I should be sleeping instead of staring at the ceiling, thinking of my fucking brother while I'm wrapped up in your arms. My eyes should be closed, my eyes should be doing that rapid movement shit, and I should be fucking content laying here with you. Because I choose to be here with you and not there with him.
Okay, so that's not entirely true, but fuck I like to lie to myself about it. Eases my mind a little, I guess.
I'm not supposed to be anyone's bitch. I just ain't like that. I'm too demanding, too controlling. I'm too fucking stubborn and short fused to take orders from anyone. At least, I thought I was. Then you looked at me, and I was on my fucking knees with your cock so far down my throat I couldn't breathe.
That's all it took, really. Just a look. You didn't say anything, didn't do anything. You just looked at me with that look, and I was yours. You were just so fucking beautiful that I just lost myself in you, and I really didn't even try to stop it. I should have stopped it, though. I should have just turned around and walked away from your invisible grasp, but fuck me if I wanted to.
Don't get me wrong, I love every single fucking thing you do to me. From the way you decide what I wear to the way you moderate the words that spill out of my fucking mouth. I love the control you have over every fiber of my being, the way you set me on fire with just a look, a touch, a yank of my hair, a slap across my face.
I don't know why either, and I think that's why I lay awake like this sometimes. I can't give any rational fucking explanation why I let you do the things you do to me. Not that I really feel the need to justify myself to a single person on this fucking planet, but I guess I need to justify it to myself, if only to preserve my threaded fucking sanity.
Not that all this thinking isn't making it worse, because my mind always wanders back to Matt. The one place I don't want it after just getting my ass pounded so hard by you that I probably won't even be able to walk for the next week, much less get in the ring and wrestle tomorrow. He'll just look at then, too, with those damned pouty lips and vacant eyes of his. Telling me he's completely lost without me running his life without even saying a word out loud.
And damned if that doesn't set my blood on fire just as fucking much as your possessive looks do. He knows it too, and boy does he just turn on the poor, tortured soul routine as soon as he's within my fucking eyeshot. A wistful sigh here, a slighted glance there, and he always makes damn sure I can see where he's been cutting on himself to try and make up for the pain I cause him.
Fuck, that just drives me completely infuckingsane. Knowing that he bleeds himself for me, even when I ain't there. Let's me know I'm still under his skin and that I still have complete and total control over him without doing a damn thing but not being there. And in that instant, I just want to strip his clothes off and fuck in right there in the middle of the locker room, not giving a damn about who the fuck might walk in on us...
But it's always you that walks in, and that reckless, controlling bastard in me is just gone in a flash. Fuck me if I don't try my damnedest to hide it in front of Matt, but somehow I always manage in making it more painfully obvious that you hold my fucking leash.
Not that you don't make it obvious on your own, of course. Hell, you go to great lengths to flaunt your power over me in front of everyone, and Matt certainly is no exception. Sometimes it gets to me, the way they all talk about me when they think I can't hear.
"Oh, look. There's goes Jericho's little lap dog."
"Can't believe Chris let his little bitch off the leash long enough to take a piss, much less wrestle in a match."
The list goes on and fucking on, and I try to tune them all out, but sometimes it just pisses me off the way they call me weak and shit. I'm *not* fucking weak, god damn it! I'm not girly, and I'm not a god damned lap dog!
Yeah, I can see how it might look, but if they'd take the damn time to pay attention, I'm not exactly breaking Olympic records trying to attain my freedom here. Fact is I like pain, thrive on it in fact, and nobody makes me hurt anywhere near as good as you do.
I used to wonder why the fuck Matt begged me to hit him, to make him hurt. Not anymore, because everytime I feel a muscle tear or a bone crack, I damn near cum all over myself. And god, when you make me fucking bleed, I just lose my mind. It's like the only reason I was even born was for you to possess, to control, and fuck me if I can even explain how or why.
I wish I could sometimes, just so everyone would understand that you aren't doing this to me because you're evil or sadistic. Well, yeah I guess you are sadistic, but not like they think. I'm not just your fuck toy or punching bag. There's something in you, something feral, that has to do this in order to survive, and I'm the only one that brings that out in you. It's not like you just go around randomly fucking hitting or cutting people for Christ's sake, and it's not like I just let anyone do this shit to me either. It's just what makes us whole, and no matter how much it kills me to know I'm depriving Matt of this, there's no way I can live without it.
I guess I really don't need to spend anymore nights thinking on this. I also don't need to care or worry about what other people might think this is, because I know you love me. Everything you do tells me that, because you don't show anyone else this side of you. I'm the one you chose to be yours, and to hell with anyone who thinks this isn't love. I'll be here until you don't want me anymore, and pardon me if I'm happy burning in your flames until that happens.
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