the way I handle his words today is to flick my car keys with my thumbnail and listen to the commentary running through my head about the way my body feels like it's burning into the seat. I remember now. Oh yes, that head voice says, oh yes, welcome back to seventeen. to eighteen. to the half of nineteen before you just turned numb. just think about... the parking lot at your school, what a car that was that drove up and the radio is still on a little bit do you know the song the boy was singing i swear he was looking straight at you, and if only mom would stop calling so much maybe you wouldn't keep having nightmares about her cheating on your dad.
his tone of voice. it's soft and quivering just a little bit and if I listen, then the sympathy will come. He's sorry because he didn't mean to do anything wrong. He didn't do anything wrong, and his life has been miserable since he lost me. he's been trying so hard. It's isn't his fault, he says, it's the way he was raised. It's our society. It's everything around him. But. I can't feel bad for him. Not today. Not again. I can't listen to how hard it's been for him to deal with what he's done to me. I don't want to be a victim. but i won't let him be one for me. I won't let him take that too.
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