People mocked us a lot; our relationship was food for gossip, for slander. But we didn't care.
Even friends have the common sense to know that something like that shouldn't affect a friendship, let alone feelings that are supposed to run much deeper. I've had enough of all this, of pouring out so much out of my heart for you only to have you absorb it all without giving much in return. I get these occasional teaspoonfuls of sugar. Sugar, yes, but teaspoonfuls. I pour out my heart.
I don't know what shaky ground you built your idea of love (or like) upon, but I should have realised. I should have realised. I give it all to you so easily. Unprotected, raw. All you have to do is develop a bit of non-serious feelings, two short weeks, and I'm helplessly yours again. All you have to do is want me to get me, because I'm hopelessly weak. And then whenever something comes that hurts you, whether it has to do with me or not, you take it all back, draw it all back. I have, I have revealed some things about me that hurt you a lot, because you realise I'm not the girl you thought you knew, and you don't know how much I regret the things I did before, it's just that things are different now and I had to let you know anyway. But while you're hurting and you withdraw yourself from me, you still know I'm there, with my stupid tears and apologies. But I don't have that kind of security because you take it all away when you leave.
You can't expect me to attach and detach myself at will. I'm not a machine you turn on and off whenever you want. With things like love, life isn't just about yourself anymore. Love - or like, of any kind, is a unity of souls,. The questions you ask me, I'm afraid to ask in return - I'm afraid of your answers, I don't even have enough hope of a positive answer to ask them. I'm afraid of your silence, your careful deliberation, an uncertain or negative response. I'm so insecure because you don't give me the reassurance I need so badly. You said you need proof. And I said proof? while you're smiling with your pals I'm crying in my seat and looking back at you every three minutes. every second of the fifteen minutes you take to reply each text, I'm staring at my phone waiting. how much proof do you want? I need proof too.
I know you need to get away from this and I'm okay with that. But I need you to realise that when it comes to things like this, there's one more person you have to take into consideration. I have feelings too, and I hope one day I'll become a part of you, because your life isn't just about you anymore. Things aren't just about you anymore. Love doesn't work this way.
You're just lucky I'm so weak, weak enough to let you take my heart and drop it again and again and again, fifteen months and you still haven't stopped dropping it. One day I'll have the strength to say this is enough. One day I'll be stronger, one day I won't be a desperate running dog.
I'm not going to be a desperate dog this time, I hope. I'll try, very hard, not to come crying and running again. I'm not going to let you have the privilege of having me be so dependent on you - or have the privilege of seeing that dependence and rejecting it, anyway. Try. Try to hold me again, try to break this wall I'm trying to build up around my heart, try to break it with a tender word and I'll scream. I'll scream and cry and turn away, but I know I'll be waiting for you to say you're sorry and hold me closer and tell me you're not going to let go.
But of course I'm dreaming. You'll never do that.
I don't know what shaky ground you're building your feelings upon, but it's not working. I can't live like this. But I'm not going to be a desperate running dog anymore. I'll try very very hard and get some friggin' self-respect.
Claire: You're the reason she's up there right now! You have no idea what she needs. You don't know her! She's my sister. You mathematicians: You don't think. You don't know what you're doing. You stagger around creating these catastrophes and it's people like me who end up flying in to clear them up.
(Proof, David Auburn)
A friend of mine has been helping to heal the heart you've been crushing, slowly, slowly. It's unfair that all along - for the longest time - you tear my heart apart more than you mend it, and it's my friends who do the sewing - a slow process that requires so much attention and care.
He happened to mention JK Rowling, and I told him that JK Rowling was from Exeter, but really, my ultimate dream - faraway, childlike, like my ambition of being an astronaut when I was in primary school - was to be like Jodi Picoult. And I realised you don't know all this, because you never asked.
Four days before the Prelims you started giving me drugs. Horrifying things but the colour of purity, and they're really, really destructive, but they make a person really, really happy, although there's the drying of the mouth, the occasional shrivelling up of the soul into darkness before you inject the stuff into my blood again.
Now fifty days before the A's you do away with the drugs and bring the knife out. It's a faster way to kill.
No. I'm going to be stronger than this.
(Wow, an extended metaphor. I'm on my way to using conceits hahaha)