You robbed me of my name. You named me Lo li ta. Something simple. Something with syllables that rolled off the tongue. Something that I had no choice in. How typical.
You cast yourself as some kind of victim. You acted the fool in print. You acted the pathetic, put-upon victim. When in reality you were the predator.
You fleshed out your character in print as the urbane humanist who had this little weakness for young female flesh. And then it was all my fault. Because of proximity. Because you insisted that you saw something in me that wasn't there. Interest. Sexuality. Maturity.
You just wouldn't leave it alone. Not for a day. Not for a minute. I always knew that you were watching. Constantly watching. Looking for a small avenue inside my head. Where I kept myself.
You killed my love. You killed the man who offered me an escape. An avenue away from your control. An escape from your vigilance. Yes, he was just like you in a way, but he gave me the chance to act. To be myself.
Luckily I could force you out. Keep you out of my mind, if not my body. Just keep it on the vapid level. Just act the kid. Just act the sullen teen. Just act my age. Resist the esoteric. See I do know a few big words. You resented it. You pushed. I kept my guard up. I had no choice. You saw to that. It was one big emptiness.
You wondered about the poverty. You felt so sorry for us. Living like we did. And you gave me money. That was good. For services rendered, I figure. But I wouldn't trade one moment of squalid freedom for the guardianship that you provided. With the slavery that it implied.
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2 comments:
it's always like that.
the last sentence.
That book hit me like a gut punch. It IS always like that.
Which sucks...
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