9:00 p.m.

I was naked on my couch. Smoking, drinking none other but Old No.7, sweating, heart skipping and repeating. The lights were depressingly dim. She came out of the bedroom, naked as well and rubbing her eyes. Brunette, wild, long tanned body, perfectly perky breasts, hateful, youthful, beautiful, confused face. I do not know her name. But on this night I called her Rachel.

She sat down next to me, snatched the cigarette from my lips and smoked the rest of it. I did not say anything, but that was my last smoke. I put my arm around her shoulder.

"I love you." I claimed. She said nothing. She just blinks and stared at the white blank wall. I did the same.

When I was locked up, she used to send me the most heartfelt letters. She would put lipstick on and kiss the bottom of the page next to her signature. She would also squirt her perfume on the letter, so I could smell her. Her words kept me sane in that place. I had more love than I had realized. I was friends with this black dude who lived a couple cells down from me. He was an active Crenshaw Mafia Blood. His mother had passed away while he was locked up. His girl was pregnant with his baby, and she hated him. I watched this badass, tattooed gangbanger fall to his knees and cry some nights. He contemplated hanging himself with his bed sheets, but I did not try and stop him. I was contemplating the same. But I believe Rachel's words kept me from doing so.

Rachel was drunk, high, miserable, and confused. I remained silent and naked with my arm around her. She did the same. And there we sat for about an hour and a half of hateful passion.

"I don't think I love you any more," Rachel said. I did not say any thing. I just nod my head.

"So you don't love me? Am I just some kind of sex toy to you?"

"No baby, I love you." I reply.

"Whatever."

"I'm sorry I am not the Prince Charming figure or the knight in shining armor that you want me to be. If you don't respect who I am, then get the fuck out of my house, I don't give a fuck any more."

"So you want me to leave?"

"If you do not love me anymore, then I do not know why the fuck you came over here and fucked me in the first place. Yes I want you to leave. Grab your shit and get the fuck out!" I yelled.

"You’re fucking neurotic!" She screams.

"Yea! That's why I fucking wrote this!"

I rarely raise my voice to any one. I am usually a soft-spoken person. She stormed off into the bedroom to collect her clothing. I sat there expressionless staring at the white blank wall. She came out fully dressed and sobbing. She stood by the front door as if she was going to leave, but she hesitated. As if she knew that I was going to stop her from leaving.

"You know, you've been drinking and smoking weed, plus screwing me. You’re in no condition to drive. You can stay the night here tonight." I said.

She walked over and sat down next to me with her head down and tears running down her face. She rested her head on my shoulder, and put her hand near my heart.

"I fucking hate you," she whispered so softly. "I want to burn all of your poems, then the ones that are left over I want to wipe my cunt with."

I gently stroked her hair until she eventually fell asleep in my arms.

"I'll always love you, baby," I whispered into her ear, and I kissed her forehead. She slept in my arms for awhile until my legs cramped up. She opened her eyes, and I kissed her soft lips, and tears started to flow again. She wrapped her arms around my neck and buried her head into my chest. I carried her back into the bedroom. Painful and passionate love making. An hour or so later, I returned to the living room, scrounged around for a cigarette butt in the ash tray, and stared at the white blank wall.

She came out of the bedroom again some time later. Naked, beautiful, and fire in her eyes. She had the King James Version of the New Testament in her hand. She walked up and slapped me cold up side the head with it. I said nothing. I just nodded my head.

"I fucking hate you!" she screamed. Then struck me with the truth three more times in the head. The last blow brought a little bit of blood to my bottom lip. I still did not say a word.

She grabbed my black notebook, filled and thrilled with thoughts, and she ripped it in half. She grabbed my red notebook, this one containing more of my darker and sadistic ideas, she ripped the pages out and wiped her vagina with them. I did not say a damn thing. I did not even look at her. I just starred at the white blank wall blankly.

She went on this rampage for a good 10 minutes until she fell to her knees from exhaustion, curled up on the floor confused and naked, and cried her self to sleep. It was a pretty cold night. I could not just let her sleep there on the floor—she could catch pneumonia—so I picked her up and carried her back into the bedroom, laid her on the bed, and tucked her in.

"I hate you..." she mumbled in her sleep.

She was so beautiful when she was asleep. I sat in the chair next to the bed and watched over her while she played in her little dream world, and I was stuck cold in this all night reality.

6:00 a.m. the next morning. I shook her shoulder gently.

"Rachel?" I said. "Wake up sweetie pie, it is a brand new wonderful day!"

She mumbled something but did not want to get up.

"Come on baby, wake up sleepy head!"

She struggled, then she opened her eyes. She was so beautiful. She looked up at me, and as her eyes adjusted, I dumped a bag of flour right on her head. She jumped out of bed surprised and very confused, and she sneezed.

"Look at you!" I roared in laughter. "You look like a ghost!"

I danced around the room laughing until my stomach ached. She just stood there with a baffled look on her face. "Your a ghost! Your a ghost!" I chanted.

"What the hell is your problem?" She cried.

"You’re a ghost! Look at you! You’re just like me!"

"What's going on? What is your problem?" She looked very confused.

I grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back violently. "You’re my problem, bitch!"

I drug her by her hair, and she was kicking and screaming, through the bedroom, the hallway, the kitchen, the living room. I kicked open the front door and threw her confused body into the street. I did not even say goodbye. I closed the door, locked it, locked all my windows, shut the blinds, and turned off my telephone. I sat down on the couch, naked, alone and starred at the white blank wall blankly and confused.