You don't understand. You clearly don't.
The way you comfort me, it sickens Me. "Don't do that", I've told you a thousand times and yet, You smile gently, with that pair of pink lips that keep on tempting me over and over again.
Is this fun to You? Why are you smiling? Is this some kind of joke to You? Am I just a joke to You?
"Hey, Stop. I'm serious", and yet, you keep smiling. Your hand on my back, rubbing it over and over again. The warm coming out from your hand bothers Me. It annoys me. It disgusts me.
You're so stupid. So innocent and ignorant. You think I'm blind? I can tell how much you enjoy trivial shit. I can tell how much you enjoy a nice home made meal, the luxury of a comfy bed, a long shower, long walks, long talks about nothing. Fuck, You really are something. And I dislike that.
I see You, no. I observe You, when You take the time to stand in front of the mirror to look at yourself. To muss your hair over and over again, lift your shirt and run your hand across your torso like it's new to You. Stand really close and stare back at your own reflection, like you're exploring your own eyes and exploring yourself. Why do you do that? Really, don't you have something better to do?
Then I wonder once again: Why?
Even though You love to go outside and hang out with other people and socialize. Why do you stay here with Me?
Why do you lock yourself up with me in the same room for days, without a single glance of life from the outside? Why do you keep quiet for so long, even though You love talking and rumble over unimportant topics? Why do you hide in the bathroom to smoke when I know You like to watch the life pass by while doing it? Just Why? Why do you keep up with Me and all the rules I have?
It occurs to Me, that You may be doing all this just for fun. Maybe you find me funny and entertaining, like I'm some kind of freak show and you have the first seats tickets. Like I'm some kind of private buffoon, or a lab rat that you decided to keep your watch on. I bet you're making fun of me right now. I don't doubt it.
And then I think You should leave. You're quite aware of it, for sure. For all those times I've kicked you out and surprisingly, you stay outside, sitting by the door for as long as necessary for me to let You in again. But you know? I'm somewhat okay with your presence here. I've come to get use to you, just a little though.
Like, When you stand in front of the mirror and you muss your red, thick hair over and over again. That bright, fire-like red hair that stands out your green eyes, and your handsome face. Or when you lift your shirt and you let me see your thin, yet well marked figure, and when you run your hand across your abs, and I can see your pale white skin, that appears to be real soft and delicate. And then, when you get real close to the mirror, and I can see your green eyes without goggles on, so kind and noble, they seem somewhat transparent and real deep at the same time, and I can't help but wonder what secrets and truths they hide. How I would love to get a glance to Your soul through those green, watery eyes.
Yes, I don't really mind it when You do that.
I don't mind it when You can't help yourself and start talking about movies, desserts, new restaurants you found, or even the last video-game you got to beat in less that 1 hour. I don't mind it when You can't help yourself and fall asleep on the couch like you live alone. I don't mind it when You make breakfast, when you try to make dinner, when you bring home a couple movies and force me to watch them with you. When you show me a new CD, or vaguely sing bits of song with a low voice, or when You shower and impregnate the whole room with the your sweet smell, I don't mind that.
I don't mind it at All. And sometimes I've come to think I actually like it and it's become part of My life.
You've become part of my life.
More than I thought I would let you, more than I thought I would let anyone. More than I want.
Maybe too much now that I think about it.
So much that You think you can do as you please. You think You feel pity for me, sorry for me and put me down like I'm so weak man that cannot deal with himself. So much that you think you really know me and what's going on inside my head. Just who the fuck do you think you are? Who the fuck do you think you are to dare to look down on Me?
With your…"understanding", and your "comprehension" and Your, your, your, your stupid way of comforting me.
The way you rub my back and make my body react to your heat, to your touch. It makes me feel powerless and dirty. It makes me want to take a cold shower and wash off any trace of you that I may have on me.
Stop underestimating Me.
Stop making me feel vulnerable. Stop messing with my head, I don't need distractions. Just stop.
Stop making Me feel like I need you, like I like you, like I love you. Don't you understand that I must, I MUST, hate you?