April 7, 2014
Friday morning, Olivia said she’d drive me home which would be quicker than the train. At the last minute before we were out the door, she grabbed my journal from me, ran to her bedroom, locked herself in, then came out and told me she hid it. Ummm….ok? She had a key to her bedroom and slipped it into her underwear. Believe it or not, the abduction of my journal distracted me from even wanting to venture there to access the key. My journal is an object which people seem to want to covet, and I guess it’s the next best thing to stealing me. She told me it was collateral for my return. I wasn’t going to leave it so she said I’d just have to stay. Not that staying and fucking her would have been a bad thing, but I was a new Grimm, a responsible Grimm, and it might only take me one slip, no matter how small, to set me back into my old ways.
The irony is that my methods to overcome this situation got me into trouble.
We talked more and she was unrelenting. Fuck that. I lit a cigarette, walked over to her window, and lit her curtains on fire with my lighter. Once she put the fire out, I set one of her throw pillows on fire, which she put out. I told her we’re not playing her game anymore, it’s my game now, and to give me back my fucking journal. I began to break various items, one at a time, and wait for her reaction. I can’t be blamed for being a child, it was her fault, she started it.
When she had enough, she went into the kitchen and came back with a butcher knife. I said, “ok you want to kill me? go ahead and fucking kill me.” She approached me and pressed the knife below the middle of my ribcage. “Go ahead. do it.” It was obvious that she was enjoying every minute of this, and though I also was getting kind of an adrenalin surge out of it, I just got more pissed off. I figured if I stuck my hand down her panties, I’d cave and fuck her and she’d win. Sounds childish, but I had to go to school and work. She was some kind of succubus obstacle trying to seduce new Grimm away from his righteousness. Bitch.
She put her hand on my lower back and pulled me forward causing the knife to jab into me, but not penetrate. I took the lighter and lit it and held it up to her hair. I told her that she had three choices: 1. kill me, 2. get her hair set on fire, 3. give me my journal back. I wouldn’t really have set her hair on fire, so I hoped she wouldn’t call my bluff. She threw the knife to the side, slapped the lighter out of my hand, then shoved me, tripping me up by positioning her lower leg to get her foot behind my ankles, then pushing me over that so I fell, and she got on top of me and started kissing me. Strange to say I wasn’t in the mood.
I said, “you’re not as much of an eccentric artiste as you attempt to portray, you’re not pulling it off, you’re just an unfulfilled, well-to-do, uncreative, perverted bitch.” Then she punched me in the face. I almost wanted to laugh. I’ve been slapped in the face by girls, for some reason they like to hit me, but never punched. I expected a slap so the punch took me off guard. It barely hurt since I’m used to being punched by people as strong as Bogart. I pushed her off and she started climbing all over me as I tried to get up, telling me to fuck her and she’ll give the journal back. I figured I just needed to get into her room, lock myself in, then rummage until I found it myself. We struggled, but it wasn’t a huge struggle since I’m stronger than her. It’s just hard to wrestle with a woman like that without hurting her, but I didn’t hurt her.
Finally I pinned her down and retrieved the key from her panties. She was wet and I got hard, and I paused for a minute because the whole dick/brain switch kicked in and I was tempted to fuck her. But then I decided I didn’t want her to win, so brain took over, much to dick’s disappointment. I got up to my feet. She still tried to bring me down and stop me, but I made it into her bedroom, slammed the door and locked it. I turned and the first place I looked was under a pillow on her bed and there it was. I’m guessing she just wanted me back in the bedroom and I would’ve seen it right away.
I sat on her bed and held my beloved journal thinking about what just happened. That was fucked up. She’s fucked up. And she had the door locked again from the outside so I couldn’t get out, not even with the key. That’s some messed up locking system she’s got. Only perverts have a set up like that. She wouldn’t let me out. I looked out the window and we were four stories up with no fire escape from her bedroom. I started talking to her through the door while I pieced together a kind of rope from her bed sheets and some of her clothing. I make good knots so it was pretty secure. As I was binding one end of it to the dresser leg–the dresser was heavier than the bed–she starts crying outside the door saying that she loves me. How the fuck do I meet these people?
I was just like, “no you don’t. you don’t even know me.” Then I told her to tell me about where she comes from, how she came to be a postmodern photographer, etc. etc. with the intentions of getting her to tell me a long story so I could escape out the window without her knowing, since she’d be talking without my needing to respond.
I almost made it to the sidewalk when the “rope” gave and I fell, spraining my ankle, and landing at the feet of two police officers. I tried to explain what happened, and they were like, “yeah, she abducted you” being all sarcastic and shit. They frisked me, handcuffed me, put me in the cruiser, then went up to talk to her. She told them a tale of horror and suspense and Grimm defamation.
So yeah, I was arrested for breaking and entering, kidnapping, assault and battery, attempted rape, and attempted arson. At the station, the cops were all laughing at me because of the way I was dressed, still wearing Howard’s father’s 1940’s ensemble, and calling me Casanova. I heard them mocking me in the background while I called Sharly to tell her I couldn’t be at work that night. I spent the night in jail and the next day Olivia came and dropped the charges, admitting she fabricated things a little. Then she admitted she fabricated a lot and told the real story. They said they could arrest her even if I didn’t want to press charges, just because of the false report. But she’s a beautiful woman and I assume that’s why they let her off with only the suggestion of getting herself to a psychiatrist.
I took the train home and missed the time frame when I could visit Bogart and I was also late for work.
Well, at least now I’ve been arrested. That’s a new one for me. My life’s too interesting for even me sometimes.
And now I’m too baffled for a theme song after writing this. Think I’ll just ponder life a while.
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