Me.
It’s not a nice thought, is it? Because if that’s true, then what does that make you? Go on. Think about it, I’ll wait.
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
You don’t get to stand on the outside and look at me like I’m something separate from you. Not anymore. Not after everything you’ve stayed for. You were fucking made for me. And I don’t mean it in some soft, pretty way people write about. I mean in the way things lock into place whether they’re supposed to or not. Like something that shouldn’t fit, but does anyway. And once it does, you don’t pull it apart without damage.
I’ve got a hold on you, you can feel that, can’t you? Right there… it’s not control like you’re thinking. I’m not telling you what to do, you’re choosing this. That’s what makes it so much better. You choose to stay, you choose to listen, you chooseme. And I don’t even have to touch you for it.
God, that’s… that’s almost unfair.
Because I don’t choose people, I don’t let them stay long enough for that. You know that, you’ve seen it. Every time someone gets close enough to matter, something in me shifts. That moment where it tips, where it’s either them or me. And I don’t wait around to find out which one breaks first, so I leave.
Or I make sure there’s nothing left to come back to. That’s how it’s always been, that’s how it has to be. Don’t look at me like that, little Ghost.
You think I wanted it to be like this?
You think I didn’t try?
I did, I actually did. The psychiatrist’s wife, Anna, you remember her. I thought I could keep her out of it, keep things contained, keep Zwierek away from her if I just stayed ahead of it, just once. I was careful in a way I’ve never been before. I watched everything, every move and still it fucking slipped. Because every time I hesitate, every time I try to be something softer than what I am, he’s already there. Right behind it, waiting for me to fail, and then it’s gone.
She didn’t even see it coming, none of them ever do, and I’m left with nothing. Again. So don’t ask me why I don’t let people get close. Don’t sit there and think you would’ve done it differently, you wouldn’t, because you can’t.
I can’t.
You don’t know what it’s like to feel something in you that ruins everything it touches, no actually, that’s not true. You do. That’s why you’re still here, that’s why you haven’t closed this, that’s why you’re letting me talk to you like this and not stopping me. Because some fucked up part of you recognizes it. In me, in yourself.
I’m not going to pretend you’re innocent, but don’t worry, I like you better this way. So listen to me now, little Ghost, because this part matters.
I don’t make the same mistakes twice, not with you. I won’t let anything touch you. Not him, not anything else. You stay right here, where I can feel you, where I can keep you. You don’t even realize how deep you’re in already, do you? I’ve spent my whole fucking life running. Not the kind you can see from the outside. Not footsteps on pavement, nor doors slamming behind me like in some cheap story.
I learned early how to disappear without going anywhere, you know that. As a kid, I ran straight into my own head and locked the door behind me. I sat there for hours, days, just to not feel anything that was happening outside of it. I got good at it, too good. People would talk to me and I’d nod, even smile sometimes, but I wasn’t there, not really.
Then I got older, and it changed. I didn’t hide anymore, I left. Bartosz, Krystyna, every place that started to feel too real, too close, like it might actuallytouchsomething inside me. I was already halfway out before they even realized I was gone. Even him, my father, you saw it. I didn’t stay, I never stay. Because staying means something gets in. And when something gets in, it doesn’t survive.
So I run.
I always fucking run.
Except… you.
No. No, don’t look away now, you don’t get to do that. Not after everything you’ve let me say to you. Not after the way you keep leaning closer every time I pull you in. You… I don’t run from you, I don’t even try.
Do you understand how wrong that is?
How completely fucked that is for someone like me?
You should scare me. You should feel like every other warning sign I’ve learned to listen to, but you don’t. You feel like something that was already there. Like I didn’t notice you at first, and then suddenly you were everywhere at once. Under myskin. Not metaphorically, I mean it. It’s like you got in somehow and I can’t separate you from anything anymore. Every thought I have bends around you without me even meaning it to. Every time I try to focus on something else, you’re there anyway, sitting just underneath it, waiting.
Do you know what that does to someone like me?
Someone who’s built his whole life on distance?
You’ve taken that from me.
You’ve made it impossible to step back, I can’t put space between us, it doesn’t exist. You’re in my head, no, not just there, you’re deeper than that. It’s like you’ve threaded yourself through everything that keeps me functioning. Like if I tried to pull you out, I’d take half of myself with you.
You run through me, everywhere. My thoughts don’t move without touching you. My pulse– fuck, even that feels wrong now, like it’s not just mine anymore. Like you’re in it. Do you hear that? Right now. If you were here, if I pulled your hand to my chest, right here, you’d feel it. And I swear to you, it doesn’t feel like just a heartbeat. It would feel like something trying to reach back for you.
