Psyche, the paranoid catatonic schizophrenic who took my virginity

I remember it was hot that year, and he came in like Jesus, the sun contiguous to his scalp like some Holy halo. His long hair was windswept and his eyes were slits. His young face was old and oily from perspiring in the hot sun.
I remember the smell of the gym and the look on his face, mostly.
It was love, but love like sixteen year-old girls feel love. Stupid, over the top love. Witchcraft love. Walk in the park love, love that came with twitching eyes and puppy dogs. The kind you obsess over until you realize he’d cast his spell on every cunt.
But fast forward to hunting him down on Fairfax Ave., almost going over cliffs, Las Vegas kisses. Eventually, the sad attempt at taking my virginity whilst Gangsta’s Paradise played live on SNL, drowning out my moans. My grandpa passed out next door, drunk on whisky.
That’s when we’d stand on my balcony come night and smoke out of a pipe he made out of an apple, and he’d introduce me to Franky. Only Franky wasn’t there. But I played along, cause I loved you, and you kept telling Franky how much you loved me and how you couldn’t dare tell me this yourself. You’d self-medicate and watch me throw knives at the wall.

You’d buy us pizza and we’d play Nintendo 64, even though I hated video games. You made a fan out of me, at least temporarily. But when Franky turned wicked and made you jump off my balcony barefoot and naked, I didn’t know what I had gotten myself into. You ran down the street like some exotic animal let loose, you ended up inside a church, sweaty and naked. The only phone number you remembered was mine and the police was adamant about me getting and HIV test as you had admitted to being a nymphomaniac.
I didn’t stress, I had things coming anyway. My friends helped by having him stay overnight, before he was transferred to the snake pit. Semi-medicated and afraid of the giant cockroaches and poisonous gas outside the apartment, he snuck into their bathroom and locked the door. As we paced around the house taking turns calming him down, we noticed he had put white sheets over most of the furniture. He kept asking for forgiveness for taking my virginity, said my dad was gonna kill him with a machine gun.
The night was long and I can’t remember now if it was summer or autumn, as California feels the same most days. Save for the week or weekend of thunderous sky tantrums. Regardless, it felt like a small hell inside that apartment and we could hear him moaning and hissing, afraid of what the bathroom would look like once he opened it. He kept muttering how he had figured out his invisibility. How they’d never know who he was.
I think the ambulance came at some point, but I sat at the table eating dry naan bread from days back, and some stale king fisher beer since my friends at the time co-owned an Indian restaurant and got to take home the leftovers. I remember him opening the door sweating, shirtless, then, he was gone.
A couple of days later his family accused me of sorcery. Calling me a witch and a bitch. I laughed. Who knew my ancestors and uterus would be resurrected with such venom.

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