Authoer's Note: Fishie gup gup. These are fun, but I don't think they're as good as they used to be... maybe the characterisation is off. I don't know. Tell me what you think, please.
Habit; 15
It happened a few months ago: we were sitting in my apartment playing mind games. As always, he had the upper hand.
"You're allowed to cry," he said.
I don't know. It's not that I can't cry or anything so stereotypical; I've got working tear ducts and everything. Conversely, they're not about to wear out from overuse.
I just don't cry.
Maybe it's because I have nothing to cry about. He doesn't care about me, and I shouldn't care about him, and the situation is what it is. It's a matter of possession and of worth, and that's hardly sad.
