How does he know?
I was convinced he had a radar. He’d always know when I was “done”…or close enough.
Let him tell it, he knew it all.
He’d swear up and down he knew me inside and out, but he didn’t…
He couldn’t even remember my birthday. My favorite color or my favorite food. The simple shit.
He knew me inside and out in ways I wished he didn’t. He had pieces of me I wished I’d never shared; parts of me he never deserved.
I didn’t deserve him either; his skeletons. His insecurities, uncertainty, lack of motivation…his demons.
All of what he wasn’t became a part of me; baggage. Breaking through my barriers, stroke by stroke. Gently thumbing through my inner handbook, leaving his trail to hell.
He warned me. I didn’t listen.
Why didn’t you listen?
I wanted to help him. It was my duty to bring him to life. I wanted to save him; he needed me.
I needed me.
I was hoping to find pieces of my broken self in the midst of his destruction.
Time and time again, I’d help him rebuild…just for his tornadoes to come thrashing through our progress.
His personalities; they were unpredictable.
I’d go back because it felt good.
I was addicted to the pain…in this sick, twisted way.
He hurt…so good.
It was a cycle. Pain, pleasure, pain, pleasure.
I wasn’t sure when enough would truly be enough…
He knows I’m weak.