Always, too much, never
I hate the way you're looking at me right now. True, I hate the way you always look at me. Like I'm the least of your worries. Like I'm just a little shit, some fucking persistently sticky gum under your shoe. I hate the way you're talking to me. The way you always talk to me. Like I'll never understand you, or anything for that matter. Like I'll never do anything right.
I'm always fucking things up. I'm always screwing things over. I always manage to make a right mess out of everything. Break, crash, set on fire, explode, that's me. And always end up getting hurt. Always getting you or others hurt. Because somewhere, somehow, you still find it in you to save my pathetic ass. But it's not about me. It never was, and never will be, about me. It's all about being part of the team, all about getting the work done, no matter what. All about the company.
I'm always late. I'm always slacking off. I'm always mouthing off my superiors. I have no respect for anyone. Always miss important meetings. Never read memos. Never get those fucking reports done on time. Never even manage to fucking dress properly. It's a wonder, really, how I even managed to climb all the way up from street rat to being second-in-command in this fucked up corp. I guess you didn't get to have your word in, 'else it'd probably be Rude, or anybody else but me, actually. I absolutely have no clue as to why it's me.
I'm just a fucking failure, man. What can I say? I'm just some little random slum shit that can fight his way just a bit better than okay. I still have no self-respect. I still drink too often too much. I still curse too much. I still smoke too much. I still fuck too many too much. I still shoot and beat people up for no reason too much. I'm just a jolly bundle of too much's with no manners on top of that. There's nothing I'll ever do that'll make you happy. Or proud. Or just fucking content for just one fucking minute in your fucking life.
I never do anything right. Ever. Not even when I work my ass off for the company, not even when I do late shifts, take extra shifts, bring my reports early, work every single fucking day in the fucking year, or work myself to exhaustion, or take on every possible mission. It's not enough. It's never enough for you to goddamn smile at me once in a while.
But it's not like you never smile. Oh no. I'm not stupid enough to miss it. I got this job for some reasons, you know. You smile at her all the time. I see it; I catch every godforsaken smile you flash at her. I hate the way you smile at her. Like there's no one else in the world. Like she suddenly makes everything better. Like she's the only thing in the world that can make you happy. I hate her for it, plain and simple.
I hate that she's the only one that can make you feel. I hate that she's the only one that can see your true self. That with her you forget everything else around you, that you almost forget how to be and act like a Turk. I can't stand the sight of you together. The way she touches you, the way you let her touch you. It makes me fucking sick to my stomach.
Just the thought of what you do behind closed doors makes me lose all self-control. Not that I have plenty, mind you. You tell me all the time. I know. But I have some, just enough to not let anything show. At least, I hope I do. Or maybe it's what today's all about. I hate the very idea of you two together. But she just fucking flaunts it in everyone's faces every chance she gets. It makes me want to break things, preferably fancy and expensive ones.
I swear, sometimes I think she's just in it for you. She'd follow you anywhere. Well. Yes, I'd do it too, come to think about it. Not that you'd ever ask me to, or want me to. Because I'm just too damn impulsive for my own good, and for the team's. Because I always put everyone, and the mission at hand, in danger because I can't use my goddamn head. Because I always charge into things full speed without thinking it through before. Because I can't keep my mouth shut. Because I'm just a fucking handicap.
"And fuck if I ever know why I care about you so much."
I'm just every boss's fucking nightmare. But you'll never fire me; you and I both know it. No matter how many times I'll fuck you or the company over, you'll never fire me. You don't have it in you. We all know what fired means here, don't need to be a genius. And you'll never do it because, for the love of me I still can't figure out why, you have this weird, pent-up, crazy thing you call…
"…huh? Say what?"
"Eloquent as ever. Did you even listen to what I just said?"
"I… uh. That is, I… whoa, fuck. "
"I'd hope so."
"…huh."
"One more time, Reno: no, you're not fired-"
"I'm not?"
"…and yes, for some unfathomable reason I have yet to find, I like you."
…
Oh.
Well.
Fuck me.
…please?