Chapter 34: What I Wanna Hear (Part B)

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I’m not here. I feel numb. In my mind I am still viewing the world through the fog of yesterday morning’s glare. I can’t seem to understand why that fog is only in my head now. I can’t understand why I’m not in his arms sharing our last day as student and mentor together. I can’t understand anything. Can’t even remember how to move.

And yet somehow, I’m doing it. Somehow my feet have figured out the direction for themselves and are slowly leading me up the stairs toward where my room is.

I move without thought. I function without deliberation. I just go. There is nothing in my head as I walk to indicate all that has just seemingly crumbled around me. No-typical over analyzing on my part trying to break down all that I’ve been forced to process. No feelings to come and help me understand what I’m supposed to do now. There is nothing. Only movement. Only the creaking of that one floorboard that the repairman never got around to fixing. Only the gentle padding of feet as I come upon the hallway I had intended. Only the silence of my fingers turning the gold knob to my door before its followed by the gentle gust of air as I push it forward.

Only numbness.

Despite something that seems so far away in the distance telling me that I’m tired and I just want to go to sleep, my hands decide that I want to undress and steadily they began tugging at the sleeves of my shirt in order to free my arms. My fingers then flit down to the buttons of my pants and undo them with neither my consent nor my objection. Of course, I let my body do what it pleases. I don’t have anything in me to demand otherwise.

As soon as the last article of my clothing drops to the floor, my feet then decide to once again take the helm, and they confidently lead me away toward my bathroom. My index finger lifts and flicks on the light, lighting the way for my eyes so that they may join in on commanding me. My feet then carry me to the tub. My hands reach out and slide back the shower cabin door that leads to thed roomy area inside. Sliding it closed again, I dully run the water to the perfect temperature and then I click on the showerhead. Instantly my eyes close as water pours down on me like a cloud overhead wringing away the last traces of a stormy day.

Pitter patter. Splash. Splash. The thousands of tiny droplets hit the ground with a united sound that echoes off the acoustic walls, easily filling my ears.

I tilt my head back.

The water from the shower hits me directly in the face, giving me the satisfying illusion of drowning.

Slowly a tiny portion of my brain melts, escaping the numbness for a moment—not much—but enough to allow simple thought to slither through.

The thought that comes forward is how wrong this feels. How otherworldly this situation seems. How I don’t want it to be this way. A part of me is angry at him and is furious with him for doing this to me and to us. But another half—the bigger half—is willing to forgive him. I want him. I still love him. Out of everything he said and did in there, I’ll blow it all off if he allows me to. I will. He’s just hurt right now. I’ll give him a few days and then I’ll call him and surely it will all be fine by then. I still want him. I’ll wait. I can do it. I want to do it. I’ll just linger until he picks me up again.

​I want him.

Suddenly, I feel the tears on my face that I had mistaken earlier for shower water, burning down my cheeks. I stand there with my face to the showerhead crying my eyes out in what seems like such a usual routine since I came to this house. I’ve been crying ever since I walked through here with my arrogant-prissy attitude and Michael came and pushed his own attitude right back at me. I’ve been crying since I realized that our friendship wasn’t enough for me. That I wanted more from him. I’ve been crying tears of frustration ever since we got together, with intervals of perfect bliss in between.

Just like now. Now I stand here once again with salt tears burning my eyes raw and doing little to ease my longing for him. My desire to have him by any means. Anything to have him. I don’t want to get over him. I don’t want to have to.

I could have been standing here minutes. Maybe hours. Could have been days. Time has no meaning to me anymore. Nothing has meaning except waiting for him. No clock can steer me away from the aching desire to wait. It doesn’t matter how many times the hands spin by. I have to wait. I need to.

At some point, I press my forehead into the tile, my palms bracing against the wall as the water pours down on my back before blending easily into the puddle of water surrounding my feet.

Sometime later I hear my door creaking open. I hear the sound of feet gently walking along the tile floor of the bathroom. I hear the slow undressing followed by the gentle thump of clothing touching the ground. I don’t look up. I just stand there, forehead into the tile, and continue to get rained on. The part of myself that dictates and controls my reactions to various situations, still lost in the numbness.

The sliding door skates backward, cool air coming into my steaming haven and grazing my sides with its cold breath. And just as soon, the chill is gone, the door having closed it out once again. But now there’s even more warmth in my bath than usual. There’s the warmth of a another body. A tall body who’s heat is both familiar and intoxicating. My lip slips into my mouth as that body presses against me, warming me from behind and simultaneously sparking an electricity that generates inside of my core and trails the length of my spine, causing me to release an involuntary shiver. The water now flows onto both of us, some drops bouncing off of his flesh and splashing onto mine, wetting my hair and skin.

His chest rests firmly against my back and I can feel the incredible mass of his manhood grazing against my backside as his long arms encircle my torso. I can’t help but moan at the contact, feeling my heat moistening instantly, my body’s natural reaction to his touch.

My palms press a little harder into the wall when his mouth makes contact with the skin of my neck, his lips softly brushing against where my shoulder meets. When he speaks, his voice is low—almost a whisper—a pitch and emotion to it that’s foreign to me. The question he asks catches me off guard.

“Do you hate me?”

My heart speeds up a little in my chest as this particular inquiry jolts something inside of me that makes me dizzy.

Do I hate him? After all of the times he’s yanked my emotions around like they were on some sort of chain, shouldn’t I? Don’t I have the right to after he repeatedly built me up and then ​unexpectedly pulled the chair out from under me? It would be alright to feel that way judging from the pain he can cause me without much effort. I should hate him for the burning in my chest right now. I should hate him for making me hurt so much so often. I should hate him.

“No.”

His mouth stops moving along my neck and he pauses. Then, “Why not?”

His tone surprises me. He almost sounds…disappointed? Angry? “Because I love you.”

His lips return to my neck but this time the gentle kissing has been replaced by a soft bite, making me gasp out just as I feel his hard member pressing harder against my ass. “Don’t say that anymore.” He murmurs demandingly  into the piece of my flesh that he had just tortured between his teeth.

I close my eyes, unable to help the soft moan that slips between my parted lips and drifts amidst the fog of the shower cabin. The warm water continues to rain down on us, making our bodies slippery against one another. Trying to ignore the burning between my thighs that cries out for attention—his attention—I ask him, “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because this is over.” He answers, his voice so thick with emotion that I can’t pick up any individual one that might cushion or harden the blow of his words. I can’t read him. I can’t do it and I hate it.

I shake my head, refusing to accept that his words have any kind of meaning. Refusing to acknowledge something that he sees that I, for the life of me, never could. I push my ass against him to increase our already close proximity, wanting to feel him. Wanting to feel that he’s actually right there and wanting to imagine that he’ll always be right there. His grip on my waist tightens involuntarily.

“No it’s not.” I manage to say, my voice coming out in a horse whisper. I can hear my own stubborn denial oozing out in every word. “It’s not because I love you. It’s not over because I still want you and you can’t make me change my mind.”

At that one of his hands jumps quickly from my waist to grip the wrist of my hand that’s still pressing against the wall hard in his. It hurts a little but I think he intended it to. His body pushes harder against me, causing me to gasp and my face to press into the tile as his now undeniable arousal grazes the place that I need it to. His voice comes out in almost a sneer as he squeezes my wrist tight in his grasp. “That’s not what I wanna hear.”

“Then tell me what you want me to say.” I stumble out, my irrepressible yearning to appease him coming out again. I feel my back arching instinctively against him, the sinful need he awakens in me with just his presence made obvious by the reluctant trail of my pleasure trickling down my thighs. He groans quietly. “I’ll say anything you want me to.”

His breath blows into my ear as his lips graze the sensitive skin there. I can’t control the moan that falls from my mouth, made silent by the pouring of the water.

“Tell me you hate me.” He murmurs.

I stay silent, his words surprising me.

Then I feel a sudden rush of anger burning through me and pulling my lip back heatedly. Does he really expect such foul words to come from my mouth and direct themselves at him? How can he want me to? How dare he even suggest it? Is he telling me that he wants me forget? To forget everything? Is he saying forget all of the nights we spent in bed just staring at each ​other? Forget the ringing of laughter that always surrounded us when we were alone? He wants me to forget the pulsing of my heart when he brought it back to life again…but how could he even ask that of me?

“Fuck you.” I hear myself growl at him, my hands clenching against the wall.  “Fuck you, Michael. There’s no way in hell you can make me say that. I refuse. I love you, Michael. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love yo—ahhh!”

Abruptly his large pulsating cock is rammed deep inside of me, filling me to the brim with near unbearable ecstasy along with the small twinge of pain getting reacquainted with his size always brings. My inner walls contract instantly, wetting his length with my desire and sending my head reeling. Just as quickly as he slid in, he pulls out and, clutching my waist and wrist harshly, slams right back in. I cry out, my face pushing against the wall with every inch I take.

At some point he pulls out to the tip, my breathing heavy and my nails scraping the tiling of the shower. He turns his face into my cheek and commands, “Say it.”

I shake my head, my eyes closed tight. “No.”

He shoves himself right back inside causing me to release a scream that rises above the torrential showers and echoes off of the acoustic walls reverberatingly. His hand crawls up my waist, past my stomach, and seizes a handful of my small breast. He applies just enough pressure to make me throw my head back and moan out my pleasure.

“Why not?” He snarls almost angrily in my ear. “I gave you every reason to.”

When I don’t respond, he pulls out of me and forces himself in again, his cock stretching me in unimaginable ways. “Oooh, Michael!” I cry out, bracing myself even harder against the wall as he exits me once more only to go in impossibly slow, stroking every spot within. His  hand leaves my breast and moves down until its right at the apex of my thighs, his fingers brushing along the dark curls of my womanly pride. He uses two to massage my clit in harsh circles. I scream his name.

“I fuck a bunch of other girls all the time.” He whispers lowly into my ear, pausing inside of me, now only using his long fingers to stimulate my clitoris in rough motions. “I used to make them scream so loud on purpose just because I knew you were listening and I enjoyed pissing you off. I give it to all of them exactly like I do you.”

I moan as his fingers continue to stroke me. I shake my head, my eyes never opening. “No you don’t.” I say, calling his bluff.

“I do.” He answers me, removing his fingers and thrusting slowly  in and out of my wet opening once again. “I fuck them just like this…Don’t you ever wonder how many other girl’s I’ve been with Asha?”

I don’t answer. I don’t want to. I know what he’s trying to do. I know that he’s trying to hurt me but I won’t let him. I gasp as he gets inside of me real good, feeling myself warming up where I’m squeezing him.

“Oh, a bunch.” He responds to my silence. “Lots of ‘em. They all come knocking at my door begging for me to have sex with them anywhere I like. And you know what, Asha?” He leans forward so that his hot breaths grazes against my ear, insuring that I catch the brunt of his painful words. “I did. All the time. Everywhere you could imagine.”

​“Shut-up.” I whisper, gasping out against his strokes.

He pauses. Then he pulls out of me completely, making me moan out with longing, before I feel three of his fingers take the place of his pulsating cock. He pumps them in and out of me slowly, creating a rhythm to my moans. His mouth at my ear, “What’s a matter, Asha?” He whispers. “Don’t like imagining me with anyone else? Because it happened. Every night.”

I close my eyes as his words stab at me. The memory of his name being screamed out by various women of little importance that kept me up many nights coming back to me, bringing a raw throbbing along with it. Against my will, I feel the familiar trickling of tears slipping through my lashes and falling down my cheeks. “Fuck you.”

_______ M _______

“Fuck you.”

I recognize the slight quiver to her voice, the tone she uses when she wants to pretend like everything’s fine. Her tough girl façade. The one that used to hide the fragile girl inside so easily. I catch sight of the few tears that escape the prison of her eyelids and I feel a piece of me wither away and die. The urge to wipe her face free of any remnants of the pain I know I’m causing almost conquering the urge I have to finish this. To sever this lethal thing we decided to label a romance.

I close my eyes tightly, reminding myself for what I know has to be the hundredth time already, that I’m doing this for her.

All of this momentary agony I’m putting her through along with the everlasting misery I’m putting myself through is all for her benefit in the end. She doesn’t see it now, but she will. One day. One day when she’s able to see past the temporary heartbreak of losing me, she’ll understand that I only had her in mind. Always her.

Fighting through the barely bearable reality of what I have to do, I ask her, “Doesn’t it make you sick? Knowing how many women I’ve been with and tossed aside? It’s disgusting isn’t it? I’m a pig, aren’t I? I bet it makes you hate me.”

She shakes her head stubbornly and rebuttals, “You were maybe…but not anymore. You haven’t been with anyone else since me. I love you for that.”

I bite my lip and remove my fingers from her, feeling them dripping with her juices. Disregarding my yearning to taste her sweetness and kiss her with all the tenderness I wish I still possessed, I guide my length back into that perfect soaking heat that I wish could be there waiting for me in the morning but that I know will be long gone when I’m done with this.

Once again, I try to remind her that I’m no good for her. Thrusting in hard and biting my lip to keep from groaning her name, I growl, “I ignore you.” Thrust. “I don’t look at you.” Thrust. “I never tell you how I feel.” I push into her and release a low and involuntary moan as she clenches her walls around me reflexively. “I use you however I please. I treat you horriblly all the time. Makes you hate me…doesn’t it?”

She yelps, arching her back as the water finally grows cooler around us, droplets cascading down her neck and breasts in an frustratingly exotic way, her nipples hardening invitingly. The wet curve of her ass pressing against my pelvis as my penis impales her completely has me ​closing my eyes in an effort to remember reasoning.

She brings me back to our painful reality by shaking her head and replying with another stubborn response that has me gritting my teeth in irritation. “I understand. You don’t”—she gasps as I push deeper in until I feel what’s surely the barrier of her womanhood—“mean to. You’re just afraid…” She moans as I grab her waist in both my hands and shove in and out of her harshly. She squints and continues, “Ooh, Michael…you’re just afraid, baby. You’re afraid of getting hurt…I…understand…I get it.”

I grit my teeth and pound into her, wishing she’d stop making all of these damn excuses for me. Wishing she’d just get angry with me rather than justify my actions. “I don’t tell you…I love you.” I force. “I never say it back.”

She reaches behind her and wraps her arm around my neck as her head fall back onto my shoulder. Her ass grinds hard into my cock and judging from all of the little indications I’ve taken careful time to learn over the course of this near faultless week with her, I can sense how near she is to reaching that perfect nirvana that only I can bring to her.

“You mean to…” she manages to moan out, her arm tightening around my neck just as her walls clench tighter around me. “You just don’t…know how. But you do…you want to say it…oooh, God yes…because you know, Michael…you know.”

I push deep inside of her, “Know what?”

“That I…I…Love you, Michael!” She screams just as her orgasm overtakes her, her walls suffocating my throbbing cock with her sex as she shudders against me, bracing once hand against the wall and tightening the other around my neck in order to keep upright. Her juices flow down my legs, drenching my penis in her release.

I didn’t plan on what happened next. I didn’t mean for her words to affect me like this. That wasn’t part of the plan. I wasn’t supposed to get a thrill from hearing her say the exact opposite of what I came to hear. This is all wrong. So, I have no way to prepare for the electricity that her words generate inside of me, followed by waves of intense bliss as the goal I wasn’t reaching for hits me with a crazy intensity. I shudder, pulling her ass impossibly harder against me as my cock pulsates and erupts harshly, reminiscent of a volcano, my cum betraying me and leaving me when it shouldn’t have.

At some point..it ends.

At some point, we’re both standing there, our screams and moans having subsided. She still leans against me, her wet breasts rising and falling under the showerhead. My eyes lower to watch the escaped trickles of our cum mingling and dripping into the flowing stream of water below us.

I feel myself growing angry. I wasn’t supposed to be this weak. I came in here to put an end to this once and for all so that I didn’t have to be the source of her pain any longer. So much time spent trying to achieve that and I end up failing in a matter of moments to the three words that I was supposed to erase from her vocabulary when it came to me.

Dammit. Damn her for making this so difficult. Damn her for making me love her so much when I shouldn’t have ever let myself do it.

Furious at my own fault and determined to accomplish what I set out to, I spin her around so fast she doesn’t even have time to ponder what it is I’m trying to do. Ignoring her gasp of ​surprise, I grab the globes of her ass in my hands and lift her up so that her legs wrap instinctively around my torso. Reaching around her, I slam off the water before hauling her out of the bathroom, my frustration building up with each step I take.

I can’t draw this out any longer. It’s killing me.

________ A ________

He never looks directly at me as he carries me out of the bathroom. His face is set and there’s an angry scowl there that I don’t understand.

He leads us back into my room, the cool air hitting my wet body and making me shiver. I don’t pay attention to the chill, though. I don’t pay attention to anything besides his eyes and what else could possibly lye behind that veil of anger. I expect him to carry me to the bed. To lay me down on the big comfy mattress made up with soft sheets. I expect him to sit me down and leave my room without an explanation.

But I don’t expect it when he stops in the middle of my floor and drops down, slamming my back onto the carpet. I gasp a little as my breath whooshes out from the unanticipated contact. But he doesn’t care. His attention is already on spreading my legs wide so that my wet treasure, still slick from a mix of both our pasty release, is displayed fully to his detached eyes. The careful attentiveness of foreplay a trivial speck in his grand scheme, Michael wastes no time in lowering himself above me and returning his moist member to my stretched opening.

I scream out as that odd line that separates absolute pleasure from throbbing pain comes into my sight. He’s hammering my warmth the way he never has before. His eyes are unreadable as he looks down at me, the tight fixture of his lips revealing his stubborn determination. He pulls out of me, the head of his penis rubbing along my soaking clit for a second before he rams himself all the way to the end of me, ripping a raw scream from my throat as my nails come up to scrape along his shoulders. Gone is the gentle lovemaking of a few nights ago. Here is the angry animalistic fucking of two people who’ve recently lost hold of who they thought they were and are now only grasping at pieces of what’s left.

As he shoves his cock inside of me lacking the mercy of a patient lover, I can’t help but groan in ecstasy while also wincing in pain. The friction created by his raw and unpitying pounding along with the dark carpet below me, has my back burning. The permanent scars produced by the carpet burns will be waiting to greet me in the morning.

It does hurt some. But I don’t mind the pain. Actually, I welcome it. Crazily enough, this sting is exactly what I didn’t know I wanted. I accept all of the beating as a secret hit of some alluring drug. It’s almost like all of the aching inside of me is no longer relevant. Not right now. Not with the aching outside to belittle it. I arch my back, giving him more access to my opening, giving him my consent to release his frustrations on my body. To release mine as well through the burning of every muscle I own.

He glares down at me, his hips still working me into agonizing bliss. Locking his eyes on mine, he growls, “Say you hate me, Asha.”

I glare back at him defiantly. “No.”

He grits his teeth and rocks into me even harder if that’s possible. I scream. “Say it.”

​“NO.”

“Dammit, Asha…” He moans out, his head tossing back as he hits a sensitive part inside of me that causes me to contract around his member tightly. He glides in and out, the base of his cock gleaming with my wetness when it makes a brief appearance before vanishing inside of my being once again.

I reach out and grip a handful of his hair, forcing him to look down at me. My hazel eyes plead with those always-cloudy chocolate, begging him to stay with me. “Michael…baby let me love you…make me first…”

He shakes his head, perspiration dampening his face and thickening his hair. “No.”

I suck my lip in. “Why not?”

He looks down at me and his eyes are hard. He doesn’t blink but holds my gaze as he answers, “Because you’ll never be first. Because my music and what I do will always come out ahead.”

I feel my heart gain about two-hundred pounds and drop down to my stomach, making my chest hollow with its vacancy. Suddenly, I feel the burning sting of tears in my eyes and I find myself digging my nails into his scalp as I tug on his hair painfully, causing him to groan out and close his eyes as he pummels my heat even harder.

“Tell me I’m the one, Michael.” I glare at him, graciously accepting his continuous assault to my battered warmth. It help me to pretend that the tears aren’t for the benefit of that other pain. The one inside. “Tell me…I’m first. Tell me you love me…enough to give me…that chance.” I tighten my fist in his head, knowing that it hurts him. “Tell me.”

But still he refuses. “No.”

I bite my lip to hide the quivering. But I know it doesn’t matter. He knows me better than I know myself. “You won’t even give me a chance?”

When he opens his eyes to look down at me, I see something tremble for a second as though a wall might break, but then it’s mended just as quickly as it cracked. He’s so good at fixing those little cracks in his armor. “No point.” He tells me unremorsefully. “You already lost the moment you tried to compete with her.”

I feel a piece of me tear right down the middle. Hastily, I blink past the tears in my eyes so that I can get a clear view of the impassive face that once belonged to the man I loved and who loved me back. “You don’t mean that…”

“I do.” He says with a slight nod. “And you know why?” He slams himself deep inside of me, his balls pressing against my skin, and stops. I moan and toss my head back, completely taken aback as he hits my number one spot exactly, almost like he knew precisely where it was all along. He grabs hold of my chin in his hand and yanks it down so that I’m forced to stare straight into those dark eyes that hold only fragments of what I thought was the man I loved.

“Because I’d go to a concert and sing before I come home and curl up next to you. Because I’d choose a performance over your birthday without ever meaning to. Because I’d rather spend all day dancing with her then all night in bed with you.”

I stare at him for a moment, completely lost at what to do with his words. The hurt these particular words brings me shocks me. More tears running down my cheeks. I’m surprised I haven’t run out of them by now. Before I can even get my around what I’m doing, my hand ​draws back and slaps him hard in the face, a piece of me reveling in the echoing sound it creates, in the red mark it leaves there.

“I hate you.” I spit in his face, all of my hurt and anger at him pouring out of me in those three words. “I hate you!”

He bites his lip for a moment, showing no signs of anger at my sudden strike to his face. Instead he nods his head before burying it into my neck, his hips starting up their stroking again, this time much slower. “That’s it…” he murmurs. “That’s what I wanted to hear…tell me why.”

“You’re arrogant.” I say instantly.

He pushes deep into me. “So arrogant.”

“You’re…stubborn.” I groan.

“Too stubborn.” Slams harder into me, feeling my body reacting to him. Getting me closer, whether I want to be or not.

“You’re a liar.”

“That’s it…what else?” Reaches my end again, and begins to circle his hips against mine.

Feeling myself moments away from the only brief escape I’ll have from this reality for a long while, I yank on his hair, watching his eyes water a little from the pain as his lip hides between his teeth, giving me some small satisfaction. I look dead into his eyes and I sneer, “You’re a coward.”

He blinks. Then he bites his lip, his eyes unwavering on mine. He nods his head slowly, “The worst of my kind…”

Then he pulls out of me one last time and slams right back in, hitting the very spot he knew would send me over. I scream out as my legs wrap tightly around his waist, my fingernails scraping down his back, leaving trails of blood as I dig into his flesh, not caring anymore whether or not I hurt him. He moans loudly and I gasp as I feel his teeth seeking into my neck, forming my own wound, metallic blood catching on his tongue as he releases the hardest shot of cum yet deep inside of me, rocking my body with his shuddering. He rides it out, humping me forcefully until his limbs finally convert to jelly and has him collapsing on top of me in a sticky mess of hot cum and dripping sweat.

We both lay there for a timeless moment, trying to catch our rapid breath and maybe somehow figure out what exactly is supposed to go on the last page of a fairytale that never quite reached the happy ending. What is one supposed to put into the vacant space where ‘And they lived happily ever after’ once belonged? Is it just plain wrong to wrap up a hundred plus pages of story with a simple ‘And they both went they’re separate ways and moved on with their lives. The end.’?

Before long, Michael gets strength enough to lift himself off of my body, leaving me oddly cold. He doesn’t spare me a glance as he gathers his clothing. Never utters a word as he pulls his pants on, buttons, and zips them. Hardly blinks as his shirt is slipped over his head. He picks up his loafers and heads toward the door.  

He stops, his hand on the handle. Pauses…then slowly he turns to look over his shoulder at me, still lying on the floor in pieces where he left me.

I shake my head and scowl at him. “I hate you.” I whisper, feeling my eyes burn again.

​He nods. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

And he leaves, the door closing on his way out.

I don’t immediately get up. I don’t have the strength nor the will to right now. Maybe a little later. Right now all I can do is cry. Cry out the last betraying pieces of me that try to hang on to him. I cry as much of him out of me as I can tonight. And tomorrow, I’ll cry some more of myself free. And maybe some more and on and on for a few weeks until eventually…I’ll be free of every wound he ever caused me. Free of every pain he ever inflicted on me. And sadly…free of every trace of love and belonging he ever gave me because that’s part of him too. I can’t hang on to only pieces.

I’ll cry myself free.

­

________ M ________

I close the door to her bedroom.

I stand there in the dark hallway for a moment, unable to summon enough strength to make it to my room just yet. I feel exhausted. More tired and drained than I can ever remember feeling in my life.

Well…I did it. I did what I set out to do. I knew Asha well enough to know that she would try and hang onto me despite what I told her in the studio. I knew she would talk herself into waiting around for me, allowing herself to hurt over me forever if I let her. I knew it. And I couldn’t stand it. So I did the only thing I could think of. The only thought that I could formulate that would possibly spare us both that agony was if I could make her hate me. Give her the will to want to get over me. Give her a way out of loving me so desperately when I  can’t even…when I can’t even give…I can’t…

I slide down the wall in the dark shadows of the corridor, my hands flying to my face to hide the shame of my tears as they escape me in uncontrollable streams. It’s all I can do to keep my sobs from waking the whole house. Somehow I manage to silence the heaving but I can’t manage to stop the shaking of my limbs as I weep into the warmth of my palms.

How did this happen? How did I let my life bring me this low?

I had no idea I was so fucked up. I didn’t know I so incapable of complex emotion until recently. All of my emotions up until this point have been handicapped. Rendering me helpless when it came to the serious things. The more worthwhile things.

I knew I had my issues before I met Asha. I knew there were some problems that I had developed by being so famous for so long. But I didn’t know exactly to what extent. I thought I knew true love. I thought I had been giving it when I fell for the three ladies of my life. I thought I had experienced it and lost it. I had no idea that I had in fact never known it.

It didn’t occur to me that I was so untried in that department until recently. When Asha first told me she loved me, I didn’t want to hear it. I had an inkling that I wouldn’t be able to love her correctly but I didn’t think that it was because I was simply incapable. I thought it was only my own fear that held me back. I didn’t know that all of the trauma and betrayal of my life had done more than scare me. I didn’t know at that point that it had gotten so deep inside of me that it actually fractured a piece of me that worked as the main function for that type of love.

​When I finally accepted Asha as my lover, I did it because I assumed I had beat out all that I needed to. I beat out most of my fear by giving into the desire I had to be with her. But I didn’t mend the break because I didn’t know there was one. I thought I would be able to love her completely. I figured it would take time to heal but I thought I could do it. I wanted to be with her so bad and she wanted me just as much…I knew I would be able to give myself to her completely given time.

I tried.

I handed her little pieces of myself at a time. She took them graciously. I gave her more of myself. She accepted it openly. I was beginning to enjoy opening up to her. I adored having someone who seemed to understand even just a little the feelings that I had never expressed with anyone else so easily. I reached for another piece of me, having given her most of the parts…but for some reason that part wouldn’t come loose. For some reason, no matter how hard I pulled and tugged at it…it wouldn’t budge. I tried so hard to pry it free that I might be able to gift it to her…but I couldn’t.

I couldn’t pull the last pieces away. I couldn’t give it to her. They had been smashed and shattered and scattered by so many gnawing teeth and stomping feet and snatching hands that I couldn’t gather them to hand to her.

I tried so hard.

I get so angry when I think about it. I feel myself shaking even more, crying even harder as it occurs to me just how close I came to having her. Just how close I came to being with someone that loved me.

What’s wrong with me? How did I get so messed up that I can’t handle being loved and loving back? I’ve gotten so used to taking pain and dealing with it all alone, having everyone leaving me alone to deal with it all, that I don’t know how to respond when someone tries to help me. I don’t know how to accept a hand because one was never extended out to me before. I can never process it correctly.

She gave me everything she had to offer. She even tried to give me more.

I couldn’t match that. I couldn’t even tell her I loved her. Something inside of me just wouldn’t do it and I couldn’t for the life of me understand why. I love her. I do. I want to be with her so much that I could have vomited when she actually said the words I had been trying to get her to say all night.

I hate myself for being so fragile. I hate myself for being sensitive to a fault of myself. I hate myself for allowing things to hurt me when I should be able to brush them off. I hate myself for not being able to overcome all of the lying and backstabbing done to me my whole life by people I thought loved me. I hate myself for letting it break me down to who I am today. I hate myself for not being as inhuman as the rest of the world sees me. I hate myself for hurting so much so often. I hate myself for being a coward. I hate myself for not being able to give the woman I love the affection that she deserves.

I hate myself for having to sacrifice what I want so desperately in order to let her find the love that she needs without my weight destroying her youth. I hate myself for loving what I don’t know how to love.

I hate myself.

​And now she hates me too.

Mission accomplished.

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