I hate what you did to me, that night on the back porch of your parent’s house, around a year ago. We were just talking, but then you threw me against the vinyl siding, but then I was on the ground, and I was too high to think, and you, I still have scars from what you did to me, it felt like a fucking eternity… I just remember how you sat up and looked over the mess you had made, through me with your eyes that still fucking haunt me, and you told me with this saccharine sympathy that I looked overwhelmed, i thought you were done, but you weren’t. You ruined my brain, you know? I did the big girl things, I went to work the day after, even with the bruises, I did therapy, I even told you I forgave you, to your face, because buried hatchets can’t hurt anyone right? And now? Now I hate you, in my stomach, it twists in knots, but there’s this fucked part of me that craves to me hurt that badly again, to break, and shatter and bleed, and what I hate most, is that if you reached out now, I don’t know if I wouldn’t let you finish the job.
>>41312608 (OP)
wordswordswords. who asked
wordswordswords. who asked