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Collectors Items.

You texted me last night. It was two in the morning, and even though I was half asleep, I woke up with happiness when I saw your name on my phone. The light was blinding. As you texted me, your words were scrambled as "Talya" turned into "Hilary". To "Jade". You were drunk, and as your requests started with pet names and ended with pictures, I cried. I started to remember how it felt when you bit my neck, and when there was nothing left but open veins and half eaten skin, you decided you liked girls who had more meat on their bones. I placed my phone down on my bed and stumbled through the apartment, stopping in the kitchen. I opened the fridge, finding a half empty bottle of wine on the fridge door. I grabbed the bottle by the neck, nearly strangling it. I popped the cork as quietly as I could to make sure I didn't wake my parents. I closed the fridge, dragged myself to my bed and grabbed my phone. I made my way into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I sat on the bathroom floor and began my own personal drinking game. Every time I read a text that made my heart fall to my stomach, I took a drink. Every time you asked me to talk dirty to you because you miss the sound of my moans and the way you felt inside of me, I took a drink. Every time you called me "baby" because my name isn't the first name you remember when alcohol fills your veins replacing your blood, I took a drink. Every thirty seconds I found myself kissing the top of the wine bottle, throwing it back into my mouth, as it danced with my taste buds until they were weak in the knees. The burning sensation that lingered in my mouth reminded me of the poison you spit down my throat as you wrapped your hands around my neck. And though I had my hand wrapped fully around the neck of the bottle, it still managed to take control of me as I allowed every ounce of alcohol to trickle down my neck, giving into its presence. I finished. It was gone. And soon you were gone too. And as you said your goodbyes and I lay broken on the floor, I look at the bottle. Weak and cold with nothing left to offer. I held the bottle in my arms taking notice of the hallow feeling. I took the bottle and put it on my dresser along side the other bottles I had collected because I couldn't seem to throw them away. You never understood that. You always expressed your love for recycling bottles that no longer made you feel drunk.

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