She's beautiful. She is actually beautiful, not pretty, not ok, but beautiful. Dark hair. Dark eyes that look as if they see through you into something deep, something you wish you could hide. Lips... gods, her lips, I kept having to stop myself from just leaning over and kissing them, they were so tempting. Soft skin. Long legs - I'd almost forgotten how tall she is. Black leathers, tight red and black top, her coat lined with fur and her boots scuffed, rings on her fingers and rings in her ears, she is beautiful.

We talked for almost an hour. Nothing too serious, not at first... and then it went a bit deeper... and then...

"...yeah. You're disposable."

And she smiled when she said it, the same smile she wears when she makes someone else hurt, when she drives the knife in, when she lights a fire or breaks a heart. It hurts.

I know what I am to her, now. Know it without any doubt.

I am... nothing.

Someone she can tolerate more than most people, yes. Someone she somewhat-trusts. Someone she finds useful for the moment, and only for the moment. When she becomes bored, she'll just toss me away.

So this is how it feels.

I feel cheap, tawdry, everything I am I would have handed over to her on a platter... but...

...you know what?

I'm not THAT cheap. Not any more. You see, I've got something worth fighting for now. I've got things, people, experiences, that I know she'll never have, never even touch.

I'm not worthless. I'm not useless. I am sure as hell not disposable. It's a shame she thinks so... or rather, it's a shame she told me. 'Cos when those words left her mouth, she just threw me away, effectively.

I'm still hers, I guess... I know that if she wanted me, wanted ME, WANTED me, I'd likely go back. She is beautiful and she knows me inside and out, she knows how to make me feel safe. I felt... safe... with her, up until she said that.

And she wouldn't have said it if I hadn't asked.

She made some comment about disposable people.

And I, having taken a vicodin, said what was on my mind: am I one of those disposable people?

And she answered.

I feel like an idiot. I feel like a fool. I feel cheap. I'm going to be strong and so forth, I know I will, gonna be my own girl and gonna keep going, she won't get me down, right?

*curls up, her hands around her throat, eyes closed, trembling, terrified*

Disposable.

I should have seen this one coming.

- - -

In other, less dramatic news... the trip to the doctor, my REAL doctor, went quite well. I have two different antibiotics, a few vicodin, and am going to have to go back in for, to start with, an ultrasound, a colonoscopy, and some sort of skin test. Then we work from there.

My doctor who is wonderful and amazing is actually trying to figure out what is WRONG, not just fix the symptoms... but unlike naturopaths, he's not just trying to find out what's wrong, he's also fixing the irritating and painful symptoms as they arise.

My doctor rocks.

- - -

It's almost 2:00. I'm going to bed, waking back up at 5:00. I really wish one of my boys was here right now... or rather, I wish for one of four people, right here, right now... argh. One of 'em just logged on... and logged right back off. *sighs*

I know what I want and I need.

And it... he... they... are not here. Not even online, according to MSN. Frustrating. Fuck it all.

I'm going to bed.

Don't wake me.

Ever.