Hi! This is another oneshot from me (it's all I'm good for!) so... enjoy!
Mostly, when I cry, I don't know why I do it.
It's normally not for any real reason. Sometimes it's petty things, like the fact that I tripped over my boots last week and scuffed the toe. Sometimes it's because of things I made up, nightmares that continue into the day. Sometimes it's just because I'm tired and my eyes itch.
Most of the time, nowadays, he seems to cause it. Not directly, of course. It's me, too. It's the way I take the things he says, the actions he makes. I take them all onboard and sometimes it's just too much for me and I have to let it out.
Crying worries me, too. I'm not supposed to be the sort of person who cries. I'm supposed to be a happy person. A sunshine person. He calls me the Sunshine Kid, and it makes me feel like sunshine, too. I love to be happy and bright and shiny, and to make people smile when they see me.
Nowadays they smile in a different way. Not because they're happy to see me, but because they want me. Sometimes I let them. I cry then, too. I cry at what I've become. I cry at the thought of what he would say if he could see me.
A lot of the time, I cry when I'm drunk. Being drunk is a delicate art. You have to know the balance between being a happy drunk and being so drunk you just feel like shit and take it out on other people. It seems I'm always a happy drunk when I'm surrounded by lots of other happy drunks. And then I get home and I feel like shit, and he's always there to take what I shout at him.
I cry after I've shouted, and he lets me, because he knows how I'm feeling and that I don't really mean it and I probably won't remember it in the morning. That's not true. I always remember. It makes me feel more shit, but I can always remember, and I know that he can too.
I don't know why he puts up with me. I'm such a bitch towards him, and he just takes it. Sometimes he's mean to me, too. I know it's only fair, because I'm such a horrible person, but that makes me cry too.
I hate crying. It messes up your make up and then somehow your hair ends up all over the place too, and there's snot all down your face... it's disgusting. And yet I always seem to be crying now. Nearly every night. It was never like this at the zoo. I know that I've changed since then. And I suspect it wasn't for the better. But I'm not the only one. Everyone changes.
Don't they?
...
Has he?
I can still vividly remember last night. I remember coming in and seeing him. He'd stayed up to make sure I was ok. He always does. I never thank him for it. I know that I should.
He tried to help me, as always. And I exploded.
It was the worst it's ever been last night. I don't even know where half of it came from. I just remember screaming and shouting and hitting and screeching and kicking and slapping and shouting and swearing and hitting and screaming and screaming and screaming...
After that I don't know what. I think I passed out, I'm not sure. I know that my headache is like a steamroller and that my mouth is all dry and sticky. And I'm in bed.
He must have done this for me. Even after all that, he did this for me.
I roll over and he's there. He's sat in the chair at the side of my bed, dozing softly. It's still early, and he won't wake up for a while.
I know I should thank him. And I know that I probably won't. And then I know that I'm crying all over again, weeping silently into my pillow. I feel like absolute shit, and I know it's nothing to do with the hangover.
I don't know if I'm crying because I never say thank you, or if I'm crying for ever being the problem in the first place.