My knees wobbled as I got to my feet, hands holding the wall to stabilise me from everything. From him most of all.
"You are pale and not in the right mind to have any kind of conversation. Come, I'll take you to lie down," but his words held no warmth or usual concern.
What did he think of me? It all fell back to the same pattern: him lying to me repeatedly like I was a fool. A fool who believed every word he said like my brain cells only existed as decoration.
Damn him. Damn who I thought he was. No one ever mentioned how it felt like Mourning someone who was still alive. The question of why wrapped around my head with no credible answer.
Breathing became harder, singular and tortorous all at once. It would have been better to never know. To keep moving in blissful peace but that would be giving into his sick fantasies that everything was perfect. Normal even.
