Stolen Graces
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After everything that she did to me, after every little mind twisting, gut wrenching thing that she did to me. After it all, I still can not, for the life of me, find it withing myself to hate her. Everything in me, besides my brain, loves. Every waking moment of my existence craves her very touch, just the mention of her name causes a sick creature to squeeze through my head and stomach, and a flicker of need inside my heart. I often find myself sear hung for her face in crowded areas, listening for her sickly sweet voice to bring a shiver to my skin. Even through every fight we have had, through every scar she has given me, through the screaming and crying, the hatred, the love, all of it. Through her torment, I still want her.
She's ruined me. I'm hers, whether I truly want that or not. I know that. She knows that. I wish I could say I hate it, but She is all I think about or want. She loves the idea of me suffering at her hands.
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The Voices.
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