I said I would do anything for him, and I meant it. It wasn't just an idle promise, it wasn't just a favor. I meant it.
I said the words, but didn't know the responsibility that came with them. Yet I meant it.
I just didn't know what he wanted me to so was so simple, yet so fatal.
He asked me to be trust him. He said in order for me to confide completely, I had to trust him completely. In return, he would be my friend.
A surge of loneliness hit me, and I agreed. I began a friendship with the man who destroyed me.
It began wonderfully. I had a friend, someone to talk to. He was kind to me; he cared about the woes and dreams of a young, lonely girl. He was much older than I was, but he cared. I told of my troubles, of my dreams, of my fears, even as I slowly began to fall in love with the man I spoke to.
He seduced me, slowly and cunningly. And I was oblivious to it.
I fell into that deadly spiral of Love, she who wounds all she touches with that fiery kiss. It was said that Love conquers all. But is it called conquering when she kills all in her path, even those who she is concentrating on?
But Love and Hate are only a step from each other and it is hard to determine who is who. They called me a schizophrenic, insane, stark raving mad for hearing a voice and falling in love with it. They saw hate, I knew Love. From the beginning.
Ever since our first conversation I loved him, though I didn't know it at the time. Oh, Gods, I still do. I still love him, more than life itself. And I want him back more than anything, though I know now that he is not who I saw at first and that he would kill me sooner than look at me. But I'll take the pain as well as the pleasure.
It is only now that I realized what he did to me, what scars he put on my soul. The physical wounds have healed, but my soul hasn't. The seduction was a painful one, but I embraced every twist of its knife.
And I remember every conversation, from the beginning onto our last.
I was bound to him, instantly. That quickly, I had no choice.
People look at me now, and wonder how I could fall in love with a voice. But they didn't know him, they didn't understand how I felt. That voice kept me alive in those months when I was in the hospital, and for a long time afterward.
And over those first months I knew him, when I had no one else to turn to, I fell in love with him. During that year, he was my life.
And for his company, I was grateful. I was more than grateful. I would have sold my soul to be with him always.
But I could never tell him that.
For even as I fell in love with him, and confided in him, and talked to him always, there was always something forbidding about him. He had a distinct aloofness, there was always something in his words that screamed "I am better than you are and we both know it. It is through my choice I talk to you and I can stop when I bloody well feel like it!"
For that reason, I was always very careful around him. I knew I couldn't live if he were to ignore me, or never speak to me again. It's barely a life I lead now, wishing for him back with every cell in my being, with every beat of my heart, with every breath in my lungs.
If you asked me, if I had the choice if I could bring him back, bring back my love, I would say yes, without a moment's hesitation. Even if he killed me, it would be worth it to see my love again.
But he never was "my" love. That possessiveness was only in my mind. I could never call him that and have him find out. Never.
Just like I couldn't have told him I loved him.
It wasn't like I didn't feel the love enough to say the words. Oh, I did. I still do. I still yearn for him, as if my soul will never again be complete. And it won't. It's as if there are tiny catches in my heart, and long threads attached to them. Those threads are infinitely long, and just as powerful. They travel on and on. I don't know where they end. All I know is that they are connected to him.
But the hooks are needle-sharp, and they cause pain. He embraces that pain, but I am still bleeding.
I am still bleeding.