When you don’t have any direction- you are in danger.
Danger of being pulled and stretched in ways you never thought possible.
Sit with me. Talk with me.
I’m a nice man.
I will never hurt you.
Trust in me.
I want to lose myself in loving you. Let your narrative become my own.
Let us blend together so that neither of us will know where you stop and I begin.
I sometimes worry I will end up like him.
Begging for thread.
A complete break from reality.
He doesn’t seem to mind.
I suppose that’s the beauty of it. Once you’ve given yourself entirely over to the mania you don’t feel conflict any longer. Lights out. Nobody’s home.
I am a party of one.
But I see so much potential.
Every time I wipe the tears of a newly single woman who has been jilted by yet another fuck-twat I become hopeful.
She’s one step closer.
One step closer to refusing to give up any more of herself to an unworthy member of the male species.
One step closer to wanting revenge.
One step closer to rebuilding herself.
I have wasted so much of my time writing endings when I should have been focusing on the chapters. Now I’m focusing only one letter at a time. The endings will come and go as they see fit. I don’t need to jump ahead in the story to perfectly craft.
I’ve wasted so much time creating these beautiful characters. I’ve underlined their flaws. I’ve given them goals and obstacles. Now I’m just letting them experience on their own terms. Their experiences alone will make them who they are.
I am not invested. I’m merely the one who holds the pen. I’ve written myself in. But without direction. Without intelligent design. Oh what a strange and wonderful place to find yourself.
In a wonderland of your own creation.
But not too much.
But not too hard.
Just a touch.
But not by your own design.
Just as you are.
The caged she wolf is looking at me expectantly. She wants out. She wants to play. I’ve fortified the steel enclosing her so that it’s harder for her to escape this time. She doesn’t appreciate this very much, but I gently try to inform her it’s for the best.
Now she is hurt. Her big eyes look at me longingly. She promises me she won’t be out for very long. She will be better this time. If I let her out on her own accord she won’t be so frenzied. She begs me for a time limit. An hour or two each day? She’s hungry she begs.
“And why do you think you engage in this sort of behavior?”
The man sitting across from me stares at me blankly. He’s trained to show no emotion. God dammit, I hate clinical bullshit.
“I don’t know. You are the professional- you tell me. Sir.” A sweet smile paints itself on my lips as I lean towards him. Intentional on my part, but certainly not real. The man shifts, and I think he might want to roll his eyes at me. But he doesn’t. Score. He’s not a robot.
“You are paying me, Ms. Anonymous. These are answers you want for yourself.”
I don’t hold back- and roll my eyes with a heavy sigh.
“No, I want to sleep. I don’t sleep. Don’t you have some sort of medication for that.” I glare at him and cross my arms against my chest- the universal sign for fuck off.
“I do. But we need to chat first. You know that.”
I return his clinical gaze.
“Answer the question.”
I smirk at him.
“Let’s play a game. I’ll answer, and then I’ll ask you a question in response. Tit for tat.”
I am so sorry. So very sorry for the pain that he has put you through. That I’ve allowed him to put you through. Your collateral damage was never my intention. Only the reality.
My only hope in salvation is that you read my story and see that I am not the perfect woman you envision. That my flaws run deep and raw. I want you to hate me. Welcome it even. But I want you to hate him too.
I want you to hate him and see him for the user that he is. I know this before I begin. And know that I carry it with me always. You could say that I seek him out because of the hate I harbor for him and myself. We hold up the mirror.