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of course I let it happen again

October 7, 2013

(Note: Most of this is actually fiction based VERY loosely on reality)

After more than three years, I just never stop loving Too Little Too Late. I give him chance after chance.

But every time, the heartache is worse than the joy. If I was the type of person to throw tantrums and/or punches, I’d be doing it now. But the reality is that walking away from TLTL is a far worse punishment. He will have partner after partner, and always want to crawl back to me, just like it’s been for the last three+ years. And I won’t be here. And if he keeps up living as he has been, his liver will explode sooner rather than later. I don’t really need to spend my life vying to be with a bitchy alcoholic with a cirrhotic time bomb of a liver.

I know this. Logically. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell and that I’m okay with having to be the one to leave. I’ve seen many women across generations do this in my family to their husbands or partners and I’ve supported their choices, but it really sucks to be the person in those shoes myself again. In addition to giving him a stiff middle finger and turning heel on him, I have abandoned my writing,  my artwork, my music, my jewelry. Right now, I want to be painting this bizarre amalgam of statistics and gender identity I dreamed up last week. Actually, I want to be sleeping, but I’ve got four hours left in a 13 hour work day. I will likely do very little work. I work a ridiculous number of hours a week. Being at work makes me want to stab myself in the thigh with a rusty butter knife.

I’ve recently started hanging out with this guy that I met by chance through TLTL, and frankly, he’s got toxic written all over him. I could be wrong (lord knows I’m such an excellent judge of character), but I feel like we could have the sort of tragic  love affair that would land one of us, if not both of us, in a psych ward. That really, really shouldn’t appeal to me.

I bet he’s a cutter. There’s something really destructive about him, and I’ll be danged,  but I’m finding that hot as hell right now. The eyeliner he wears on occasion ain’t bad, either. It doesn’t help that we stood in a bar last night watching a favorite comedian do his bit about what I guess I can only call consensual extremely violent sex with both of us quoting our favorite punchlines.  There’s probably some technical term for it, but I’ll be damned if I know what it is beyond “high risk.” *Scoff*

And now I’ve just creeped myself out.

Not enough to regret the hot dream I had about him last night, but creeped out nonetheless.

Actually, that’s a lie. I’m just unburying a part of me that I’ve locked away for more than a decade. There is one person on this planet that knows my reality. Unfortunately, he’s an unspeakable douchelord. It’s more than a little curious that this guy leaves me fighting to push away the past that has remained so happily buried for so long.

Toxic, I tell you. Toxic. But incredibly hot.


From → fiction, rants

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