Elliot
They all act like they understand. They know the facts; I had to kill my boy friend. But they can never understand the demon eating away at me. With spider ice-pick legs it's skitters across my mind whispering how I've failed.
Lets be clear here; this creature isn't new. She has been with me since before I tried to hide in a fat suit.
She is a refined, elegant, torturous Charlotte. Every step across my mind leaves a fresh scalpel incision varying in depth. She is my inner voice. Alcohol, sex, magic, danger.. These things momentarily hold her focus. It is only in these moments of
complete
numbness that I don't feel like using some grand magical concoction to obliterate myself from existence.
I know it bothers them; my drinking and obviously self destructive behavior, but fuck them. They don't care. They pretend to care, there's a difference. Wrapped up in the drama and hormonal throws I can't blame their in ability to see. Hell, I don't want
/them to see. I want them to remain in their self absorbed bubbles wired for reality as it pertains to them.
I want to drown alone. It's easier that way. Magic makes the pain so much easier. Easier to inflict, easier to hide, and easier to escalate.
They say that magic doesn't come from sunshine and rainbows. It comes from pain.
Well then, I must be one of the most powerful fucking magicians around.