Friday, 23 March 2012

Me and Wild Boy (2): Teenage Kicks

Wild Boy (WB hereafter) drinks heavily, smokes constantly, wears make up and wants to be a rock star  - he, of course, sings in a band - what's not to like. I am initially dazzled by him; he is funny, outrageous and has the most beautiful eyes, but I worry that he will think me suburban and dull.

I become increasingly caught up in his bad behaviour.  One Saturday afternoon I watch while he and his rich friends shoplift; once I realise what they are doing I decide to go home.  WB chases after me shouting that I have shown him up, disrespected his friends and I should apologise to them.  Instead I punch him in the face - it was meant to be a slap, but I forget to unfold my fist and give him a nose bleed. Instead of being angry he thinks this is hilarious, and writes on his blood-stained t-shirt 'My girlfriend did this to me' with an arrow pointing upwards (I think he probably nicked the pen).

At a party he asks me if I trust him.  I, of course, say yes.  He says will I let him and his friends lower me from a first floor window as it will be fun.  I agree until my arms feel like they will be ripped from their sockets and beg him to get me up.  His best friend, who I realise now was in love with him, tells him not to be soft.  WB insist they pull me up and I fall into the room crying with fright and pain.  He comforts me saying I should have trusted him and that he would never let anything bad happen to me.
Why don't I realise that he is the bad thing happening to me?

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