Maybe that's true. Even if it is, frankly, it's not like you're providing any of those. You talk to me once in a blue moon, either to brag about wrestling or to bitch to me about your family/girlfriend/job. If I start talking about anything even resembling my problems, I get at most 30 seconds of conversation and 'support' before you suddenly have to go. If I so much as mention the idea of you coming back here, you change the subject or have to go. If YOU bring it up, it's as a last resort or a distant possibility. Was it really that bad being here?

You say you'll call. You say you'll write. You promise so many things, boyo, and I used to think that your word was gold, that if you promised something you'd follow through. I don't think that any more. I haven't thought that for a while now. I used to trust you, to actually TRUST you despite your past, despite life's confusions, despite my own near-instinct not to trust anyone, ever. Used to. I'm finding that I don't any more.

Want to know why?

I can't trust anyone I don't own. The definition of 'own' is a fairly flexible one and there are a VERY few people in the past that I have been able to trust without precisely owning... but that part of my trust got broken over the years and I'm finding all over again that I'm still twisted enough, still fractured enough, to need that bit of safety and protection before I can open myself up to be hurt.

Don't try, don't even TRY, to tell me I own you. We both know better, right now. Oh, if you do come running back here because you've nowhere else to go, I'm sure I'll find a way to wrap my steel around your mind and heart again. It's not hard, when you're helpless, when you're vulnerable, when you're... when you're hurting. When you can't find relief from the pain anywhere else but the different ache, the more exciting pain, the better hurt, that I offer.

You will come back to me, and y'know what? I almost hate that. Knowing that I'm where you'll turn because you can't find anything better.

I'm at a loss. I can't... I can't keep pretending it's all ok, that I like being treated the way you've been treating me. I can't just STOP being here, I can't STOP caring about you, I can't STOP wanting to help in my own twisted way.

I want to swear at you. I want to curse you. I want to rape your mind, fuck your soul, leave you BROKEN, boy. I want to hurt you so badly that I've spent nights doing nothing but pacing, thinking about it. I want to make you ache, I want to make you cry, I want to fucking make you HURT... yeah, I want to make just about anyone hurt right now, and no doubt I will be taking tonight's frustrations out on Torian or Kate... but they don't deserve it. They shouldn't have to suffer for your shit.

That Cuban girl?

I'm not going to look for her. Not going to track her down. Not going to even try to talk to her. That's your particular screw-up, your mess, and for once I'm going to stay the hell out of it. I can't think of a better way to make you suffer. *faint smile*

Not enough valium in the WORLD tonight.