I could say that ever since he started spending his nights in my bed on a generally regular basis, I've been getting less sleep than I ever have in my life, and add a smirk, and my audience would have no fucking clue what I really meant.
He's either doing it more because I'm here, or it's just easier to pick up on when he's so close by. Whatever, all I know is it's way fucking harder this way.
I don't know what to do.
What the fuck am I supposed to do? I sure as hell can't just lay here and wait for the sun to rise like I did yesterday. I can't kick him out; can't wake him up; can't get to the bliss tabs because there's no way he'll ever leave his door unlocked; can't leave because I have nowhere else to go, and this rem cycle's still got at least another fifteen minutes before phase two.
I could make him come in his sleep, drown it out. I would, even considering the risk of being relieved of a few teeth for touching him when he's like this, if I didn't have this heavy feeling that I would just end up making it worse.
I want to cry right now. I don't cry. My throat hurts, and my eyes hurt, and I'm straining to see the sun so I can have an excuse to get away from him. To think, I fucking asked for this. Didn't know what I was getting into.
It's one thing to be an empath and blame it on your genes. One thing to feel someone hurt, and hate them for putting it on you; to not actually give a shit what they feel as long as you're not feeling the projection.
It's another to care, to know what he feels and not want to feel it not only because I don't want to, but because I don't want him to.
Slut, on the streets, you learn to separate yourself quickly. You say 'this is him' and 'this is me' and you know which is which. But right now, something else has come in, and it's never happened to me -- it's sitting in my hands and making them clammy, and I don't know what the fuck to do with it.
I don't know where I'm ending and he's starting, and it's terrifying.
My other option -- to revert back, to only look out for me -- is even worse. I can't imagine hating him for doing this; I don't know much, but I know it's not his fault. I know that, but I can see it happening.
I can see myself cracking. Not very loudly, not visibly, not even to him. I can already feel it, like this little lead ball in my gut that's only going to get heavier if I don't do something about it. It's hate, it's resentment, it's wondering why the fuck he's doing this to me. Who gave him the right to own this part of me that no one else ever has?
I did, that's who.
It's my fault, because I asked for it, begged him to let me in, and I don't know whether to regret it or not. Focused too hard on convincing him to give something up for his own good, and didn't even realize I would have to do the same, and that it might actually be less than fun. I don't have the right to regret it; that's what I get for being so stupid. I don't have many rights at all.
But I can see that hate, that transition, and I won't realize 'til after it's happened that I'm not doing anything for him, but for me, just to keep his brain off my back, like some fucked up kind of robot in the middle of the world's cruellest game of hot potato with no other players to pass it on to.
that happens, all of this will be worthless.