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Things just sort of went on the way they had been with Green and I.

We’d get drunk, try not to have sex, drink more, have sex, feel like shit about it and then pretend it didn’t happen. Healthy!

Not to mention during this entire year Green was preparing to leave for the Marines. I don’t think this ever really registered in my mind. For some reason it just didn’t seem like a big deal, like it would never happen.

I was getting drunk and sleeping with him mostly because I was a selfish bitch who didn’t want to give up my boyfriend or my best friend. Truth be told in those days I didn’t want to have sex with Green at all. I really wasn’t attracted to him (because I’m a whack job). But drunk me, being the love starved little harlot that I am, couldn’t resist the feeling of having someone really love me.

It felt amazing in those moments to just give in. I’d think “huh, maybe I was wrong maybe I do want to be with Green.” And then I’d wake up to the harsh rays of sun beaming into my eye-liner encrusted eyes and immediately smack myself in the face and say, “Oh no! Not again.”

Things really came to a head one night, at our friend’s house in Boy’s Town.

We’d all been drinking since early in the evening. My sister and two friends were there. We were chugging squirt and tequila on SM’s L-shaped couch in her poorly lit living room. I was in some nothing fight with Violet and Green was on his way over to drink with us.

I’d had some irresponsible flirtation going on with a guy I’d met at one of Violet’s gigs sometime back in early July. I have no self-control.

I decided, in my light headed, heavily buzzed state to invite this guy and a few of his skeezy friends over. I went into one of my self-destructive “I’m gonna do whatever I want” states of mind–the kind that get me into trouble and 9/10 out of 10 of them, really in over my head. But as I’ve mentioned in part 1 of this misguided affair, I was absolutely gifted at making a bigger mess of my life than it already was. It was like every single decision that I made was specifically designed to destroy my life.

Here’s me, dating some guy who really does think I’m a good girlfriend and then there’s Green, completely devoted to me no matter how much I abuse his kindness and now this other guy I’m bringing into the picture—and did I mention Green was going to be there?

Once all of the cohorts arrived (Green brought me a bottle of a Jack because—of course he did) we all started alternating between the living room and the tiny wooden porch that led to the back stairs, the only place in SM’s apartment where we were allowed to smoke. Music was playing, general ridiculousness of the over-served. A glass broken here and there, a cigarette burn, a lot of jokes that probably weren’t that funny.

Suddenly I find myself in the back bedroom making out with my irresponsible flirtation. He is a good kisser, he’s tall, dark and in really good shape—albeit a poor dresser. And I realize that I don’t want to be here. This is not something I should not be doing. So, I have a miniature freak out and run away making some shallow excuse about…oh I don’t know…having a boyfriend. Just another night in Paradise.

But wait! Don’t turn away now! The circus of drunken debauchery and general life-ruining has only just begun.

After we slyly (not) got my irresponsible flirtation and his cheesy, border-line creepy friends out of the apartment there was a collective sigh of relief. Now things would be okay, right? We could all just enjoy the evening together, here in this Boy’s Town rental near the margarita bar, right? Wrong.

Green and I made Jack and coke zeros (carbs are the enemy!), went out onto the porch and smoked cigarettes together. We were the only ones left who smoked. He was out, I bummed him one. We drank, we talked about how miserable the last few hours had been. In my drunken state–the one where I have fictional emotions that I can conjure with the right amount of hard liquor–I apologized for kissing that irresponsible flirtation in front of him. I told him how wrong that was of me. I told him I knew how he felt about me.

On top of everything, somewhere out there, sulking in the mist of the night, was my boyfriend who had no idea that any of this was even going on in the first place. I sat on the wooden back steps, my knees to my chest and I told Green what an idiot I was. Of course, being the classy young lady that I am, I started hysterically crying.

I don’t think it takes much guessing to know what happened next on that fateful July eve.

Yes, we had sex. Completely weird, unromantic-in-any-way-actually-very-sloppy, sex.

The end.

Just kidding.

Turns out, when we were having the aforementioned sex on the pull out couch in the dining room which incidentally opens up to a very revealing view of the living room, my little 18 year old sister happened to be sitting on the couch, the last man standing, drinking what was left of her tequila and Squirt.

She saw everything. Well, not everything. She saw enough, though, before running into the porcelain bathroom where she covered her head with towel and tried to unsee what had been seen.

I woke the next day with my head pounding, completely disoriented.

Green was nowhere, my sister was nowhere.

There was, however, a note placed on top of my purse from my sister, “Green took me home. Fuck you. I stole your cigarettes.”

More to come