Third X-Perience: Psychopathology, self mutilation and blackmail

slit wrist

The breeze was soothing, the squeaking hinges didn’t seem to bother me much plus, I felt like a kid again – swinging my worries away. The sun at high noon didn’t daunt me at all and the wind was intimately whispering into my ear – a moment in life I had actually found peace. Sadly, this was the calm before the storm.

An hour later I could make out three distinctive silhouettes. Squinting, my eyes barely narrow slits – thanks to the sun in my face, I could make out curves. Smooth, perfect curves. Seconds later and curves transformed into distinctive shapes. I could hear giggles almost music to my ears and the sweet smell of femininity charmed my nostrils.

“Hi” they all said in unison
“Mind if we take a turn” one asked

The devil as they say is in the detail. They were not interested in taking a turn, no. See, next to me were four unoccupied swings and there were three of them. Something didn’t add up – and it wasn’t the math.

Slowing down to a near halt I jumped off the swing, mumbled a hi and walked away.

“Leaving?” One asked
“We aren’t chasing you away” another chipped in
“Stay, what’s your name?” the last asked

They all giggled – I thought maybe I looked funny, I tried to straighten my t-shirt and I mentally took notes of what could be wrong.

As clumsily as ever I stretched out my hand, sweaty from the heat and nervousness – mostly nervousness. None reached for it. This was getting awkward, I was getting flushed and I could feel my gut wrenching.

“why, oh why did I come back?” I asked myself.

But determined to save the situation like a dying laptop and an unfinished project, I reached out for a pole that was next to me. Fiddling around with it for a few seconds feigning interest.

“I got to go” I said

I walked away, this time one followed me.

“Sorry, my friends are rude”
“Why are they your friends?”
“Long story, wanna hear it?”
“Sure”
“Give me your number”

Smooth, very smooth. Just like that the hunter became the hunted.

Little did I know those ten digits would not only open communication channels but a portal to hell.

***
“Do you really care about me?”
“In fact, I’m tired of your excuses”
“Its over, dont call, text or even think about me”

She stormed out of my house.

Our playground romance was over. I was indifferent, I had a movie to get back to and she had a life she needed to move on with. Win win right?

Three days down the line she calls. Maybe she forgot an insult. I braced myself.

“Hello?” I answered
“Can we talk?”
“Sure, come over”

***
Now I have seen enough oga films to know what paraphernalia looks like. She walked in with a black bag, it was small with a red logo at the top. My first thought was she had come to kill me. The bag was just the right size for a revolver. I could already picture my best friend eulogizing me he’d start by saying:

“we all loved him, but I knew this day would come”

The crowd would force a giggle.

“What’s the bag for?” I asked
“Its nothing” she replied

“I love you, but you didn’t love me” she started

The silence that followed was louder than the silence a certain socialite would get if she said she was getting married. Sympathy to the poor chap. He mustn’t have known what he was getting himself into.

“You didn’t even fight for me”
“I told you I’m leaving and you let me go”

Her voice was frantic, her eyes wild and her breathing heavy. I was waiting for the gun. Grabbing my shirt, she pulled me close. I could feel her heart beat, it was fast. Like she was suffering from cardiac arrhythmia.

“Tell me you love me!”

It was more of an order. Again I was silent, petrified by this display of ‘love’. A voice silently whispered

“Run nigga, RUN!”

It was too late the bag was open, I braced myself for the bang. Instead out came a razor. Oh my God, she was going to deface me. I found myself loving the idea of being shot. I took a step back, she took one forward. Stretched her arm out and put the razor on her wrist.

“Say it!” She screamed

“Say it or I swear I will die right here”

Tears flowed from her eyes, then came the first slit. I was being blackmailed. The blood was minute, barely a trickle. But I knew self mutilation was an addiction, this couldn’t have been the first time. She knew exactly where to cut to decrease the probability of copious bleeding.

I was cornered, I had no background whatsoever in psychopathology – I was flying blind per se. A sudden jolt of energy surged through my veins. As she raised the razor, I bolted. Out of my own house. She followed. Back to where it all begun – the playground.

“At least one last kiss” she said

It was a losers bargain.

“No!”
“Go home, its over.”

“But…”

“No buts, you called it.”

I left. Walking away. Like I should’ve done on the very first day.

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