oh boy do I love jägerbombs. I love the tickle of fizz in the back of my throat, the deep throaty taste of licorice against my teeth, dark and chewy and clotted. clutched in a lime green Eskimo Joe’s cup, far too large for the dollops of liquor I pour.  telling of the days where nothing passed my lips but diet sodas and water, the days where I forced my breath past my teeth to hover over a scale and gasp at the number that emerged between my toes, or sigh with relief—but not too much, it distends the belly.  forty-eight hours without sustenance, years spent counting calories and fretting over fat.  obsessing about every inch of my thighs and butt and arms.  a list taped to the back of my bedroom door detailing every imperfection I found with myself. 

there was a night not too incredibly long ago, less than six months, when I drank far too much jäger for my frame and tolerance level and woke up six hours later in a completely different house on the other side of town with no recollection of arriving there.  the boy next to me told me that I’d drank too much too fast and that we left the party early. I want to see that boy now and stab him, twist the knife until he repents. the pain he inflicted. the crippling self-doubt and sleepless nights and inability to trust. the crave to bite into soft white wrists and take the consequences. I want to make him pay for what he did to me. I at least want to see his face as I clutch the hand of a muscled soldier, so many years older and so much more experienced, so much more like me, I want those hands to swoon from top to bottom against my skin.  swoon and make that evil boy gasp with desire for what he forfeited. 

I drink these jägerbombs and my head swirls around the thoughts of what has happened and what could happen.  sometime soon—sometime in the next month, less than a month now, 25 days and a wake-up—there will be someone to share these drinks with me and who will coax me to bed while my head fuzzily twirls, who will lie me down as I ramble to him, who will slowly strip me of my clothes and accessories and accoutrements and who will lay me bare in front of him, nothing to hide, no scars to worry about, no past to bother, and slowly but oh so surely bring me to the very height of ecstasy. until he knows what and who I am, and knows that he will never find anyone close to the same, and tells me this. and tells me this.