No body's perfect.
Heh, that's what you like to think.
He's perfect.
I've known him for years, lived with him, loved him. And I could never find a better adjective to describe him, even when I'm mad at him. I always find myself shaking my head, smiling and muttering that he's so goddamn perfect.
It's annoying.
So goddamn annoying, though, it shouldn't be, because, that's exactly what I love about him, it makes him who he is.
Irreplaceable.
I don't know, I guess, he makes me such a fucking sap that I wanna slam my head on the table over and over again until I bleed and can't think straight anymore, but you see, I can already picture him shouting at me how much of an idiot I am for it, and telling me to get my ass into the bathroom so that he could stitch me up, and that stops me before I get too carried away.
He's noisy.
He doesn't shut up, it's like he needs to talk every second of the day, if he doesn't, he'll explode. Complaining about life, work, bills, my existence, anything at all.
He's mad.
He has pulled his gun on me several times for the smallest things, dirty socks on the couch or almost getting myself killed. It's all the same to him.
He lies.
He says he doesn't want me to follow him around like a puppy, tells to me to go back to Wammy's and play with my video games. I stay. He doesn't complain.
He shouts.
God, can he shout. The entire building shakes when he shouts at me, that I'm a fucking idiot, that he shouldn't have let me stay, that he regrets ever seeing me again, saying he'd wasted his time on me for nothing, that I was nothing and that I should leave him alone, go away.
He cries.
A chocked sob reaches my ear when he's 'asleep' in the other room, the walls are so thin I can hear his breathing. He wouldn't shed a single tear for me if he meant his words about wanting me to leave, and I know it.
The next morning, it's like nothing happened.
He sneers.
He looks at her with disgust, as if she came here uninvited, as if they were enemies of some sort. He leaves the table, letting us have dinner alone, slamming the door behind him so hard the walls shook. I know I did the wrong thing, but how else was I supposed to know for sure?
I apologize to my date and lead her out; she leaves with a sad smile as if already knowing exactly what happened. Three minutes later he's in front of me decorating my face with bruises.
A black eye is the new twig, can't ya tell?
Let me say it again.
He's insane.
He's uncontrollable.
He's irrational and stubborn as fuck.
He is an arrogant bastard that doesn't give two shits about what others think of him.
In other words, he's perfect.