Its funny how he had the ability to heal me and hurt me at the same time. He left a scar so deep that its technically a hole. But I'm still standing, because I have no choice. I have to keep living...
Is It Still Me That Makes You Sweat?
I can't believe that Sarah had talked me into this. She has decided to drag me along to a stupid concert with her. Sarah and I have changed a lot since what happened with Tiffany and we have realised that all we really have are our families, and each other.
What happened with Tiffany I hear you ask? You'll find out soon enough.
"Please, please, please you're my best friend!" Sarah pleaded pathetically. "The whole America experience isn't complete unless you go to a concert!"
That's right I am in America. Los Angeles to be specific. No I didn't move here because of Ryan. I don't even know where in America he lived or if he moved somewhere else. I moved to America after getting my Post Graduate Degree in Photography and Sarah came with me after getting her degree in Journalism. I am free lance photographer. I hate being in one place for too long. Usually I take pictures for her but one thing I won't do is concerts.
Two years ago I got into punk rock and music like that whereas she is into heavy metal and stuff. I hate going to those concerts because I always find a way to get hurt...or break my camera.
"Come on." She said. "I have backstage passes, this is a four page spread. And it's Panic! At the disco."
After Ryan left I really got into Panic! At the Disco, they were a great band. I downloaded all of their songs onto my iPod. I say I, I mean Sarah. I don't have the slightest idea how to work them. I know all the lyrics to their songs, constantly sing along to them yet, strangely enough I don't know what they look like.
"You just want me to take the pictures, don't you?" I asked. "I don't know what Panic! even look like."
What had I got myself in to? Am I absolutely insane? All that concert is going to do is bring back bad memories.
"Okay." Did I just agree? "I'll come." I guess I did.
"Get dressed by six and I'll come pick you up." She said. "If you're lucky I might just give you the backstage pass I just so happen to have."
On that note she left my apartment to go and get dressed presumably. You never knew with her, last time I mentioned to her that I wanted to eventually settle down and have children (not now I'm only 21) so she got me a picture of one and insisted I hang it up in my living room. When people ask whose the baby is that is nothing short of cringe worthy.
I knew she was going to give it to me. The backstage pass I mean. She had no one else to give it to. She seems to forget that now we are in America, all we have is each other. I am actually looking forward to the concert.
First thing first I need a bath. I smell like a donkey's backside shoved up a cat's bottom, not that I've ever sniffed such a concoction.
I blasted Panic! out of my stereo and got into my warm, lavender smelling bubble bath.
When I first used to listen to them I wanted to cry because they remind me so much of him. Of Ryan. The boy who took my heart and then shattered it, leaving me to pick up the pieces. That song Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off is still the one I can't bare to hear, even today. I always imagined Ryan singing this, like he was rubbing salt in the wound.
Is it still me that makes you sweat?
Am I who you think about in bed...?
Damn right you are.
...You know it will always just be me
I quickly got out of the bath, wrapped myself in a towel and stormed over to my CD player turning it off.
"Screw you Ryan! You hear me screw you!" I shouted to no one tears falling from my eyes.
It has been three years since that day. Exactly three years and on the anniversary of that day, every year without fail, I'd spend it in my room crying my eyes out and feeling nostalgic. I opened my closet and threw all of my clothes out, I knocked everything off of the table, and threw the CD player across the room, before falling into a heap on the floor with my towel barely covering me.
"I HATE YOU RYAN! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!" I shouted. I'm not crazy, I didn't expect an answer but it was good to let it out, the healthy way.
"How could you leave me?" I whispered to myself. Three years have passed and though I have healed I am still left with the emotional scar.
"I loved you." I whispered, "I just wish you loved me too."