I can’t take it back. But I wish I could travel to your fucking ugly, out-of-style, old, decrepit “mansion” and kick you in the fucking balls and keep kicking you until you’re down and bleeding . . . and that’s just the beginning. What you’ve done, no one has done to me. You have fucked me in every way possible, literally and figuratively. I knew you were evil before I met you. All people ever talked about in regard to you was how you were a legitimate sociopath. “He’s an actual psychopath, stay away”. Even on the night we met, you attracted and intimidate half the guest list . All I saw was how handsome you were, and how charming, intelligent, eloquent, and decorous you are. You are so talented in many ways, but none more than hiding the fucking monster of a human being that you are.
A lot of women that you’ve fucked and fucked over, have only the worst things to say about you. When I asked Eva why she stayed with you, she said “because he had money, he was handsome, and he kept me”. How pathetic of her, I think, but then I think of myself. I’m still sitting at the edge of my bed, glass of whiskey in my hand, thinking over and over how fucking stupid I am. Because no matter what, the truth is I love you so fucking much, and it makes me want to fucking rip my heart out at this exact moment, and throw it in the fire. I love you so deeply and so completely; I love you beside the fact that you completely make me weak, and then you hurt me for your amusement.
I don’t understand your mindset, you do whatever you want, you hurt those who love you the most, and you’re adamant about how you can’t love anyone. But when I ran away from you , you just couldn’t let me go, and had me crawling on my knees back to your lap. Whenever I find the strength to tell you to “fuck off”, I start to cry and find myself cumming underneath you. Then you have me on my knees, and proceed to hurt me. You had me trapped in your fucking dark black house, and you forced me, and you hurt me so badly for weeks.
If only your ‘friends’ and those people knew of your true nature, you would be completely over. But then I think realistically, and I figure they must know exactly who you are. Even though you are exceptionally talented at hiding and disguising the monster that controls you, you aren’t that good at hiding the external signs. It’s not a question of whether or not they know, it’s the fact that they don’t care that makes you feel invincible. But I wonder, do they know just how diseased your brain truly is? How much of a sexual deviant, sadist, psychopathic monster you truly are?
In the shape of things to come, here I sit, typing away trying to get it all out. I need to spill it out, in order to convince myself to not return to your arms.