"I hate you."
He couldn't count how many times he heard those words, how many times his dear host had uttered them. Softly, loudly, mentally. Whether he was alone or not, he didn't care. His host wanted to make his words clear. And they were.
It didn't bother him, not at first. He was a spirit, darkened by a demon. If his host hated him, what did it matter? He didn't care about him, not at all. It was his body he needed, not the soul that inhabited it. As long as the body could move, was functional, that's all that mattered.
(And that's how it should have been.)
"Why can't you just stay put?"
"And remain as a voice inside your head? What fun would that be? I have goals I need to accomplish. And a debt that I need to pay."
Without a word, a warning, that soft voice would disappear. Now he would be the one locked up in his mind- their shared soul. It was so easy. There was little fight to put up. His host wasn't used to this, even after years of taking over his body when it was least expected- whether to protect or simply have some freedom of his own- he could never stop the switch.
In the back of his mind, when the spirit was in control, he could feel the discontent, the annoyance, the anger, the frustration, the loneliness. His host was being cast aside so easily and it hurt. Whether he was aware of or not, his emotions had leaked through, at times, seeping into the spirit.
He hated it. Feeling emotions. Feeling human.
He'd scold his host if he could, tell him to stop this. But, he knew it would prove to be useless. He'd click his tongue in annoyance every time, trying to ignore that feeling, whatever it was, growing inside him. Guilt, was it? He read about it once, out of curiosity. What a stupid emotion.
(An emotion that made him want to stop and reconsider, kind of.)
"Stop trying to hurt my friends."
"You know, they'll never remain beside you for long, but I will."
His host preferred his idiotic friends alive and well, not trapped in the shadows. He even wanted to keep the Pharaoh's vessel breathing. He would choose them over him. The one who had been with him longer, knew him better than anyone else. And he simply could not appreciate that, could he?
Was he not a friend? A companion? What could he define their relationship as? A spirit and a host. Nothing more, nothing less. Even if he did pay his rent, return small favors from stealing his body; communication was hardly the key. Nevertheless, he'd keep his host, his friend, safe to an extent.
The spirit had to wonder- had his host ever realize what he had done for him? He had sacrificed himself, put himself in danger's path for him, kept him living. Perhaps he couldn't recall it. The spirit's take overs and pushing him mentally out of his body, locking him away, caused for a faulty memory. He was partially to blame.
There was never a word of thanks for what he did, but he didn't need it. What was thanks to a demon? Just words that held little meaning.
(He wouldn't know how to react to kind words from his host anyway.)
"I want you to leave me alone!"
"...Is that what you desire, landlord?"
He had, for a while. Simply waiting, watching in the back of his mind. Life was dull. Listening to his wish was stupid, he couldn't remain quiet. The spirit had a taste of freedom and it was delicious. His host was even better. Providing him with so much more. A fight, a tender soul to rival his tainted one.
A mixture of feelings would rise in his chest thinking about how they were different halves to one whole. They fit together, but not precisely. One too pure, the other too contaminated. And there was something inside him, a driving force telling him, whispering into his mind- he had to force the darkness onto his host.
He fought it, though didn't need to. His host would never succumb to the lingering darkness in the ring. He was a light to bright that not even the darkness could touch. It would make the spirit smirk. His host was stronger than he realized.
(But he would always fall in despair when left alone for too long- that's where he came in.)
"I wish you would just disappear!"
Those words stung more than any other. It was a wish, embedded into his heart. He wanted the spirit gone, forever. Maybe not. When he had taken a moment of absence, his host would realize how alone he was. He had friends, but how often were they around? How often did they know what he was thinking? How could they know how to help him?
The spirit had tried to help, in his own way. It wasn't the best of ways, violent, unusual. But what could he expect from a being from the shadows? He brought comfort, a voice. Someone was actually with him, even if he lacked a physical body, his host would never truly be alone.
And he could always feel the conflicting feelings bubbling within his host. To have him gone or to keep him. He couldn't decide what to do, his indecision was almost contagious.
Perhaps leaving him would grant him happiness. Perhaps not. He would miss his host, though never admit to it. He needs him now, though the feeling may not be mutual. He shouldn't care. He didn't, he told himself he didn't.
He couldn't remain in his body forever and maybe it was time he left. If his host truly hated him and would find happiness in his disappearance, then he couldn't ignore it. It could be his final debt to pay, the one to fulfill this one-sided contract.
The spirit wanted to stay, but his host wanted him gone.
He was his host, he had been his host, and he always will be his host.
(And that was something no one could take away from him; they would always be tied together. He was his host and he was his spirit.)
"If that is your wish, then consider it granted."
The world was silent, his body feeling empty, as if missing a part of himself. A burden had been extracted from his soul, yet that didn't change the fact it still felt heavy. A weight lingered, even if something had been lost. He knew what was left this mark, what- who was gone.
It's what he wanted, he tells himself. It was what he wished for.
"Why was that the one thing you had to listen to you?"
He couldn't believe it. The spirit was...gone. He was really gone and he should be happy, but...he wasn't. Why had he thought to grant that one wish? That wasn't what he desired, not at all.
The host regrets saying it, thinking it, telling him his supposed desire. He wishes he could take it back- why can't he? Maybe if he wishes hard enough, he'll grant that wish to.
But, he knows he won't.
"I...hate you..."
("I miss you.")