HATE IN HD LSD
HATE IN HD LSD
Rebecca Rivera
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Drug use
We were drifting—apart—through the trees, when the acid set in—like a breath of fresh air, I had slipped into that space of mind where one goes when they get unimaaaginably high…
And I remember when it was sweet—this slipping—when everything I sensed was so brighter and beautifuler and newer. Not like I knew. Anything, really. And it wasn’t brighter or beautifuler or newer—not anymore. My mind had grown used to the feeling. My eyes used to the swimming, my skin used to your touch.
You—you were ahead of me, forging a path through the brush, bobbing and swaying, laughing through the trees… And where were…? I’d lost track, maybe half an hour, hour back… Lost track, too far somewhere we weren’t meant to be—I knew, knew then that I wanted—GOD. The ache-pulse in my fingertips frightened me, and you were going going—what was I supposed to do?
I kept thinking that I heard some—some thing—while everywhere around us smelled of flowers rotted. And you hardly noticed—the eyes in the trees never stopped you from dancing, never made you think.
“Merina—”
You shrieked, pointed at a tree: “Sage—Sage look—look, a squirrel!”
It wasn’t a squirrel. Half dirt, half bark, it stared with a pinched, wrinkled face that crawled up and away in those whispering trees. You followed it with your eyes, craned your neck up, up, up… And then you stumbled, fell to the ground. You stared—splayed—confused—till you threw your head back, laaaughing, rolling around like some—inebriated idiot—
It surprised me, the Hate.
Kept surprising me. Always.
I didn’t mean to… And it had started out small—a bad day here, a misplaced smile there. Maybe it was something you’d say, or something you wouldn’t say. Seven months, and now there was nothing—nothing you could do—that wouldn’t remind me of how much I didn’t love you.
“Sage! Sage! There are so many pine needles—look!” There were indeed pine needles—orange and brown, stuck to your clothes, prisoners in your hair.
“You look stupid.”
You leeeaned back, fingers clutching at the inconsequential ground. Something in your expression… “Why can’t you stop?”
“Stop what?”
“Stop being like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you hate—spending time with me.”
I DO.
I wanted to say it, screeeam it, wanted to pound it into your skull till you cried—begged me—told me you’d be better. That you’d—I don’t know—grow up.
But what was the point? God, what was the point? I’d be alone… And where would the Hate go then?
“Come ooon!” You were cocking your head, in that way you thought made you look ooh-soo-attractive: “We used to do this like—alll the time. Remember? Go exploring, and—OH! We could go up to the lake—find that little beach—remember? Like—it can’t be that far—we could totally make it!”
Something recoiled inside me. “It’s too—cold to go swimming.”
Your nose scrunched up, smile fell useless to the floor. “No, I get it. Totally.” You laughed bitterly, kicking up pine needles. “It’s always something, it’s never—can never just—”
You turned, hair hanging over your face. I still don’t know what you meant.
“What? Can never what, Merina?”
“Nothing.”
It was never nothing. Not with you.
“No, what were you saying? You were saying something, so what—”
Your head whipped up—like a villain’s revenge: “I said it’s nothing, Sage!”
You stumbled drunkenly to your feet—brushed furiously at your jeans. And then I saw the mushrooms… Saw them suddenly, swollen heads pushing uppp through a needle sea, surrounding us on the forest floor. “We should go…”
“Sage, can’t we just—” You reached out for me and I pulled away—like there was nothing more natural than avoiding your constant, incessant need-touch. You stood, stunned. God, I was trying, I was TRYING... But you couldn’t see it. And it was too late now—I was stuck—had to ride the damn trip out, for hours and hours and god!
Do acid in the woods… Do acid in the woods! As if that were all there ever was in life—the drugs and the drinking and the things you called parties, every night, every weekend, without end. And I had done it before with you—done it all—gotten high millions of times on millions of different things. High out of my MIND. High till the thinking and the loving and and the fucking felt like living beyond my own skin—or, or finally living in it.
But it wasn’t enough. You weren’t enough.
You turned away, turned to the ground, sank dooown down, resumed your playing with pine needles. The opposite of going.
“Merina!” You stuck up, narcissistic, infantile—you weren’t even trying anything at all besides being difficult. I did remember… You thought I didn’t, but I did. Perfectly clear. Ooh, I remembered.
Making out on Em’s couch—
marijuana, rock music, flashing LEDs
teaching you to steal—
slip gas station snacks into pockets, sleeves
swimming naked in that godforsaken lake—
kiss the cold from your skin, the night from the trees
and you would laugh, dance, sing sing SING, all the way home—
never caring who you might wake...
I remembered. I’d been there. I’d done those things. I’d had fun. I must have—I did.
But you. You never thought there could be anything more… anything more exquisite.
And then… oh… maybe that was where Hate started…
Something twinged at the base of my spine, crawled upwards, lodged itself solidly in my lungs. The world was spinning as I sat heavily in so much dirt and ground, staring at your soiled white converse.
“We should go…”
That was when I saw the child.
It wanted to hurt us—that much was clear. I remembered my face in its expression. Somethinggg about the way it watched us from behind the spruce trees… so seamlessly blended with the dirt and trees and sky.
“Sage? Sage?”
You looked at me, pupils dilated like big black disks in a dumb round face. Didn’t understand a thing.
“Hey—are you ok? Sage, are you ok?”
“Do I fucking look ok?!”
“What—would you stop talking to me like that?! It’s not like I—and I never—oh.”
You stared at the child and the child stared at you. You didn’t—how—you didn’t even seem scared. And of course you weren’t—of course—it had YOUR eyes: narrow, dark dark dark...
Your eyes… your first smile… our first kiss—
Plaza Diner parking lot, after-dark, after-night
your dingy car held together by duct-tape and spite—
your salted fingers, your greasy lips
but god—your eyes—
how I’d loved you then—your eyes—
and the love went somewhere else when I wasn’t looking
“How did you get here?” you asked. The child said nothing, merely stepped—merged—with—behind?—a tree. Disappeared. “Hey—wait!”
It felt good to grab your arm, yank you back. “What the fuck are you doing?!”
You snapped your arm from mine. “Don’t touch me. That was a child, Sage... That was a child!”
“That wasn’t a child!”
“But what if it was?”
I could have strangled you then: “It wasn’t! We… we should leave.”
“It could die out here! Like—how could it—where did it even come from?”
I could guess—yes, I could guess where that thing had crawled up from, but I knew you would never believe me.
“We’re probably just seeing things—I knew this shit you got was bad, I knew we shouldn’t have done this today!”
“Jonathan’s stuff isn’t bad. Em’s used it, all the time, and we’ve never even had hallucinations, never!”
You were worked up, I could see it in the way you bounced on your heels.
“Quit it, ok? Whatever—it’s fine—the acid is fine—let’s just go, ok?”
But of course. You could never let anything go.
“It’s not even that strong, like, we’ve done stronger. I’d know if I was hallucinating, and I’m not hallucinating, and that—that was, like, yeah! Yeah, that was a real child Sage—”
“God—shut up! For once, just shut the fuck up!”
It was the first time I’d said it.
And it felt goood.
Because… because fuck you!
FUCK YOU!
I wished I could say it—always wanted to say it, over over over till it made you apologize for existing. Apologize for—for being you. For being my partner. For loving me and fucking me and taking up my life with your pointless, tedious, endless YOU.
You stared, your lips moving like a gutted fish, and I wished—hoped—prayed you wouldn’t say a goddamn thing.
I could remember loving you—I could, I could—
making love to you—
cherishing those chapped lips, worshiping your skin—
remember…
I didn’t want to, but I did—
I didn’t want to feel—
not much, but I know…
I’ll never love you like that again
You turned as if sleepwalking. Leaned heavily against a tree.
“Hey—I didn’t—”
You heaved out your insides, but nothing came out. Another tantrum. You heaved again. I couldn’t bear looking at you—at that self-centered, self-righteous face.
I turned my back, my fingers twitch-twitching against the fabric of my coat sleeves. I imagined leaving you behind. You wouldn’t survive without me—no, you wouldn’t! I might’ve laughed.
“Fine! Well. I’m going. Are you coming?”
I turned to face you. In the moment I had looked away, the child that wasn’t a child had slinked to your side. Yes… It had eyes only for you.
“HEY! Get away from her! Go away, leave us alone!!”
“Stop—it—just STOP!!” You were staring at me, harpy-like in your dishevelment, pine needles trapped in your hair. “Can’t you—why can’t you ever just stop?!” Your martyr’s lips were shaking. You looked to the child. “Hey, hey it’s ok. My name’s Merina, what’s yours?”
The child took your name.
Not a sound, not a word.
I think I miss that the most.
It stared. And then its face contorted, scrunched up red, and it began to waaail. Loud, piercing, breathtaking shrieks that could snap bones, shrivel ears.
“No—no no no don’t cry, don’t cry baby—” Your voice was sickeningly, desperately sweet. How you wanted it to love you—to adore you—as if you were something special. Jealous, selfish, self-absorbed you. And now you’re no one—no one and gone…
You began to sing to it. Badly.
I still remembered, all of it, remembered it all—
February, the half-dark of an empty hall
Em pointing out everyone they knew—
and you…
dressed all in black—sweeping, elegant, magical—
arms raised as if you could take the world in their breath
singing something—Latin, or, or French
There was none of that here.
There was none of you here.
I became aware of a drumming—a heartbeat that might have been mine—a swimming, panicked breath. I was in the dirt, scrunched up with palms pressed flat to ears that felt as if they were popped and bleeding. Everything was gone—I couldn’t—it was gone. Reds and oranges and blacks swam beneath my closed eyelids, like—like the surface of Mars—and your voice, the crying, the drumming, ricocheted through my ribs—pulled at my tendons—tore and wrenched and twisted…
When I unpeeled myself I had already lost. The changeling thing was in your lap. You were kissing its face, running your clammy fingers through its hair—things. Things you had once done to me. GOD—did I want you or fingers? Did I want you or kisses? No—no—no—
“I’m going.” The words came out of their own accord. Wasn’t quite my voice.
You looked up from the child, lips half-pressed to its shiny forehead. There was something like triumph in its beetle eyes. “I’m not leaving it.”
“Then what do you wanna do?” It was getting harder and harder—the more I looked at that face the more I wanted to—throttle it. End it, end it, end it—
“You’re finally asking me what I want to do?” There was a bitterness in you that I had not expected. I might’ve laughed—I might’ve laughed—
“What?” I stepped closer, stared, stared: “What?”
You said nothing. COWARD.
“You—you always get to do what you want! You!” I advanced, fingers twitching. “Let’s go to that party! Sure, why not? Let’s get drunk and break into the concert hall! Fine, sure, we can do that. Let's do acid and go exploring! Ok! Fucking, fine! Let’s go off the path—let’s talk to this thing, let’s tell it our names—let’s, let’s, let’s!”
Your eyes were hateful in a way I hadn’t known they could be— “It’s not a child, it’s not our problem, please just fucking let it go!”
When you spoke, the forest seemed to shimmer around you. “I’m not leaving it behind.”
I looked to the child with your eyes—your face—your soul—your name. Moved without knowing, fearful and fighting, my fingers were around its arm—cold, fleshy, frail—I tried to yank it from your lap but you were up, fury, FURY—I could not fight the both of you.
You stood. Staring. The child propped on your hip.
I stood. Staring. My face stinging where you’d hit.
“I’m going home.” A declaration.
Your face twitched. Barely. I remembered that too. “Fine.”
“Are you coming?”
Again, a twitch. As if you might cry.
For a moment, I wanted you. I wanted you desperately—to own you, to be worshiped by you, loved, LOVED—
I turned.
I walked.
The pine needles shifted beneath me.
The trees whispered and laughed, bleeding iiin and ouuut and in and…
I looked back only once.
When I did—both you and the child were gone.
