I hate him, but I love him. It's all so miserable. When he kisses me I feel both awful and erotic. With all these emotions mixing in my mind, I can't seem to make a decision. He's more than high maintenance; he's a clean freak. He criticizes me about every little thing I do. But God I love him. Sometimes I want to devour him whole. When I'm with him, it drains every part of me, yet I love the painful, sickening sensation.
He's my superior and about twice my age and now he's called me into his office. I know what he needs me for before I even enter. On the walk over, my stomach is sick. I can't tell if I'm dreading the meeting or anticipating it. I love the way it feels. When I open the door, he's sitting with his feet on the desk and his arm around the back of his chair, smirking.
Without saying a word I close the door. The whole scene is hideous and sexy. I can never tell if he actually means what he says. I can never tell if he cares about how I feel, but to be honest, I don't care. It makes me so angry that I can't wait to tear him apart in return. He's narcissistic. I'm impulsive. He grabs my ass. I bite his lip.
Like this, we wear each other down to our bones. I can't tell if it's sickening or euphoric. But it's probably due to the signals we send. I swear there's a sign on me that says "love me dead". Suffocating in his soft embrace, I can feel his body taking over my every move like it's nailing my coffin. After we've exhausted ourselves, I leave. Sometimes I see the beauty in him and I want to stay. Sometimes he holds me just right, but not this time. This time we casually part ways secretly knowing we're in way too deep. He'll take everything from me, fill me up with disgusting feelings, and ask for a piece of gum. That's just who he is and I'm the kind of masochist who keeps coming back. But I'm awful too. We both indulge in our parasitic love and couldn't ask for more.