But it's not like I didn't already know that. I knew it when I got into this, and I didn't care. It's as if him using me was ok because I let him do it, and gods did he use me. Not like you'd expect, though. He didn't fuck me and leave me. He didn't tell me he loved me to turn around and dump me. He didn't even touch me. Not physically anyway. But mentally? Mentally he fucked me so hard that I could feel my soul bleeding, and just as quickly as he caressed my fragile sanity, he threw it to the floor and laughed as it shattered into a million pieces.
He actually said a few words to me tonight. At least I think he did. I can't be sure I wasn't imagining it, but it *sounded* like him. I swear I could smell him and see him leaning against the doorframe of my bathroom with that shit-eating smirk of his plastered on his perfect face. Mocking me. Teasing me. Laughing at me. Telling me that I know what I did to make him leave. Every inch of him screams at me in total silence, and without saying anything he says it all.
I guess I do know what I did to make him leave me. I know what I did that ruined the most perfect obsession. I strayed away from him, only briefly, just to make sure he is the one I wanted in my head scraping at my brain. I let someone else in, and now I am paying for it with the million different shards of my fractured reality. All I have is a deafening silence where a husky voice drawled out my name. I try to drown it out with the radio, but it only makes it worse.
I don't even hear my own voice in my head anymore. It's as if everything that was me was replaced by the memories of all that was him. Only it's not him. It's just total silence, and I think it is driving me insane.
Think? It *is* driving me insane, and I can feel his eyes on me as he watches me slip farther away. He doesn't do anything to stop it. He just looks right through me, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.
At first I played it off that his absense was not a problem. I joked and laughed about it as if I could care less whether or not he looked at me, talked to me, or otherwise showed any interest in me. I almost had myself convinced, and I am pretty sure everyone else bought the line of shit I dished out. It's only a matter of time before anyone realizes that I haven't eaten more than two bites in the last two weeks. That I have permenant circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. And I am sure that they will rationalize that it's because that time of year or some bullshit. Stupidity and blindness go hand in hand.
I have no idea how I let him get to me like this. He never said he loved me. Never touched me in a loving manner. Never even showed interest in anything but my mind. But he talked to me. Even when he just looked at me from across the room, he talked to me with his eyes. He dug way deep down into my soul, and I can't get him out no matter what I do. He *is* my soul. My breath. My life. What's worse is that he knows this. I have told him so many times over the last few months that it's the only rational thought that's in my head.
Jesus, I think I love him. I look at myself in the mirror, and I can barely see my own blue eyes staring back at me. Maybe the lighting in here makes them hazel, but I don't think so. I swear I can see his long, honey-blonde mane of hair draped across my shoulders instead of the pale blonde that adorns my head. And somehow my pale skin has taken on a golden glow, as if I take to the sun. Fuck, I can't even get away from him when I am alone, and I know he's not really here with me.
"You're on, Jerky" I hear someone yell at me from the other side of the door, and all I can hear is Hunter whispering my name in my ear. Echoing off of my skull as if he said it from inside my head, and in truth I think that's where he's been this whole time.
