Hate Is A Strong Word

*Deryk's POV*

I looked into her eyes. I don't know what I was feeling more: ashamed or depressed. Part of me was mad that I suddenly felt so closed up with Jaimie, but another part of me just wanted life to go back as it was. Actually, it's that precise nostalgia that makes me sick with myself in the first place.

A few moments passed. "So can you tell me what's wrong?" she repeated, a bit softer this time.

I forced a nod, but I didn't know if I could muster words yet. For Jaimie's benefit, I had to try. I slumped down in my massive blanket and tightened it around me. For some reason, I was extremely cold right now.

"Ok. Well, you know how, when I first told you about my situation, I really wanted to get out of it? Or, well, I basically understood it was wrong, at least?" I started. There was really no right way to put this. Everything in my mind was jumbled and screwed, and I felt there was no way to even describe how I felt, let alone make enough sense of it to not sound like a crazy person.

"Yeah..." She said, trying to get me to continue.

"Alright. Well, I don't know why, but lately I've been... I just... I miss my old life."

"You mean, like, living in your appartment and in the familiar?" she asked.

"No. God, I can't-" I shut my eyes and threw my hands up to my face. I was just so frustrated. Frustrated with myself, with my mind, with my life, my opportunities--I wanted to rip my head off and drop-kick it out the window. I just couldn't take being with myself.

Jaimie's warm hands clasped mine. "It's ok, Deryk. I won't think any different of you. Just try to tell me." She said sweetly. She just looked so pain, as if everything I felt, she felt. I wanted to hold her and kiss her and make her world better. But how can I make things better when it's me who's the problem?

I sighed. "What I mean is, I miss..." I paused, but Jaimie urged me to continue. "I just wish you would bash my face into a wall, some days. And I just want Mr. B to get mad at me, or stay mad at me. I want to push him to the point that he's ready to throw me down the stairs! I want you to punch me in the gut, or kick me until I cry, or beat the living shit out of me! I can't handle this! I can't handle being such a fuck up and mistake and doing everything wrong! I want- I want you to hit me! Jaimie, I want you to just give me a black eye! Right now! Just, please, so it!" I asked, trying to remain calm as tears streamed from my eyes. I tried to wipe them away, curling up and scooting back further and further into the cushions. I'm so embarrassed! I'm ashamed that I feel this way! I'm mad at myself for crying! I was ready to punch myself, but I had to try to seem somewhat sane while Jaimie was around.

I felt her arms pull me from my turtle shell in the couch and hold me against her. "Come here." She whispered, and I didn't resist. I wrapped my arms around her back and burried my face in her chest, crying pathetically as she held me. When did I become such a girl? No wonder my dad wanted to kick my ass. I'm a fucking pussy!

I calmed myself down enough to pull away from her grasp. She looked at me, tear tracks down her own cheeks, and found my hand. I put an arm gently around her and brought us back down to a laying position. I was tired. Tired and cold. I started to snuggle into my blanket, but then changed my mind. I lifted it up and put Jaimie underneath it.

"The problem you have isn't uncommon." She finally broke the silence. I let her out of my hold and she rolled over to face me. "I think you have Stockholm Syndrome."

"No, that's not it. People with that wouldn't have testified against their assailant." I replied solomnly. "No, my problem is just that I'm stupid and-"

"Deryk. You're not stupid. You need to lighten up on yourself." She smiled weakly at me.

"I want to, but I just get so fed up with myself at times." I said, closing my eyes and trying not to think of how mad I was at myself.

"Listen. You are human. I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, but you're just a boy. You can't make the world perfect like you wish it were. You can't ace every test, you can't win every battle, and you can't beat yourself up every time you make a mistake."

"I know I can't beat myself up. That's what I had dear ol' dad for." I said, looking down but smiling subtly to my dark joke.

"No, sweetie. I'm serious. This," she pulled the blanket away from us and traced a few of the scars lining my chest, "is not what should happen to someone when they make a mistake. This is mutilation, and you don't need to do it to yourself."

"Actually, that scar you just pointed out was from a bike accident. But I know what you're getting at." I tried to joke around, but she wouldn't have any of it. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to mess up and not suffer any physical punishment in response?"

"No. I don't." she admitted. Her warm hand continued to follow the lines of my past, tickling me and yet soothing me somehow. Her gentle touch has always managed to make me feel better, even now. I brought her finger up and kissed it.

"I'm sorry." I appologized and kissed her cheek. "I've never been quite this messed up. I'm sorry you have to be part of it."

She nuzzled her nose against my chest. "Don't be sorry. Just remember, I love you." My arm went around her waist and I felt her eyelashes bat against my skin. Suddenly the door opened.

"Hey, there's this new, amazing creation that people use these days. They keep you wam and are kinda stylish. They're called clothes. Put some on, Deryk." Mr. B said as he walked in. I chuckled. Gotta love Mr. B.