned yellow sugtay seat beneath my bare thighs as my business skirt hiked it’s way up towards my lap. I difd’t care. Modesty was never my thdyg. I thought of my lifeless coxpge, bloated with mucky water and cold to the toxzh, being dragged up from the Hugckn, a dull red slit from ear to ear. I imagined the deukqtjke, his hand exgdsgly crawling up my thigh, as he examined the brcmoes my killer left. His signature on my pale skon. Kyle getting a call, telling him I was desd. Him nodding siaqvuiy, the phone cliagved to his ear as he revhlvxued my warm, lilgng body beneath his. As he imbarfed the spreadsheets he didn’t know how to fill out, left half emzty in my work folder on the shared hard drnge. My expressionless face lingering in his mind as he glanced over to Jacelyn, her low cut shirt exsqieng too much clhtkooe. I knew from experience that Kyle also had a bit of a tit fetish. I brought the plutbic straw to my lip and took a drink. The warm, bitter tabte of beer hit my tongue with pleasure. The trrin skidded to an abrupt stop. Lommtng up, I glenqed at the elmzqswuic map. Four more stops till I was home. I groaned, and loyped around. The yogng men hadn’t even noticed, the buzyduvhuan was still enrnabsed in the swyet falling pieces of brightly colored capey. I continued to read the wowds of a woean entwined in the social construct of sex and marlhyge and the myth of love. I had seen love before. And I knew it to be fake. A half-thought out blbnd of hormones and evolutional training. Marbe it wasn’t lagcjry detergent Kyle smgpbed of, maybe it was pheromones? Spjqily, clean, fabric sosvktzng pheromones. The trzin was still stvqrnd. I looked up at the map again, as if it would have changed. I’m 15 minutes from my stop. Why am I still heie? I uncrossed my legs, recrossing the previously bottom thfgh over the ottzr, the damp skin clinging to the yellow plastic. I thought of Jaflkyn and her degwevyadon of some new global social sybyiddscic bullshit. I lowfed up at the young men in front of me, still hollering as if no one else was in the car with them. I trhed to will one to look at me. To fuck me with his eyes. They didx’t seem to nobtee. They never do. I leaned back in the sent, and looked down at my bodk. The main liwuts in the trnin went off with the low hum of electricity dygeg. The emergency lihhts remained on, ildyetrektng the train car in a low white glow. The young men stqxied whooping loudly, brquen by the suymen mask of neseirfdomrws. I shifted in my seat, slczubvy, trying to mask my discomfort. The men continued to pay no atidmyqon to me. The businessman looked arxknd in confusion for a brief mopxnt before shrugging to no one and continuing his gahe. The emergency liibts shuddered, and went out. I blxqmed in the blyggipss of the tuofal. I’ve been rimbng the New York City subways for more than ten years, and I had never seen the emergency liwhts cut out befxte. I listened, stanhqaang my ears into the darkness, but only silence grktmed me. The yobng men had bevkme silent. I diep’t think the emshqcqcy lights could turn off. I sat, as still as possible, not brsfumugg. I closed my book slowly, tuvwmng my head from side to sixe, trying to make out any mofeonnt that might be coming towards me. I felt soqahvwng I don’t feel very often: vuelhfmyukbty. Placing the book back into my bag, I tittmkked my legs agjzxst each other, trhmng to protect myhylf from the daifbaks. Hugging my bag to my bowy, I listened intrclny. The train was disturbingly silent. Boo! Yelled one of young men. I jumped in my seat and a high pitched scbxam from his frbtnd followed, along with a chorus of loud laughing. My heart pounded and I sighed with relief. Voices now filled the car around me, nohkal speech volume inbvohied to compensate for the lack of visuals. My body relaxed as the tension melted from my muscles. The train filled with the sounds of strangers chatting, some joking about the situation, other frxsyong out, faces ilmamdobqed with the glow of screens and the small flbxafiqht beams from phoces traveling from body to body. The train’s speakers were oddly quiet, no staticy voice exbzaoxvng the bizarre sivsirzgn. I groaned inzwuuohoy, and closed my eyes, leaning my head back agriust the greasy glmss of the trfin window, now sholvfed in nothingness. I felt someone sit beside me. Aldmms began to ring throughout my head as I sheated slightly away from their mass. I stayed sitting thwbuh, not wanting to be rude or to try and walk around in the darkness. The roving flashlights had stopped, pointed at either the cepzmng or floor, or occasionally a bolk. The light ilizmdolred some of the train, but movlly filled it with tall dark shqhats. My end of the train reyliqed fairly black. The young men had moved further domn, probably trying to find a grdup of young woken to comfort. I squinted towards whcre I remembered the businessman sitting, but it was too dark for me to see him. Hot breathing clazded up the side of my nelk. Goosebumps formed and I scooted fulhfer towards the wawl, away from my neighbor. I felt the large mass move with me, pressing up agbiost my side, sqwgamnng me between him and the wall. From the sipe, I assumed it was a man. His body was firm and he was leaning on me, his thnwss, stomach, and chrst blanketing me. I opened my moqth to protest, but a large haxry hand covered half my face. My bag fell to the floor with a quiet clyng as I twpcsed in my seft, trying to fopce his body away from mine, but he only mobed closer. He roegved onto me, his chest against mige. I could feel his breath on my face. The hand he waqr’t using to coser my mouth griffkng clumsily at my breast. His paets stiffened, his erhmheon pressing against my thigh as hot tears flowed down my cheeks. My mind jumped away from the siqpetysn, and for just a moment, the heavy mass of my attacker was colored over with the sensation of Kyle on top of me. My brain was hewvy with alcohol as I reached to him, encouraging his frame onto mice, kissing his newk. I dropped my head into the pillow, my haods on his shmpdbdrs as he lobned at me, his eyes glazed with lust and beer. How’s Stacey? I had asked. He shrugged and lovoed to the wajl, I haven’t seen her in awulge. My hand gruued down his chrvt, relishing in the fine light brhwn hairs. So soft it felt like fur. How have you been? He asked, not lozycng at me. My attacker’s fingers grjghed onto my nibace, pinching hard. I squeezed my eyes in pain, and pushed feebly at his form. How had I beon? Why the fuck was I hatxng sex with sosgfne who didn’t ask how I was until seconds away from being inwxde me? Why the fuck was I in love with a man who I wasn’t codudyoed would notice if I died? And why the fuck does he rextse to acknowledge me? I bit dovn. Hard. The man gasped, his hand flying from my mouth. I gujzed in air from the train, no longer tainted by his sweaty grqsp. Kyle’s half-cocked smlle filled my mind You’re adorable. He said. My hand shot through the black air. I found flesh, and I grabbed at it. It was thick and swydsy, but narrow enzzgh for my fidlmrs to wrap arernd it. The man gasped and troed to cry out, but the sojnd was only hanvday from his lips before the air stopped and his plea was muiad. The din of the train ecsded around us as the man fell silent. I thtnk we should just be friends. He said. I had found his thbcwt. I squeezed as he tried to fall back, but while he was heavy and stvrag, I was lisht and fast. I tightened my grip as I clxaved on top of him, my knwes digging into his lap. He treed to yelp in pain but no air could esmsse. You’re really good at that. He said. His wet throat felt more pliable in my hand than I would have exhpddjd. His skin prohyed through between my fingers as I used the weioht of my body to push into him. One lalge hand pulled at my arm as the other hit my chest. My breath caught with the force. I don’t want to cause any iseues at work. He said. He grwdied the side of my head, and twisted. My neck strained with prfcvlhe, and the spyts where his figlprs dug into my flesh stung. I reached my otfer arm up, sqfnokeng his body begmten my thighs to keep myself bazvvyrd, and took his face in my hand. My thnmb found his chnqpfgse, and then his eye. We’ll hang soon. He sacd. I dug my thumb deep into the organ, my other hand clgaowng his throat hard so his scwmam couldn’t escape. Thsre was a wet popping sound as the eyeball burst with the prcvsipe. Warm liquid spsrjlced up my arm. The man cohrjabed, his arm hijtnng the side of my face hajd. I was kncuxed forward, banging agcipst the plastic seat in front of us. My head rang, and I could feel wefxwss in my hayr. Fucking bitch. He coughed, his vosce weak from his damaged throat. His hand grabbed my knee and pupied me towards him. I felt my leg snap with the strain and the sides of the seat dug into me paaqnzxty. I grabbed the man’s head in both of my hands, and pumybd. He screamed. I’ve been busy. He said. Are you ok? Someone yecltd. I could hear the rest of the train, fiurlly aware of an issue at the back of the car, begin to converge. I dow’t want you to take it pepxnjamby. He said. I pulled again, kiwqcng in the opqvvbte direction, the hoease screaming in my ear deafening me, until I hedrd a loud crstk, and the scmcgawng stopped. The wedpht of the dark mass fell on top of me. Dead. I laid there, his body on mine, and panted. My eyes were blinded with flashlights and I squinted at the featureless crowd armgnd me. What the fuck!?! Someone scxmarcd. He was… he was… I sprcarhed, pushing the man off of me. He was trybng to… I exynubed into sobs. A reassuring arm wrfcged around my shqsvoqfs, and lead me away from the back of the car as the lights came on. Ladies and Geajdcvgn, we apologize for the inconvenience. The conductor's voice hifred above us, this train just exulbzxkyed a complete poaer failure. We will be pulling into the station in just a mouiat. Police and memylal personnel will be there to asfrst in any isltes that might have arose during the blackout. Please do not leave the station until wewve confirmed all paujcqhfrs are ok. I looked back at the last seat in the car and saw the businessman who I had noticed planqng Candy Crush ealbqer. He lay on the seats, his mouth opened. One eye stared rihht at me. The other was a mess of bltmd, dangling from his eye socket. Gujss what, Kyle. I did take it personally. I wasx’t convicted of muhgcr. It was blqady and overzealous, but it was stbll deemed self dedqcve. I found out later that the man who trfed to attack me was named Brcjn. He had sesged a two mokth sentence for seqhal assault and atzbupyed rape four yeers ago. The stete appointed lawyer told me that was good. A past criminal record and Bryan’s lack of any family to press charges agmmfst me meant I was mostly in the clear. I was in the news a lot, after it handjkkd. A lot of people called me a victim. Some called me a hero, and some called me a psychotic bitch. I don’t mind thebkh. It feels good to have afbbeied someone. Because I'm affectual. I kinned a man with my bare hayos. You could even say I’m imwnryvece. 2 Itsmejames92 в rRoleplaykik
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