Even at that very last moment, I couldn’t help but be lenient. I guess it was just the habit, deeply ingrained, to spare you. I said most of the things I needed to, but each harsh word was enveloped in something soft to minimise its impact. I had meant to mention the money, the shame I feel on your behalf that you should haven taken and never repaid all that you obtained under false pretences.
Yet I abstained from referring to it, why? Honesty must apply to one as well as others – I am weak. And while delivering blows, I was still seeking to protect the criminal from the worst of the consequences of his own actions.
Is it any wonder you should have taken so much and left me in the lurch? That you were ungrateful, pushed me to the edge and precipitated my fall? That you showed no remorse for the trust you broke? That you lied to my face, lied to the very end, as you’d done so many times before?
Obviously, to some degree, I must be responsible. There can be no abuse without a victim, who is on some deep unconscious level, willing.
There is a fracture in me, childhood wounds never healed which enabled your toxicity.
We are both broken in different ways: you selfishly take everything while I selflessly give all – different cuts, different behaviour and very different results. While I seek to bring light to others, you unload your dark onto them — I try to heal, you poison.
It stands to reason that ours was a deadly attraction.
You are the vampire who almost bled me dry, but not quite, as I pulled back just in time.
You went off to find a fresh victim, having learnt nothing, as you never will, and I accepted there are people you just cannot fix.
I lay in bed, shivering with cold, all those thoughts twirling in my head, half delirious with fever brought on by a flu strain and I think:
you will eventually be consumed by that gaping hole at your core. You’ve lost too much weight, maybe? I don’t know, but you looked drawn, and old, when I saw you a week ago. New lines were showing on your face, bags under your eyes with a febrile light dancing inside them. You’ve been wearing the mask for a few weeks now, pretty much on a constant basis, it is definitely taking its toll – convincing the new victim, and therefore yourself, that you’re perfect is exhausting.
How long until the mask slips? Until cracks appear in the facade? Not much longer by the look of you: replicating, imitating feelings you know nothing about is taxing — adoration needed by those incapable of real love comes at such a heavy price.
Soon, the mirror is going to shatter and when the sun reappears you’ll be casting no shadow. None at all. While mine will be standing tall. Honestly? I take no comfort in that thought.
*I have been struck down by a flu virus thingy. I haven’t been ill since last December so I should really count myself lucky, but I’ve been shivering in bed all day with an awful headache, feeling utterly miserable.*