Your Willing Victim

You obviously don’t care why I’m so mad pissed off at you, but it’s your lucky day and I’m going to fucking tell you.

I walk in, after not seeing you for nigh on a month, and I do get greeted how I expected to be. “Oh wow! What are you doing here? I’m so happy to see you.” You graciously thank me for the gifts I came bearing, lots of hugging and nuzzling, but polite as ever will not kiss me without me making the first move as I don’t think you know how we were standing after our last tiff over text. You warmly listen about how my life is, my experience with graduating, the stress and fear that led up to my commencement, and the like. I ask you for all of your stories of your last grand adventure (to Wyoming. To see your brother. How daring.) Once the stories have been told I beg for more, not only because I genuinely like to know how your life is going, but because who doesn’t like getting to tell their stories with bravado to such a willing audience. You insist there are no more so I simply request you “tell me something that I don’t know.” You respond, with no goading, “I miss you sometimes.” (Remember this, because there’s a different tune to be sung later.)

I try to not let on how incredibly happy that makes me. You actually miss me *swoon*. I haven’t talked to you in about two weeks and hey what do you know. You miss me sometimes. I don’t even care that you threw in that little caveat. It makes me happy ecstatic. You notice and capitalize on that immediately by seducing me, and I, your willing victim, allow you to take me to bed for a romp in the sheets. Trying very hard to change my ways and remembering everything you’ve ever bitchily told me after sex, I don’t touch you and I don’t talk once you’ve reached la petite mort. I simply lie there and wait until you invite me in to cuddle you where you promptly fall asleep, warm and safe. That, of course, doesn’t last long (thank god because you’re a million degrees) and you start kissing my shoulder blades, caressing my rib cage, and entwining your fingers in my hair. Making me, once again, your willing victim to fall into your web. The kissing doesn’t stop and the grabbing becomes more eager as you thrust your way to satisfaction once again. This time the story changes a bit and you clamor your way to the kitchen for hot chocolate. I understand though, I mean hot chocolate, and follow you in expecting to be told to get out of your space and leave you some room, instead I’m pleasantly surprised and get a well-deserved bear hug. Things are going quite well and once again I am left pleasantly surprised.

However, this is where things get interesting. We talk, laugh, generally joke, and have a good time. I’m actually happy I backed off for awhile and am finally getting some interaction time that doesn’t make me wanna run home, put on some Evanescence, and slit my wrists with a rusty nail. Until, “I think I’m tired of company now.” Okay, I have been here for about six hours and you’re used to wallowing in your self pity alone. Okay, I gather my stuff to go only for you to tell me bye and “thanks for the gifts and the okay sex.” Yes you’re laughing, but I cannot tell if your serious. Does it drive me nuts? Yes, so I playfully tackle you and act like I’m gonna make it great right then. Yadda yadda…. I grab my things a final time, give ya a hug (that I had to stand back and let you come to me for because apparently I move too much and too fast and you have obviously transformed into a frightened bird in an atrium) and say goodbye, along with an “I love you.” I wait patiently for you to say it back. I get impatient after you high five me joking about how that must be what I’m waiting for. No. A low five? Fucking no. And you know goddamned well that it isn’t what I’m waiting for. “Are you trying to force me to say it?” Okay. I get where it might seem like I am, but I tell you that I only want you to say it if that’s how you feel. “Okay wanna know how I feel? I’m annoyed with you. Leave before I hate you.” And I, your willing victim, walk out the door. Knowing good and well that I should finally stand up for myself. Finally say what I think I’m beginning to realize is true. I am not the problem. I am a strong individual that is sick of the terrible and inhumane way I am being treated.I do not like the pathetic and insignificant person that you are making me feel like I am. I am ready to show you that I can take care of my fucking self and that I will no longer let you control my life or my happiness. I will not be someone that you think is inferior to you. I will show you why I will succeed while you flounder around and fail in your own pitiful existence. But what do I say? “Okay. I’m sorry for annoying you. Bye” And I calmly shut the door closing off any emotional and rage fueled rant that might have been brewing. I, your willing victim, will wait, impatiently, for you to miss me enough to see me one more time, only to be used and tossed aside just how I’m used to and just how you like it.


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