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Honestly, what do you title a journal?
It's just a bunch of whine-text anyways. I have a journal because I can say what I need to say without having to worry about repercussion, because no one reads it anyways!
And frankly, I don't blame them.
09.03.2011...
IndentYou... It's always been you. I was yours, whether you wanted me or not, from the very beginning. Ever since the very moment our eyes met, I was yours. I don't know how or why, but it's true. It always has been. It always will be. Perhaps it means nothing to you, I always had a lingering thought that you might have been capable of that cruelty. I could see the darkness inside of you that everyone else seemed so blind to. I could feel it creep out of you every now and then, when you were being spiteful or feeling vengeful. I always wondered if you were aware of that darkness, or if it was something that was slowly consuming you behind your back. It suited you, the darkness. It made you seem more human to me. Outside of that darkness, you had always seemed like a simple shell of a man. It was as if you were putting on a mask, hiding your true form... And I could see straight through it. I always knew exactly who you were, without having ever known you at all.

IndentYou... Even now, you still dominate me. From so far away, wherever you are. I wonder what's going through your mind in this moment, right now, this very moment. Denial? Relief? Hope? Perhaps... More devious, sinister thoughts? Maybe your ego just got stroked, and you're feeling that little high you get from narcissistic action. But maybe you always knew, you always knew how much control you had over me. Maybe you like that control. After all, those grey eyes of yours... So cold and callous, those grey eyes could peer into my very soul. One harsh glare enough to silence me; one gentle stare enough to evoke that nauseating saccharine feeling in the pit of my stomach, commonly known as butterflies. Not occasionally, but always. Sometimes you would look at me with cold, calculated annoyance and make me feel like I shouldn't even exist. I usually deserved it. Sometimes you would look at me like I was some delicious delecacy behind the window of the chocolate shoppe display, making me ponder what your true intentions were. And at other times, you would shoot me a glance that you didn't think I saw... One that made me feel like in that moment I was the most precious thing in the multiverse. You could control me with just those eyes alone. Everyone else saw those cold grey eyes, but only I could see the true warmth behind them. Only I could see the true you. I was simply too young and naive to understand that.

IndentYou... The robotic smile that you flashed at everyone had no effect on me. It was the real emotion you showed me, that was what truly terrified and fascinated me at the same time. The fury I saw inside of you, just waiting to escape... I always wondered if it would be me that would front the damage of that rage. I wanted it to be me. I wanted to see what you were holding back, I wanted to feel the heat of your hands clasp around my neck and constrict the life out of me. I wanted you to take it out on me, so that I could be the one who brought you that sweet release... The release that only venting pure rage can bring. But maybe I also wanted to feel that rage because I know what can come of it. I know what kind of passion that anger can unlock, and part of me liked pissing you off just to see if it was really true. You could collar me, enslave me, mark me; whatever would sate your animosity. I would bare it and wear it with nothing but the purest of pride, knowing that I was the one providing you with what you needed to stay sane. Knowing that only I could provide you with it. But the gentility I saw behind that same face, the serene and tranquil expressions that only I got to see... They made me feel special. Like I was the only person you could show your true self to. Those peaceful and loving expressions, no matter real or fake (though I thoroughly believe they are something no one can fake), made me want to cuddle up next to you and let the whole world stop turning. I felt like they were hand crafted just for me, and they always made my heart pick its' pace up a few octaves. It was the gentility that soothed me, but it was the rage I really wanted. Ooh, did I want it bad...

IndentYou... My fleeting memories of you come and go in the night. But the vivid ghost of your touch is a constant reminder of what I don't have. I miss the heat, more than anything I miss it. It's specific to you, and it's absolute perfection. Perhaps I liked the heat the most because it is something my body clearly lacks, as my usual temperature is equal to that of a two-hour-old corpse. Whatever the reason, I always felt the incessant itch to cling to you and steal all the heat out of your body. For appearing so cold and robotic, your very human flesh has a heavenly, seductive heat that radiates from it's core. I loved your heat, and I always craved it. The warmth of our hands entertwined together, an awkward fit due to our height difference. The muted burn of your skin in the sweep of your shoulder: That pressure point was always a favourite spot for my face, though the two never made contact much. The fever that crept up into my body with every embrace, no matter how short or fleeting. The hot vapor of your breath along my neck when you'd whisper something so lovingly perverted into my ear. The fervorent fire that ignited from a simple kiss, awkward for my very inexperienced self. I'm sure I sucked at it back then. I'm sure i'd still suck at it now. The memory pulls a phantom heat from my heart even now, despite how impersonal and detached your touch has become.

IndentYou... That scent you carried always confused me. It never suited the picture of you I had in my mind: Strong, confident, smart. No matter what you wore, it always seemed to come out as vanilla to me. I always hated vanilla, but I always loved it on you. Oddly, it reminded me of my mother, who always carries with her a sweet scent of strawberry despite whatever parfume she's wearing. She too is strong, confident, and smart. I tried to impress you by trying to be like you in that aspect, always trying my best to smell like sugar. To taste like sugar. I thought you liked sugar, and that if I emulated it, it would make you want me. Eventually though, I gave up on that effort and went back to the Axe scents I always loved: Kilo, Dark Temptations, Cool Metal, Music, Excite. Being sweet just didn't suit me like it did you, and I knew my efforts weren't working anyways. Everything I did was in an effort to impress you in some way. I tried to be like you while maintaining my own personal flare. My new glasses, my new haircuts and colours. All the new clothes I bought were things I liked but things I also thought you would like. Part of me projected my style on to you, which I always found decievingly attractive on you, but I knew it didn't suit who you were. That same part of me thought that if you were more like me that you would want me more. Wrong again. I never knew how to impress you, but I did know that everything I tried never worked. The process of elimination is a long and grueling one.

IndentI had these fantasies... Dark urges to inflict injury upon myself, just to test you. To see if you'd come running to me, to protect me from the unknown dangers of my own mind. One of these particular fantasies molded into a nightmare that I would have, so carefully crafted.
Indent
Darkness. Flashing lights, a blue and red haze interrupted by sudden bursts of brilliant, bright white. Loud sirens... So terribly, splittingly loud. Blood, so much blood. But whose? I don't feel hurt... No pain, it can't be my blood. But then I look down, see a black object protruding from my abdomen. My mind spinning, I try my best to focus on what it is as I clasp my hands around it and use my extra senses to fill in the details that my cloudy eyes couldn't. A knife. The red and blue melts into a purple haze that thickens as the sirens grow so achingly loud. I fall to my knees. They're approaching me. I can't think. Darkness again. Then white. I jerk, gasp, and open my eyes to a blinding light. I find myself on my back, staring up into an oblivion of fluorescent lighting, lining a ceiling of white tiles. I feel uncharacteristically warm. It feels good... Soft. I feel safe. I slowly sit up and peer at the room around myself. White. White. White. Three white walls surrounding me. I knew behind me was a fourth, I didn't have to see it to know. A slow terror begins to fill me and gnaw at my insides. I feel a sharp pain in my stomach as I twist myself to check the room for windows and doors. No windows, one door. White. Shut. Locked. My body trembles and I whimper in fear. It brought back the memories I tried so hard to forget... The heartwrenching silence, the burning of the metal digging into the skin around my wrists and ankles. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes, threatening to slide down the awkward curvature of my face at any moment. Suddenly I feel a hand on my right shoulder, another gently cupping the curvature of the left side of my ribcage. Is it them?! I shriek in agonizing horror and try to jerk away. Run. Run. Run. My mind was telling me I needed to bolt, but suddenly the hands on my body become arms that wrap around my torso, carefully avoiding the area of my stomach. I vaguely wondered why, but was too scared to fully present the question in my mind let alone verbalize it. "Shhhh..." I hear a voice hushing me as the heavy and feminine scent of vanilla fills my nose. It sounded so far away. Why? "Shhh, i'm here, it's okay..." I realize i'm still releasing bloodcurdling screams of panic and trepidation. The arms tighten around my body, pulling me into a warm chest that I immediately silence and melt into. "No one can get you, Muffin. I'm right here..." I finally recognize the voice soothing me as one of the arms reaches up and becomes a hand gently combing it's fingers though my hair. My body still trembling, I close my eyes and release a few painful, choked sobs as I turn into the chest that welcomed me, already hugging me with warm, safe, protective arms. It was you. Just like that, my nightmare transitioned into a pleasant dream. You were my knight in shinging armour all because you showed up. Because you were there for me when no one else was. Because you were there right when I needed you the very most. You ask me, "Do you remember anything?" I reply dumbly with a, "What happened?" You don't appear to be injured, therefore by my logic you obviously didn't know what happened, which was probably why you asked. You flatten the palm of your hand, significantly and proportionally larger than my own, down on my stomach. It hurts, but the heat radiating from the limb felt amazing against the bruised skin underneath, and the pain slowly fades away. I put my smaller hand on your larger one, a small gesture begging you to keep the steady heat and pressure applied. You oblige me as I reply, "N-no... I d-don't remember anything..." I don't need to remember; It's a dream, even though it feels real. I probably did it to myself. As you lie back, you pull me with you, hugging me close to yourself as if you knew something I didn't. It suddenly dawns on me that we're in a hospital, and i'm the patient. I wondered in that moment how we both fit on the small and awkward twin sized bed, the ones that all hospitals have. But by that time I didn't care. You knew all of my fears, and quelled every single one with just your presence alone. You knew my fear of white; of pure, unadultered silence; my claustrophobia of windowless rooms; the panic induced in me by sirens and flashing lights... You knew my disturbingly strong fear of abandonment, and you made sure that fear never came to life. It showed to me that you loved me enough that you didn't want to see me feel fear, and that you didn't want to cause me a disappointment with your absense.
IndentI have this nightmare-to-dream transition every time the darkness of sleep claims me, which is becoming less and less. I hate waking up and finding it wasn't real; I hate waking up to being cold and alone. I always wondered... If it actually happened, would my dream come true? Or would it truly be a haunting nightmare?


All of this is written in a past tense, but it is meant to be read in a very present tense. Do you see how obsessed I am, even now, after all of this time? You own me. You always have, and I suspect you always will. I ran once, so desperate to recreate what we'd once had, and so frenzied to make you sick with jealousy and want that I searched for it all in someone else. But where did I end up? In a grey, icey pool of self-hatred that I still rake over my skin like barbed wire every day. A black, frozen lake of guilt that's slowly consuming and drowning me, even though I know I didn't really do anything wrong. But if I didn't do anything wrong... Why do I feel so much like I did? I know why. It's because...


You own me, because I love you.


Shiro-Jin
Community Member
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