And I’m wondering when this stopped being meaningless to me.
“God, Ben. You talk like your mouth isn't attached to a person anymore. Have some respect for yourself.”
My knee’s bouncing from the cold or the guilt.
Ben half-laughs,
toothbrush hanging limp at his side.
“Swear to fuckin’ God, Baby, you’re a piece of work, y’kno that?”
My gaze hits him again.
“Where the fuck you goin’ with that?”
He steps outside fully,
barefoot on freezing concrete.
“You bleed for ghosts and draw blood from the living.” He looks tired. Not in the eyes, in the bones. “You treat me like shit for no goddamn reason. I’m literally standing here, offerin’ ‘cause it’s my fuckin’ job, bein’ a perfect Boy for you, and you still find a way to mock me for bein’ exactly who you want me to be.”
I peer past him at the elevator inside,
picturing him leaving me.
But he can’t leave.
I don’t care if he hates me, I need him here.
I don’t have backups. I don't Boy #2 or #3.
I don't have anyone to keep the cravings from ripping me apart.
If he leaves, I’m fucked.
I raise a brow. “Ben, you tryna tell me?—”
“Nah—I ain’t leavin’, Baby. Don’t worry.
“I’m just tired of you usin’ me—the real me—to punish yourself, and then humiliating the guy you turned me into.”
He starts to speak—stops,
his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
But then he says it anyway?—
“You take the kinda sex I want, and judge the fuck outta it, but got no problem takin’ advantage of it when you wanna feelnothin’. You twist what I like into somethin’ wrong. Then shove me into the Hall of Shame.” He scoffs. “Honestly? Don’t know who the fuck to be around you.”
A laugh slips out, dead on arrival.
He raises a palm and a shoulder at the same time.
“Can’t be myself.
“Can’t be what you want me to be.
“Can’t even fuckin’ lose my shit for a goddamn second ‘cause no one else is allowed to break but you.”
