crimson regret

It's like most Saturday nights, when I'm in my room, alone, with only my comforter and dozens of pillows to cradle me to safety. Yet, the comforter does not do much to comfort and the pillows cradle nothing but empty sighs and a hollow heart.

She called me again, and I was amused, as always, with her drunken antics. Her drunk dials always make me laugh, as she spews out her Laidalect and overthinks everything. First, she was stuck in an apartment with a bunch of her cousin's friends from party central Santa Barbara. She asked, repeatedly, "What do I do? What do I do?" as though I could direct her night. She felt alone, being the only girl there, and being extremely beligerent. I laughed, and told her to be friendly. Just be friendly.

They left for a party, and she called me again around 1AM, telling me how she's never been in a room with so many gay people. She was appalled, and somewhat downtrodden, at the outcome of the party scene, and was complaining about her feelings of awkwardness when a male voice came through in the background. "Sorry, WHAT???" she yelled into the mouthpiece, though directed at him. "I was just wondering if you wanted to dance!" was the reply. They began to chatter, the music got louder and louder and louder until.... click. Call ended.

I had been wallowing in heart-tugging episodes of Buffy The Vampire Slayer that I had downloaded off of Morpheus. I was in the middle of the play scene in A Walk To Remember, when she called me again. Oh, drunk lady... I picked it up, trying to sound awake, and said her name numerous times. There was a long pause before I heard anything, then a hushed whisper.

"I don't know what to do, Stacy, I don't know what to do. I told him no, no, I didn't want to but I kind of did, and now I'm bleeding and it hurts-- It hurts ..so...bad.." Her voice trembled like dissonant waves, small yet so loud, and her words were jumbled and staccato yet oh so clear. She had just had sex-- not just sex, she had lost her virginity. Against her will. With a complete stranger.

I tried to calm her down, but how can you calm anyone down in that situation? She was breathing heavily, and sobbing uncontrollably, and she kept whimpering, repeatedly, "I don't know what to, I just don't know what to do." And I felt so helpless, laying sprawled out on my bed, in the safety and warmth of my house, listening to her voice bounce off the bathroom walls; when all I wanted to do was get over to wherever the hell she was, hold her, and get her away from all of that. She was alone in the bathroom, hysterical and bleeding, and the closest thing to comfort was in the form of her cousin, knocked out cold on the apartment's living room floor. "I wish you were here, I really wish you were here right now. And you could just take me away, drive me away from here like you used to..."

My little baby, how I wish I could...

But I could not. I simply could not.

And as I sit here, typing away these dramatic thoughts, ever so skillfully put into words set into a sentence, I can only imagine how she will feel when she wakes up tomorrow morning, groggy and tired, head pounding and mind reeling, reeling in to finally come to a stop at the realization that she was robbed of her virginity. She said that she would call me.

She will not.