The last few days have not been treating me well. Drunkenness, emotionality, parting ways. At least that terrible champagne-and-tears headache has finally cleared, and my brain finally feels like it is working better, relatively.
I fear that in the last two days I have managed to loose both the one friend I knew I had and the one I had not even recognized. I do not think I realized I liked August, as a person, until he stood in my studio yesterday, looking teary and saying his goodbyes. He's gone back to America, now, which means I am alone with Penelope again.
Of course, it seems I am not totally alone. I am lying on my bed in the studio now, and last night I dug out all my works of August, so his portrait and the nude are both keeping me company. The portrait goes to Penelope tonight, and I will keep the remembrance of our paint-smeared tryst for myself. I think, though, that I may need to do something about my sketchbook. It does not seem healthy what I did this morning with my sketch of him sitting, post-pleasure, in the chair at my flat. I do idolize his body, still, but I think I need to get the sketch out of my studio, or I may become fixated on it - not because it shows particular skill on my part, but because he was so damned beautiful like that. I wonder if his Damien would like it? I could stand to make some money, but it seems almost cruel to play on his affections like that.
That is enough about August, though, because my biggest concern now is Alleyn. I behaved terribly after the party, and despite how kind he was to me for hours and hours afterwards, when we parted ways it felt as though something had broken. Maybe I took it all out of him - maybe he simply had no more kindness, no more care for me. I had taken enough already. Or maybe - and this is what hurts, this is what has been tearing at me - maybe the reality of it reached him, then, once I was no longer throwing up half my insides or sobbing into his shoulder. Because I really am irreparable, and I should be untouchable - if I cannot keep my mind or my actions under control, I should not be let near anyone, because in this life I've fallen into, control seems to be everything, and the more I try to hold myself in, the worse it gets. And then, if I have friends, I cease to be a danger only to myself and begin to be a danger to those I care about. I want to have friends, I want to know someone cares what happens to me, wants me to be happy... will give me tea when I'm ill or pat my back when I'm sad... but what kind of friend am I, all bundle of emotions and this lack of control that has always frightened me so much.
And I want to see him so desperately, to know he is all right - I am so afraid I may have hurt him - but I cannot... if he is hurt, or even annoyed, or anything, I cannot be the one contacting him. And he would be right never to even acknowledge me again... I am a mess, a total falling-apart mess, and he doesn't deserve to have to clean up after me. No one does, but especially not him, he's too good for it.
And I have nothing more worth to say, so I'll close this for now before I get myself so bloody worked up I can't come back.