Thursday, November 6, 2014

The Door

Yesterday, I came home, and the door was locked, and I wanted to cry, because I knew he was with her again.

I have no right to be upset by that. He isn't mine. But no matter how much my brain says it, my heart protests, having claimed him as its own ages ago.

He's the one person I can talk to about almost anything. He teases and picks and talks things through and consoles. He is there when things are rough and I can't deal, to yell at me until I get my head out of my ass. But I can't talk to him about this. The issue is too personal, hurts too much, and he doesn't want to talk about it any more than I do.

Lestat keeps calling him my boyfriend, not realizing how very cruel he is being. He doesn't want that from me, never has. Even when we were physical, he was never how he is with girls he is interested in. It hurts and I have no idea why. I have no idea why I don't rate higher in his book than friend, but I can't do anything about it.

Today, I came home, and the door was unlocked, and I wanted to cry, because I knew he was still here, waiting for me.

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