TWISTED ꜜ LOUIS PARTRIDGE

⟾ 24 | JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

Y/N 💥

Wednesday, 12:35am

_

I DON'T CARE IF THE WORLD HATES ME.

I don't think it's my problem, honestly. If they decide that my actions bother them so much, then it's their fault for having me on their mind this whole time. I didn't ask for their opinion. I didn't ask for their snide remarks and backhanded compliments.

I only asked for my own opinion, because that's all that I know.

I know what he's thinking.

I know he wishes I could 'understand' how he's feeling, and how my unreturned feelings 'hurt' him, but I don't see how he could expect me to take time out of my life to understand him, when he doesn't bother to understand me.

People only know what they've had the chance to see. If he's the only one spreading his thoughts, then all they will hear is one side of the story. They'll hear about the love, the heart-break, the spiteful scorn tossed out like petals of a dying flower.

They don't know how hard it is to love, when I find it hard to live.

My brain is wired differently. Instead of a circuit board of working plugs, I've got a bunch of missing wires that were clipped short by people of past torment. Unfortunately, the side of my brain that knows what 'love' means, is nowhere to be found.

And sometimes those wires start to poison the mind.

"Because I love you," he had said.

I remember every bit of that moment, standing in a small London apartment, watching as a boy poured his heart onto the table and expected it not to spill over the sides and drown us all. It drowned me, at least.

'Because I love you'.

He's lying, he's lying, my brain said to me, over, and over, and over again, he's lying, just like your parents did, when they said they loved you.

But he looks like he means it.

You can't trust him.

I should.

If you did, you wouldn't question his words.

I'm not sure if I ever fought with him in the way I fought myself. I was constantly doubting myself, and constantly putting on a facade for other people just because I didn't want to be perceived as weak. He wouldn't like me if I was weak. He wouldn't like me if I was bad. He wouldn't like me, and he doesn't love me, because no one does.

"Why do you always run from me?" He asked.

Because you never asked me to stay.

And because the last time I chose not to run, I found myself battered, bruised, and thrown into a jail cell for finally choosing to trust him. He was one the first people I thought highly of. But then he betrayed me, then so did Millie, and finally my parents. It was all so messed up, even more so than I am.

So I shut the door, retreating into my room and hoping he'd leave me alone.

I didn't sleep that night.

I just sat on the balcony, watching the sun rise, staring at a tattoo that now matched a boy who said he loved me.

Sad, my thoughts said again, he did all that for you, and you threw it all away.

I didn't throw it away.

But if he was ready to mark himself to you, why don't you trust he loves you?