Read Online Love's Illusions: A Novel by Jolene Cazzola - Free Book Online Page B

back in Chicago since the beginning of October, almost two full months now, but he still had not tried to contact me. Where the hell was he? What is he doing? Who is he staying with? No one has seen him except for Bernie… What is going on? Ever since Bernie told me he was here, I had been like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof. When the phone rang, I was petrified it would be him; then when it wasn’t, I was upset that he hadn’t called. I tried to force all thoughts of him out of my mind, but the only time I was successful was when I was stoned or in bed with Michael. And Michael: Christ, what would I do without him, and what am I going to do with him. He knew I was an emotional train wreck, just one short track from plowing over the edge and bursting into flames… a head rush; that’s what I was… I was a popper waiting to be snapped into some unsuspecting soul’s nose. My nerves were shot.
    Actually plunging over the edge may have been a relief… at least it would be over. As it was now, my life was like one long, continuous, slow motion train wreck with a new car running off an unseen cliff every day, forming a multi-car pile of rubble in the valley below. I couldn’t control my thoughts; my thoughts were controlling me. The Jackie I thought I knew was unrecognizable, even to myself. I was just waiting – waiting for what, I had no idea, but whatever it was, it terrified me. I hated every waking second of my life.
    I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and if I was being perfectly honest, no one wanted to talk to me either – at least not when I was straight. Why would they? I was miserable, grouchy, sarcastic, critical of everything and everyone and totally self-deprecating. My memories all seemed to be conspiring against me, pulling me down into a hole filled with nothing but emptiness. I could push that blankness, the hollowness of the chasm in the depths of my gut, away with grass or Quaaludes. When I was stoned I could accept that I was somehow to blame without feeling the pain of it being all my fault. When I was stoned I could push away all the random thoughts of being alone for the rest of my life. No one would love me – I was just a bitch who drove her husband into the arms of… men. When I was stoned, I didn’t question myself as much about why I hadn’t known what was happening. When I was straight, I couldn’t come to terms with my thoughts. If he had been having an affair with a woman, then maybe, just maybe, I could compete. But how the hell was I supposed to compete with a man?
    I would lose myself screwing Michael – there were no pretenses with him, no holding back. Sometimes it felt like he was as desperate as I was, trying to escape demons of his own or maybe just help me slay mine. He had always been a bit of a chauvinist, making decisions for me, suggesting what I should and should not do… the more morose I became, the more possessive he became. I would wake in the morning feeling him pushed, hard, against me and slowly make love to him without ever fully waking. Then a few hours later, as we settled in for the night, he would take me with a fury that lit both our souls on fire, like he had to somehow own me. It was as if he was determined to pull me out of the darkness I was digging deeper and deeper into every day. Michael was being wonderful. I knew he wanted me to talk more, to let him know what was going on inside my head, but the problem was… I didn’t know myself, and none of the feelings I could express made any sense – everything was contradictory, every thought hurt. So since he couldn’t get inside my head, he settled for being inside me physically.
    Right now all I wanted oblivion – I kept pleading with my mind to please, please go blank… begging it for some peace. Michael couldn’t provide true peace, but he could provide oblivion, and he made sure I got exactly that, but not too much. He was my lover, my friend, my dealer and my self-appointed protector –