»part 12 » that fucking stare

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"reality will break your heart, survival will not be the hardest part..." - paramore - 26

" - paramore - 26

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Love is a bitch.

A cold-hearted bitch that does nothing but take until you're left with an empty vessel of a heart. It has no remorse, no conscience, and no limits. Love will take everything from you like it's their sworn duty. It will wear you out leaving nothing behind but sour memories and built walls. It's a hypocrite. Love wants nothing more than to give you it's all but vanishes the second you're hurt and alone.

Love is a hypocritical bitch.

I guess you can say I'm in a nasty mood since my last therapy session with Dr. Etsy. Today we talked about him.

About Lip.

I told her I didn't want to. I told her I couldn't. It's been six months since I left him behind. Six months since I left him with Karen and her unborn baby. Six months since I last felt my heart. Six long ass months and I still can't talk about him. The second his name leaves my mouth; my heart wants to jump out with it. My blood runs cold and an unbearable aching courses through my body. The ache that tells me he still has my heart wrapped around his pinky.

His name is like a sin.

I tried explaining this to her while dancing around the subject that it still hurts. But she knew. The second the 'L' rolled off my tongue, I strangely became aware of my body. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. I folded my arms and unfolded them while playing with the dainty rings on my fingers. The seat I was sitting in suddenly felt like a rock and my clothes were too thick.

It's like a curse.

Dr. Etsy eventually got the point and told me to stop, close my eyes, and breathe. At first I thought it was a pathetic attempt to tame my beating heart that therapists used on every patient. I waited five minutes before walking her through the tyrant that was Lip Gallagher. The second his name fell off my lips, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. My breathing became easier and the ache disappeared into a small buzz. It scared me because I wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. She asked about our fighting. I relived it all. I told her about the screaming, the fighting, the throwing, the blood. I told her about my triumph with the killing bat. I told her about Karen. I told her everything. I cried, I cussed, I screamed, I smiled, I blushed. I was a bundle of emotions until she asked me her final question before the end of our session:

Did you leave because of him?

At the time, I laughed it off and told her that stupid boys don't dictate my decisions like that. She smiled at me, the way you would at a dying patient, and told me that she was proud of me.

And then she told me that talking about the incident and admitting the truth, were two different things. At the time I didn't know what the fuck she meant.

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