Poison Hemlocks

Ch. 13 - Infatuated

Paper has never been in love.

He has never been in a relationship that isn't riddled with lies and deception, never a lover he's had out of anything but personal gain, never had there been anyone he's kissed with the intent to some day give them his heart, for he doesn't have a heart, not anymore, at least.

His arms would never wrap around a lover's neck without a blade in his hand. His lips would never meet another's without being coated in poison. His laugh would never be directed to a silly joke or a fun night of intimacy, but to the thought of his plans soon coming into fruition.

And it isn't his fault when people fall victim, when people play into his hand. He has never asked for them, for their affection. It's their choice to have done what they did, to feel how they felt. It's always been their choice.

For love is a complicated thing, bound by perfections and imperfections, of dread and euphoria, with happiness and sorrow, and it's subjective, different to all, some want it and some don't. Some even need it.

And that is what makes it dangerous. The ambiguity. And those who yearn for it are the easiest to fall victim to this ambiguity.

Paper doesn't believe in 'love at first sight'. There is no such thing, for despite all his doubts and disdain, he knows enough to understand that love takes time, love takes effort, it takes ups and down and rights and wrongs.

The right word for the term 'love at first night' is infatuation.

"It is the exterior of the product that draws people in, and it's the product's content that convinces the customer to go forth with the purchases, even if it means a high price."

"Why are you reciting some metaphor now?" He recalls saying to his lover whilst he laid weak on the white, stained mattress.

"Just wanted to remind myself how I first fell for you."

He had sighed then. "You didn't fall for me, you fell for the idea of me. Do you not understand how I am not the person I am in your head?"

"Wished people understand that more, the concept and all..." His lover had said. "Wish I did."

Paper could only nod, before pulling the plug. Crocodile tears and a trinket from his time in theatre rendering their usefulness.

On the inside, he isn't sorry, he doesn't care, couldn't, but on the outside, he should contradict this. He knows the world doesn't show mercy towards people like him. Paper knows not to do the same.

There is no pride behind it, no guilt either. He believes he is only doing this to get by, that it's a part of life, that so many has done it, gone through it, it is normal. He's seen this in variety growing up, it made him the man he is today. And he isn't looking for someone to change him. He doesn't want to change, won't, can't.

Because knowing you are the danger is better than wondering whether this other person is dangerous or not.

He has met many, loved many, got to know and hurt many. But he knows with the chances he has, these people will do the same thing he does. He knows these people are no better than him.

It's the same cycle every time. They are bound to abandon ship sooner or later.

But with String, that cycle is broken.