Detachment
Once.
I glared at the boy in front of me—hating him for all he was. His eyes full of nothing but negativity for all things—nothing was ever good enough. The boy that was before me, stood with his shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, he was mean, fake, ruthless and most of all, he was cold. None dared to cross him, no one but me. He wanted me to be everything that he was, and for a time I believed him. I told him I’d be just like you.
At his side, being everything he stood for—I would be the best. He knew I was moldable. I was weak, I was vulnerable—he would show me that I could be better then that. He taught me how to be senseless, something I learned would get me no where. I followed him like a lost puppy looking for a friendly master. He was far from friendly, but he was there to guide me. I watched as he took pleasure in tormenting others. He was only happy when others were miserable like him.
I had watched this boy in front of me crumble under the invisible weight on his shoulders. I watched as his ruthless behavior turned inwards onto himself. He no longer took pride in tormenting others—something had changed. I could only watch as he guided me towards that same path of self-destruction. Glaring at the boy in front of me, hating him for everything he was—his shoulders sagged in defeat. He relented and told me he was only in my way.
He knew I was better then him, that I won’t turn out like he wanted me to. His cold stare lessened into one of guilt and pity—both emotions neither of us could stand. He was wrong. He dropped his head in defeat, glancing back at me as he supported himself on the edge of the sink before him. I was so angry with him for being in my way. I had my own goals to achieve, none have been met because of him. My emotions welled up inside of me and there was only one way to get them out.
I hit the boy before me, repeatedly. I hit him till his face was no longer recognizable before me. I didn’t care if my knuckles were bleeding—I can’t take living with you. I fell to my knees, paying no mind to the mess I had created in destroying him. I could still see his face in my mind, mocking me, tormenting me—I’d never really be free of him. No matter how badly I wanted to be. His voice in my mind, calling me weak.
I yelled out in frustration—you’re wrong. His laugh, that condescending, haughty laugh of his—the one I knew how to do so well—echoed in my ears. My fists hit the mess before me once again. I didn’t want this—I never did—neither did he. I stood looking at the boy before me, he was a complete mess. He was trying to catch his breath, his chest was heaving, his eyes, cold and calculating against my own. He welcomed the abuse I gave him.
I could be just like you—we both knew I was finished. I was done with the game of follow-the-leader. I was done being his puppet. I was done being taken advantage of. I was done with him manipulating me. I squared my shoulders, hardened my glare at him, before I turned my back on him. I walked away from him. Leaving him a mess on the bathroom floor. I felt no remorse for leaving him like that, a bloody mess. No one pitied a broken mirror.
At his side, being everything he stood for—I would be the best. He knew I was moldable. I was weak, I was vulnerable—he would show me that I could be better then that. He taught me how to be senseless, something I learned would get me no where. I followed him like a lost puppy looking for a friendly master. He was far from friendly, but he was there to guide me. I watched as he took pleasure in tormenting others. He was only happy when others were miserable like him.
I had watched this boy in front of me crumble under the invisible weight on his shoulders. I watched as his ruthless behavior turned inwards onto himself. He no longer took pride in tormenting others—something had changed. I could only watch as he guided me towards that same path of self-destruction. Glaring at the boy in front of me, hating him for everything he was—his shoulders sagged in defeat. He relented and told me he was only in my way.
He knew I was better then him, that I won’t turn out like he wanted me to. His cold stare lessened into one of guilt and pity—both emotions neither of us could stand. He was wrong. He dropped his head in defeat, glancing back at me as he supported himself on the edge of the sink before him. I was so angry with him for being in my way. I had my own goals to achieve, none have been met because of him. My emotions welled up inside of me and there was only one way to get them out.
I hit the boy before me, repeatedly. I hit him till his face was no longer recognizable before me. I didn’t care if my knuckles were bleeding—I can’t take living with you. I fell to my knees, paying no mind to the mess I had created in destroying him. I could still see his face in my mind, mocking me, tormenting me—I’d never really be free of him. No matter how badly I wanted to be. His voice in my mind, calling me weak.
I yelled out in frustration—you’re wrong. His laugh, that condescending, haughty laugh of his—the one I knew how to do so well—echoed in my ears. My fists hit the mess before me once again. I didn’t want this—I never did—neither did he. I stood looking at the boy before me, he was a complete mess. He was trying to catch his breath, his chest was heaving, his eyes, cold and calculating against my own. He welcomed the abuse I gave him.
I could be just like you—we both knew I was finished. I was done with the game of follow-the-leader. I was done being his puppet. I was done being taken advantage of. I was done with him manipulating me. I squared my shoulders, hardened my glare at him, before I turned my back on him. I walked away from him. Leaving him a mess on the bathroom floor. I felt no remorse for leaving him like that, a bloody mess. No one pitied a broken mirror.