David:
She called again. You’re not surprised. Of course she wanted something. Does the devil never wag temptuous bits without deviance in hand?
That’s an unfair accusation.
We all want something, but I have less tolerance – and more hate – for her, and for any sense of want surrounding her.
So odd to hate so much one so close.
She invited me to a mutual acquaintance’s party. I’d make an appearance regardless, but I asked why me, as opposed to her boyfriend (or whatever the fuck he is). He may not be such a bad guy. He just happens to be fucking someone whose skull I’d enjoy beating with a hammer.
I’m sure they’re fucking because our dance goes like this: I spend time with someone, anyone, and she accuses me of fucking them (truth is irrelevant), so that she will not feel guilty of fucking whoever she’s fucking.
I do not care, and have spent many hate-filled moments not caring, and managed to go several weeks not knowing who it was I did not care about.
She’d rather I go, than him, because I’ve been her artistic backbone, I can talk for her if she gets confused, I give her confidence. But I bristle that she expects any service when I’d as soon as not talk to her, ever, again.
So odd to hate so much one so close.
I am tired of being used.
She would say the same, and certainly, just as we all want many things from many, I have used her. Perhaps, though, it’s my indination, a self-inflated sense of quality, an elitist misconception, but I do not think I have ever used anyone in the ways I have been used.
My kindness has been plundered.
I am planning to go so I can express my cruelty, make her feel the sad, pitiful, little girl I have always known she is. Instead of wishing my love might save her, I desire to damn her to a lifetime of tears.
I have such bile in me now!