I wanted to believe him, truly. But, I had put my trust in his hands once before, only for it to be crumpled up and discarded like garbage. Now, when he tries to assure me that it would never happen again, I couldn't tell if he was being truthful, or if he simply wanted me to be his pawn again. A pawn in his cruel, sick, and twisted game, where I question my sanity and rip fistfuls of hair from my skull. He continued to persist. Caressing my cheeks, looking into my eyes and giving me such a deceitful, yet warm smile. The look in his eyes when he says 'I'd never want to hurt you.' The soft kisses that trail from my lips down to my waistline. That's when I think... maybe he didn't mean to. He couldn't have. Maybe I'm insane for thinking he would ever do that to me. How could I possibly believe anything else? He loves me... right?
The only small yet crucial flaw he had in his little game was leaving me alone with my thoughts. Whenever he wasn't speaking or touching me, my mind would start racing and my stomach would begin to feel like a whirlpool. The thoughts that came from my overthinking revolted me. Maybe I was too forgiving. Maybe he did lie and I was just too idiotic and naive to fall for it again. 'I'm not going crazy', I whisper to myself. Maybe I hated myself more than I thought I did, and the only reason I stayed was because I didn't want to let go. I didn't want to let go of the only person who I'd spent all this time on, despite the words he'd spew or the actions he'd commit. He knew me, maybe even more than I knew myself.
And the cycle would start over once again. I'd convince myself he loves me more than anyone in the world could ever, that I'm simply overthinking, yet again. But, then I wonder, why on Earth would I be thinking so much if it was nothing.
Please... please just give me a break. Just... just let me lay here. I don't care if it's the same routine. I don't care if we're bad for each other. I can't leave. I can't.
His eyes were so comforting, screaming everything he didn't say. Let me stay here, wrapped around his finger like a toy. It's better than waking up to reality. The reality where I'm angrier at myself than I am at him. The reality where we aren't meant to be. The reality where he'll never apologize for what he did, and he'll never change.
Believing his lies and ignoring my gut are much easier than accepting what's at fault, and having to build myself up again. All over.
YOU ARE READING
yellow
Short Storycollection of drafts and short stories, or thoughts i was too afraid to speak
