(Art by Malena Grimm)
It was beyond ridiculous. For two years, TWO YEARS, she had been watching him, having him watched. Two years. She knew damn well he wasn't doing anything or going to do anything, though that was likely the excuse she gave to her cohorts. No, that was ridiculous. She did it because she couldn't let him go. And she couldn't let him go because she knew she had made a giant fucking mistake. She had every opportunity to let go. She had been told not to read him if she didn't care. She couldn't do it. She needed him. In whatever fucked up way she rationalized it to herself, that was the truth she refused to admit to herself. She needed him. But she had trapped herself in her own coward's game, unable to admit it to herself and, if she ever did, unable to do anything about it because she had done nothing but smear him for two years. She hadn't just lied to others about her own actions, and kept on lying, she had lied to herself for two years. And she needed to stop it.
She needed to suck it up and admit it to herself - to stop leading on the drooling dimwits who were feigning interest in her for convenience because, even with all their money and connections, they were fucking losers, stupid little children in deformed men's bodies; stop pretending she could prayer away her guilt; stop pretending that she was outraged and disgusted by what had happened, when she was well aware why it happened; and stop playing the poor, little victim to her gullible friends. She needed to admit it to herself and do what she needed to do. And that was to make it up to him, drop the fucking canard and be a genuine, fallible person, instead of a mess of spoiled belligerence, cowardice, and denial. Two years. She needed to admit it to herself and to everyone else she had misled, tell them all to fuck off with their judgments and take what she wanted, or try to, now that she had damaged all possibilities and damaged herself in the process.
She needed to be honest, for once, and stop the games, stop worrying about what other people thought of her. He was what she needed. He was what she had always needed and never let herself have. He had nothing. That was true. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was the truth, what she needed. And she could take it any time, if she could only be honest with herself and honest with him. She didn't even have to commit to anything. She could pay her debt simply by giving him part of her, and she knew how. One message to start. It was simple, and the path to healing it all could be started, if she would just stop lying to herself. She could have a casual acquaintance with no pressure and find out what it was she'd thrown away, thrown away for other people, not even herself. She could get pleasured on call, no strings. She could have a friend whom she didn't have to worry about living up to expectations for. She could just relax for once and be herself.
But she couldn't stop lying to herself, stuck in her coward's game. Two years. No there was no other reason for it. She could not let go, and, if she tried to now, tried to give herself to some dumb dick who was just like her ex, she'd only hurt herself more, irreparably. She owed him. She did not owe anyone else any explanation for making herself happy. But she needed to take the first step and admit that she needed him. He was part of her soul, and she could not erase him.