Dichotomy.

I’m a horrible person.

I know he wants me, and I want him, so why am I being like this?

Simply:

Because I’m a horrible person.

Because he knows everything now without me ever telling him.

And to put it plainly, that just pisses me off like I can’t even describe.

And it makes me hate him even more.

The truth is, if our relationship is a competition, we’re both losing.

But we’re both dying to win.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“Heard you’re not with Eric anymore,” Tom offers as a conversation starter. He puts his feet up on my coffee table from his seat next to me on the couch.

Rigby sits quietly on his lap.

“Is it because of Brendon?” he adds, scratching Rigby behind his ears.

“What?” I scoff. “No. It’s because Eric’s an asshole. And why the fuck does everyone think-”

“You’re in love with Brendon?” he finishes. “Because you are.” I laugh dismissively.

“No, actually, I’m not.”

“You so are. You have this kind of weird love/hate thing going on with each other,” he continues. “I’s kind of cute…wait. Actually, it’s not at all, really,” he deadpans flatly.

“Bullshit. There’s a whole lot more hate on my end,” I assure him. He laughs.

“You’re a bitch.”

“At least I’m honest about it,” I mutter back. He shrugs.

“Got any food?”

“No,” I reply flatly, but the truth is, I’ve been so distracted that I don’t even know.

He gets up, setting Rigby aside, and heads for my fridge. I roll my eyes but follow him.

“He’s cute, though. I don’t know why you’re so dead set on hating him,” Tom continues. “I mean, he looks like he’d be-”

“Tom,” I groan in annoyance. “This is complicated enough without you fantasizing about some guy I hate but made out with who now wants to do me,” I state in one breath, rolling my eyes. “So just drop it already, will you?”

“…you made out with him?” Tom asks, mildly curious.

“Fuck. I forgot you didn’t know that,” I sigh, shaking my head at myself, but I don’t even really care at this point.

“So you kissed him and now you want him,” Tom states conversationally.

“I didn’t say I-” I start to protest. He raises an eyebrow knowingly. “Fine. So I want him. But it doesn’t matter what I want. Because I’m not going to make the same mistake I did with Eric.”

“Right.”

“I’m not.”

“Whatever you say.”

I glare at him.

The truth is, if you tell yourself a lie enough times, you can start to believe it.