Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, so help you God?
Everytime I see your face I question your happiness. Part of me is raging still, loathes you in a manner you you'll never comprehend. Let me explain. I tried to be your friend and help you out of a seemingly terrible situation. I sacrificed my privacy to try and help you. We found a beautiful place, clean and new. At first things were fine. Quiet, calm; the boundaries had never been broken. Rather than trying to be you, you were already trying to dress like her. Then as time progressed and you saw how my relationship was going you got more and more nosey. I had to argue you out of my room twice while you were rummaging through my things. The first time (and this is the marker when everything changed) was when you found out we had gotten married. Disbelief shredded through you and you shredded through my things, searching for the marriage certificate. You didn't know about the other stuff yet. I watched the panic take you over entirely. I watched you shake and cry. Slowly, I watched it turn to anger. Days passed and things changed. Things got dirty. Things stayed dirty. On good days you would stock the house with food and prepare meals. Little did you know that I had all but stopped eating. A few weeks later it was shown to you. The Ice. We should take this moment to clear up the fact that even when this was happening, I was honest about it. Why would you even bother lying? I guess that's a big difference between us. I hate a shitty liar. Anyway... You wanted in. You were already a wreck, a monster. Why not? Who am I to help ruin your life? Legally an adult, I wouldn't stop you. It twisted you, it made you into this... thing. You wouldn't stop talking. It was so annoying and difficult to be around you in those times. The house just got worse and your attitude toward me continued to decline. I began avoiding you. I found every excuse, every reason to be out when I should have been asleep. Now I am not saying I didn't make mistakes. I let the electric bill go for two months in the winter and I didn't really participate in cleaning the house. Not that the mess was really mine to begin with. I did tell you exactly how to deal with the power though, and I did tell you what would happen if you didn't follow my instructions. It will never be my fault that you wouldn't listen. It will never be my fault that you screamed and cried and beat on my door until you decided it was better to scream above my sleeping body. I asked you to get out. To go away. To leave me be. You didn't. I pushed you down, I warned you. You stood up and called me a coward. You got hit. I didn't even hit you hard. In my minds eye I could see and feel the hands on my biceps, and hear the simple coaxing to just walk away. I stood up to leave. Little did you know, you just gave me a legal reason to escape the lease. Thanks for that. I had a feeling it would be the only way out. I packed up and left. You told people lies. Lies about what happened. Lies about me "hitting you until I was tired". Bitch, I didn't even bruise your fugly face. You lied to people about the Ice, usually omitting guilt. You lied about the cat, the damage and the trash. You lied to your boss, your parents, your teachers, your coworkers and your friends. Yet you wanted respect. Now you're parading around with my haircut and her wardrobe claiming to be someone you aren't. You even went the extra mile to faux copy her tattoo. Change it so it's different. Pierce the lip in a different spot. You really can't be so low. At least that's what I keep telling myself. Yet here we are. So part of me is curious: What's your girlfriend's name? Oh, you're too busy being fake to hold one down. How's school, did you actually drop out yet? Are you really living with your parents? Quit your job too? You said you would have to to live with them. Why did you quit taking care of yourself? You can't be happy. Do you feel that low? Part of me thinks you should. Six months later, I swear it, you'll need to continue to stay away. The angry part of me wants your heart ripped out and your body ground up like pulverized meat. It has a plan that involved tearing you up worse than Em just did to MGK, but that part is sick of talking. So that's it. That's all I've got right now. Not so angry at the moment. Not so curious. I hope you're miserable being a copy, because you wouldn't know original if it hit you in the face.
