Confined autofiction memoir scenes 0

Author’s Note: Hey guys! This is my memoir, Confined. It’s about a girl named Alia (who is me, but it is explained why she is changed in very minor aspects) who wakes up in an inescapable place that mirrors her being trapped in the past. All because of a man who she “loved.” This is a tale of a growing obsession, the blurred lines between fact and fantasy, and more. Which brings me to my last point… I don’t know if I can honestly do my two fictional novels that I had in mind (this includes Equidistant). Because it doesn’t represent reality, and as a person with mental illness, I don’t know if I can write something like that without it getting to me. So, I’m focusing on Confined for now.
2. “Why Am I Here?” Scene
Thoughts about J inevitably sink in my brain.
The same thoughts as usual:

I wish I wasn't crazy.

What's wrong with me?

He probably doesn't love me, and somehow, I have to accept that.

Just leave him alone. He doesn't want to hang out with you. If you get out of here, don't text him ever again. You've done enough damage.

I wish I could go back in time, but since I can't, I can always dream.

I get so lost in my thoughts, that I jump and gasp when I see that the masked man had entered the room and said something.

I'm lucky I drank all of my chocolate milk before I noticed him; otherwise, the milk would have spilled on me.

Since I don't make out his words clearly, I say, "What?"

He looks at me directly in the eye and asks, "Are you okay?"

Instinctively, I go for the answer that will make him leave me alone. "Yes."

"You sure? I can give you another beer."

He looks at me with a strange sincerity in his eyes, as if he knows I'm damaged goods. I tell him, "I'm fine. No thanks."

As he turns around, I somehow find the guts to say this, "But I do have one quick question. Why am I here?"

He faces me, looks me directly in the eye again, and says the one thing that immediately catches my ear. "Because you're not over him."

For a moment, every part of me freezes in place except my lips. "How do you know I'm not over someone? And who is 'him?'"

He says J's full first name, the name that still stirs something within me when I hear it.

"But how do you know him? And how do you know I'm not over someone?”

“Everyone knows you’re not over him. Especially the person who sent you here.”

“Who sent me here?” I asked.

“The man who created the life alternator and time machine for you.”

“Life alternator…?” I almost knew what that meant, but I wasn’t quite sure.

He took the words out of my mouth. “It’s a machine that alters your life in any way that you want it to. For example, you opted to have your name changed to Angel Light Rose, opted to a 120-pound woman with C cup breasts as well as a slightly bigger ass, opted to be slightly smarter. But as far as I can see, you’re just 120 pounds.” He looked down momentarily at my breasts, in a way that melted my soul- if I even had one of those left.

“So, you’re saying I came here through those machines?”

“One machine,” he said, holding up a finger.

“Just one?”

“Yes.”

“How come I don’t remember any of this?”

“You didn’t want to remember,” he said.

3. J says a questionable thing scene (Alia looking back on what happened)

One of the employer trucks sat there, a few supervisors hanging around in it, probably smoking weed.

A distance away, J and I sat there in the seats that came with my ghostly white Expedition.

J and I got into a deep discussion, prompting him to give an example and say, "If that truck were to blow up right now, I wouldn't care."

Now, you're probably wondering, "Why in the hell would I love someone like him?"

You see, I understand. I understand the emotional detachment from tragedy.

I even understand it when it has come to the deaths of people who I was supposed to feel something for.

Like when my dad died at 16, a teacher of mine had the nerve to remark, “You don’t care.” Adding to my already confused and distressed state over feeling nothing. A few years later, my sister came in my room to announce that our grandma was dead, the one I was particularly close to. I didn’t even cry or blink twice. This is something my sister would later admit to. Guess it runs in the family.

At the time, him saying that made me have a knot in my stomach.

But now, I'd just smirk.

Because like me, he wasn't and will never be a criminal of any sort.

He was suspicious yet blameless.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

You see, I'm fascinated by abuse victims who never become abusers or murderers. If they were to cross that thresh line, I'd be no longer interested. But if they were to be tainted by darkness just enough to where my uncensored side could come alive, I'd make magic with them in more ways than one. The kind of magic that'd make our clothes disappear and the handcuffs appear.

4. Sexting in the abuse shelter scene (Alia looking back at what happened)
I remember where they took me at that time, the abuse shelter up in Conroe. Days passed by there the way that time on a broken clock would.

I don't remember every single moment or what happened in what order, but I'll tell you what I know.

A quiet moment between J and I had passed texting-wise before I immerged with something like, What's up, bitch?

I don't even remember his response; it was probably something totally generic- to that, I responded what was up with me was my "nonexistent dick"

It got us going. It felt so right to finally call him "bitch."

You getting hard yet, bitch? I eventually texted.

I think he definitely said yes to that. But that wasn't enough for me.

Say it bitch, say it! I texted.

I'm getting really hard. Lol.

My panties were probably soaking wet.

Now, looking back, I wished I at least could have had a damn pic of that dick, but I'll never know. I'll never know the secrets that lie beneath those clothes, the secrets that lie in the bedroom with him. Unlocking those secrets would have been like unlocking all of this hidden knowledge of life itself.

I'll never know the things I know so easily with guys who always pop the balloon of hope inside my heart. Hope that I will feel that "thing" with them.

That "thing" of bad girl meets bad boy. That "thing" of feeling uncensored with a person to the point of excitement and thrills. That "thing" of wanting someone so bad that you'd rip off all of their clothes without a second thought.

And in that moment, I felt that. Even one touch from this man would be like dying and going to Heaven.

Let me reiterate this point- the man was the most beautiful man to ever exist. That black, curly hair that framed his pretty boy face perfectly, in a way that spelled trouble like his tongue. Those glasses that made his sad, soft eyes stand out, made you know he was a deep thinker and listener. Those lips mixed with seriousness and corruption- serious when normal, sexy and mischievous when smiling.

And let’s not forget the very important factor- he was a skinny boy.

You been watching 50 Shades of Grey or something? A paraphrase of what he texted after I unleashed some of my dark mind to him, the darkness I don’t fully understand to this day.

No, that shit is ballsy.

J agreed that the hype for the movie wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Some real life BDSM between me and him would have so much better than what’s portrayed in a movie based on a bad Twilight fanfic. Was I going to be that innocent, little shy girl like Anastasia who everyone thought they knew to J? I think not.

Then, somewhere down the line, I texted something about how everyone was going to worship our dick and pussy because we’re that fucking sexy. God, I can’t remember fully. I wish I did.

Amen.

5. The Truth scene

The truth is murkier than the “truth” portrayed in my unpublished fictional novel, Free.

The truth is messy, complicated. I did fall in love with an abuse victim, but I didn’t keep him. And whether I am one myself like the story’s protagonist isn’t clear.

My childhood is A, B, C, or D. I can’t remember.

Only snippets of my life have been brought to the surface by J. Everything else is buried deep inside the grave.

One of my earliest memories involved my mom’s bright idea to shove medicine down my throat.

Another was possibly shaking this play kitchen with a family cat named Night inside with my half-sister’s boyfriend, the man I thought I could look up to.

Another was my biological sister telling me that I should “show” my half-nakedness to “Daddy” after taking off the bottom piece of my Ariel’s mermaid costume.

A fourth was watching my mother throwing shoes at my half-sister from the top of the stairs.

A fifth: flirting with my father while he was naked in the bathtub.

A sixth: being able to do whatever I wanted and it not seeming to matter.

A seventh: trying to pants an older boy who came over to the house.

An eighth: like I said before, humping the fuck out of that Scooby Doo pillow.

And plenty more like this.

What does any of this mean? I don’t fucking know.

6. Don’t Like the Word “Deserve” scene

There’s something horrifying to me about the word “deserve.”

Given everything I’ve said to J and struggled with leading up to and after he decided to ghost, there’s no way I can say I “deserve” to be living, can I? Then, again, would I say the same about Aaron Stark, a man who could have been a school shooter and now uses his darkness to lift others out of it? I’m unsure. I don’t know how he managed to share his story with the world so freely. I know I silence people a lot. I know I probably also scare people.

Have I had homicidal ideation myself? Sure. Have I had suicidal ideation even more? Yes. But would I ever act on either? Extremely unlikely. I don’t own guns for very good reason!

I have the hardest time living with myself already, living with the crazy that is me. All I can say now is that I’m here, alive and living. The best way I know how.

By becoming the best music artist/writer I can be.

7. Body Image Issues Scene

Picture saved, not saved. That were only two options.

The attractive, small yet curvy girls I saved and savored like candy on my phone’s Google images; pictures of women too big, I’d discard like the pieces of candy wrapper.

I did this all day for who knows how many months. Would hardly ever leave my house, even turned down a date because I thought I wasn’t perfect enough.

I imagined every day me with C cup breasts, a bit bigger ass, and a nice Hispanic tan and luscious locks of chocolate hair. Not the pale thing with itty bitty titties, a smaller ass, and stringy, black hair.

The last thing I wanted to be to J was replaceable, and maybe to him, I was.

He was a god, and I was just a servant.

All I could do was dream all day. I’d be a girl named Angel Rose with the perfect physical features, the ones I just described. I’d have sexy female and male friends, would live in an apartment possibly with a J equivalent or without, would be a YouTube sensation, would be a successful writer, would be slightly smarter and more talented to the point where I could better prove to people that you don’t need too much intelligence to excel, would live without the mental illness that seemed to separate J and I apart, would have all of the kinky costumes and mindset to impress J, and lastly, J would be long lasting in my life.

Because I’d be the girl he grew to love. All I ever wanted was to be his dream.

Ultimately, instead, I became his greatest nightmare.


8. Realizing She Doesn’t Have to Be Perfect Scene

Staring into my eyes and at my body at all angles in the mirror, I recognize that I’m never going to be perfect nor do I have to be.

Not on the outside nor the inside.

I am only human. That’s all I can ever be.

Some overly moralistic people may call a couple of my actions sick and inhuman, but what they fail to realize is that I’m not this wounded up toy that can always walk in a linear path to peace.

And neither are they.

Also, I will never have Jason, no matter how bad it is that I want him.

He’ll never want me the way that I want him.

But I can still want me.

I can still love me, no matter how hard that is.

9. “Are you okay?” and another memory scene

Around November 2016, I was still working at that amphitheater J and I worked at. Lying down one night on my break, feeling the cold absence of J next to me, I looked up at the midnight blue sky- the color I didn’t know was my favorite yet.

I was seriously considering it. I was seriously thinking of spreading my arms, failing to fly off the overpass of I-45, falling into the permanent depths of death. After work, that was.

“Are you okay?” my supervisor, Cody asked.

I could see the hesitation in his eyes. He could probably sense my heart rotting, a dead dream morphing into a “what could have been.” A distant memory. A disrupted fantasy.

For him to leave me alone, of course I said yes in polite Alia mode. Polite Alia was winning for now.

Another memory stringed together with this one was when my close co-worker at the time mentioned that this big, black guy we worked with liked me in that way. I don’t remember his name in all honesty, but I do remember her solemnly saying, “I told him that something happened.”

Even though she knew about J, she probably didn’t specify what had happened or who it was about. I didn’t specify who either when I had told that black guy that I was going to fuck someone but that it didn’t work out.

In the back of my mind, I always wonder what he would have said if he found out it was J. If he would have given the slightest insight into whether or not J actually liked me at all. Or if he probably just wanted sex either to help me out, for his own gratification, or both.

But I think I’m still too scared to know that answer.

I don’t know if I’d ever be able to handle the answer.
10. Just Going Along With It (Line between being sexual harassed and consensual sexual encounter) scene

I don’t know how I ended up in his car. But I did.

He drove me to his one-story house, which was behind the hotel I had walked from.

We went inside, and he sat. Somehow, I ended up on top of him.

“You got nice titties,” he said before sucking them.

I didn’t want this, but I went along with it. In that living room, I was a damsel in distress in need of rescuing. Like Zelda or Peach.

But no one came to save me. Not J like I wanted.

I remember getting in the shower, naked with this man, and then, we ended up in the bedroom. He wanted the real thing- sex, but Barbies like me and Diana from my novel, Free don’t have a hole. At least, I no longer did. Because J didn’t make it.

Some time after the no sex with this stranger, he took me to the mall like I so kindly asked. I’m pretty sure I had on my orange-striped, yellow skirt that I could still fit into from 6th grade, and as a delusional, wild girl, I was probably talking all types of romanticized absurdities.

Parking near Panera Bread at The Woodlands Mall, he asked me to suck his smallish dick. I did pitifully.

After getting out to safety, that was it- I was free from his captive. But still confined to the past involving J. It was probably 2017, around October.

Sitting down at one of the benches, I was people watching, talking to J internally, spiritually. I kept thinking J would show up there, just like he did in the Brookstone massage store. With his black motorcycle helmet and that sexy walk he always had, as if he owned the place.

Instead, the paramedics came to my rescue. The rescue that would soon lead to another hell, another ended 2D game level- Kingwood Pines Mental Hospital.