14 March 2002 ~ A letter of loyalties and warnings (still this shit goes on, after nearly eight fucking years)...

You told me that in all the years the two of you had spent together, being in love, hating each other, whatever, there had never been a picture taken of the two of you together.

You threw a gahd-damned fit when you found the picture of him and me. You said it wasn't fair that there was a picture of him with ME, but not one with you. You said I hadn't loved him the way you had. You said he couldn't love me the way he'd loved you. You were a fucking dick about it. It was just a picture, dammit. It wasn't even a planned picture; my back is turned to the camera. You can't even see my face. Still, you had to throw one of your petty, nasty little fits. You jealous asshole.

But! I know something you don't know!

*smile*

There WAS a picture, you know, taken with the two of you in it. There is one existing copy. It's very dark, and very blurred, and not especially recognizable. But I'd know you anywhere. Both of you.

I have that photograph. That one existing copy.

And I will NEVER give it back to you. I won't even let you see it. Never. I'd take a beating before I'd show you that picture.

Petty? Me?

Oh no... No, not even close.

YOU were the one who started the whole huge whiny stomping protest about who was in what picture with whom. YOU were the one who acted like such a damned child. You acted like he was some kind of a toy, and Mommy had given him to you to play with, so he was yours and nobody else could have him. You STILL act like that. It makes me sick.

Everything always has to be yours, doesn't it?

Do you still talk about me like I'm yours, too? Do you still talk about OUR good times as though they're still going on? Have you conveniently forgotten the nastiness? The screaming? The nights when you'd fuck me without touching me or kissing me? The false accusations? The money? The lying; the constant, constant lying? The threats? The scars on my wrists that didn't begin to heal for months?

You damn near destroyed me.

I can barely imagine what you must have done to him. Oh, we talked about it a few times -- about you, that is. But he was gentle. He knew I cared about you, and he never went into the gruesome details of who you were and what kinds of hell you were capable of creating. I don't think I'll ever REALLY know. I don't really want to. I know I saw hurt in the eyes of somebody I loved, and I know you intentionally put it there. And that's enough.

I really hate you for it. I have hated you for that for five years now. And whenever you pulled your shit on me, I had a better understanding of what you must have done to him, and I hated you all the more.

Why am I bringing this up now?

Because the last time we spoke, you were talking about him, and your weird little fantasy that the two of you would maybe get back together someday... And I just wanted to kill you. And NO, it's not a jealousy thing. It's about YOU, not about me. It's about you sapping the life out of people. It's about you taking all you can get from people, and then begging, with those sweet eyes, for more. It's about you not giving a damn whose heart gets broken, so long as it isn't yours. It's about you not giving a damn about anybody but yourself. It's about vampirism, you know? If ever there was such a thing as a vampire, you're IT. You just take and take until there's nothing left. You've left this trail of extraordinarily broken people behind you for as long as I've known you. (Except Steve... But Steve may have been just as evil as you, gahd bless him...)

So, no, it's not about jealousy. It's about the fact that I LOVE him. It's about the fact that I would rather see you hit by a bus than back together with him. I'd almost rather hit you with a bus myself. I KNOW what you're capable of. I KNOW what you did to me, and I know what you could do to him. Oh, he's a smart boy; he can take care of himself. And to be honest, I don't think he's stupid enough to let you back into his life in any really meaningful way. And if, in a moment of weakness, in a moment of not remembering what the fuck you really are, he DID let you back into his life, I would stand by and I would wish him luck. But dammit, I would be watching you like a hawk. And if you so much as asked him what time it was with a bitchy voice, I'd slap you so hard you'd be looking for your teeth three blocks up on Queer Street.

[Sorry, readers; that's a half-assed Twin Peaks reference, not an epithet...]

The thing is, you simply have no power over me anymore. I don't hate you for what you did to me. But I don't CARE about you, either. Would I be sad if somebody emailed me right now to tell me you'd been hit by a bus? Perhaps. But perhaps not. You just don't have that great of an impact on my life anymore. The only real purpose you serve is as a lesson learned. Many, many lessons learned. Learned, put into practice and tossed into a big cardboard box labelled "PAST TENSE." It's over. It's completely over. And it will NEVER restart. But...

It has been nearly eight years since I met him. I have loved him longer than I've ever loved anyone. We don't speak often, but not a day goes by that I don't think of him warmly and smile to myself. And there's really not much of anything I wouldn't do for him. After the number of times he's forgiven me for my worst of mistakes, after the number of times he's helped to heal me after YOU got through with me, I owe him my life. Really. And I might also mention that I simply love him; that, to me, he is one of the most beautiful people in the world.

Pardon me if I'm a little protective. Pardon me if I don't trust you any further than I can throw you. Pardon me if I'd still rather see you get hit by a bus than have the opportunity to fuck with him again. Pardon me if I say I wouldn't wish you on my worst enemy, and certainly not one of my dearest friends.

I just wanted you to know this. Because when you think of me, I suspect, you're thinking of sweet little Helena who always let you have your way, and who always cared about you no matter what. You're thinking that since I didn't refuse to see you last time I had the chance, it must mean we're good pals. You're thinking that because I still talk to you once in awhile, everything is nice and normal again. You still think I'm yours, your little plaything. But I'm not anything even remotely close to that. At this point, kid, I'm my own bitch. You don't even enter into my life.

And I'd like to remind you -- I'd REALLY like you to know this, and pay very close attention -- that should you EVER enter back into his life seriously, and should you EVER hurt him, you will have me to deal with. Because I don't think you ever really understood the depth of my loyalty to him. I think you just thought it was me trying to steal your toy. But you have no idea what I would do for him if I ever thought he needed me. Anything, you know that? Anything.

Including, supposing it was ever necessary, pulling a vampire off him and poking a stake through its heart. One thing I never could stomach: all the damned vampires...

I just want you to know that.

I want you to know that first before you even consider speaking his name to me again. I want you to know all of this before you take another breath.

And I also want you to know that *I* have that photograph, and the only way it will ever leave my hands is if it leaves by means of fire... Nobody else will ever see it, and right now, it's locked away where even I don't have to see it. I'll not destroy it unless I have been given sufficient permission -- which is to say, his permission, not yours. Until then, know that I, Helena, who am my own bitch, have an eye on you.

Just FYI.

:o)