#potgposting

he pulls himself together quick after such a significant event as SEEING his abuser, the wretched demon mr. sheppard, in person. still teaching at an elementary school.

i hate that he is a part of me, now. I will get impatient, I will drown the bad shit ive done to him with cigs and booze, carefully enough to keep my eye on him though, and my gun Never leaves my person. i will contemplate all the ways to get out of this... trap. chain on my leg. so far I have threatened to shoot the gas station clerk.

I will debate violently ramming into the car next to us on a deserted stretch of road going 150 miles per hour. i will smoke a pack until my lungs hurt, because my lungs will hurt. And randy will get worried under his hat and i hate that. He doesn't have to fucking worry about me, what is wrong with the kid? I will push my fingers into his bruises sometimes to keep him grounded, or get his attention when he's not snapping back. I will hold him tenderly, and care about everything that's worrying him.

We will have good days. That's inevitable. I like having fun. I wont keep things a drag on purpose. We'll stop to shoot the shit when a gas station has an arcade. And after, I will catch a glimpse of that look— (at least, what I think it is. what it is)— that he hates me, dislikes me— even after all that. It sickens me. I know he doesn't like me. I think. I dont like when I begin to think i've been growing on him, but really, I have never and I never will.

Sometimes, I'll drive into stretches of wilderness just to get a break from it all. Even fewer times, I will leave my gun, or car keys, unattended. Just to see if he'll do it.

And he wont. And I will be frustated with him (and I won't tell him this, of course). Neither of us knows how long this will last.

He is stuck with me

That is the worst part