Note: This is indeed the same slightly insane Vaultie from "Watching Without Him".
As I mentioned before, the stream of consciousness that this LW exhibits is more or less my own
and I find it liberating to admit that to you. 
This is completely freeform and that being said I feel like I should apologize.
Sorry. But then again, nobody is forcing you to read this.
Anyways.

Watching Without Him
Part II

Dear diary,
I found you and now you're mine and I have pencils and time and a knife and things to say
and you can't turn your back to me like he does because you're a diary.
Diaries can't run away or pretend they didn't hear me, so you're pretty much fucked now, dear diary.
Welcome to the club.

So, did you ever notice how when you're looking forward to something time just flies by but when nothing is on the go, time drags like the way that Wastelander did after I exploded his legs off?
For some reason I'm still here and so is he and it's like we've been here forever and ever.
The world is a cage of dust not able to of settle and we're no different from dust.
Like dust, we're forever pushed by forces we can't even see. We land on a rock and stupidly call it home before the wind blows us somewhere else or just tears us apart and scatters us across the universe.

I lost my train of thought there, dear diary.
Let me start again.

Motherfucking Charon.
He still watches and I still watch him watch and I'm running out of things to do.
Watching him has become an exercise in frustration, like trying to carve a knife out of a spoon.
I'm running out of things that make sense and the scratching noises, the strains of words that scrape my brain inside my head get louder with every passing day. Sometimes I just run and run to see if I can put some distance between them and me. Maybe I have a transmitter or something in my head. No matter how deep into the Wastes I go there is never silence and some sort of an implant is the only logical explanation. It's not too far-fetched, right?
Nothing fills the hole. I'm sure that nothing could make me feel ok except for him.
But I think he hates me because he still hasn't talked to me since the Deathclaw incident.
Either he doesn't understand that he could really fix me or he doesn't care.
Either way, now I have you, dear diary. And you very well may have more pages than I have days so that's one thing I don't have to worry about.

Since the night of the Deathclaw, watching him has made me feel vaguely ill and I don't know what the name for the feeling is but it feels like someone is crushing my heart and I don't like it.
I've actually started to look forward to pain and debris and cascades of blood and the way that little thing in the back of people's throats dances when they scream at you.
I'm figuring out ways to cope because if it's still going to be "no" then I need to find something to do besides using up all my grenades again.
When a grenade goes off for a split second everything makes sense but then it's over.
There's never enough grenades. Never. And there's never enough flamer fuel either.
Unlike the guy on Galaxy Radio, I do want to set the world on fire. Fire makes sense.
It consumes all doubt, devouring souls and lies.
It speaks the truth.

On that note, I can add Arefu onto the list of places I've burned to the ground.
It started as simply as just wanting to put a grenade in that crazy woman's pocket and watching her 'splode but it ended up in the whole place going up in flames as it tends to.
Oh well, they had problems anyways, right? If they were smarter they'd have just run away instead of getting in the way of my fire so it's their fault they're all dead now. That's the way I see it.

Back to Charon.
I just wish he would stop pretending that everything is so black and/or white and reach into my head and yank out all the doubt and things that make me twitch and listen for people or things who are hiding really really well if they're not talking through a transmitter in my brain.
And then Charon speaks and I come back and all I see is him and all that there is is him.
His visage all-consuming, bigger than the Wastes. Dust seems to slide off his skin rather than sticking like it does on me. He is...pure. I just have to peel away the leather and there will be fire in there.
Primal. Unfettered. Uncompromising.
Hungry and writhing underneath the shroud that he hides within.
Desperate to escape like every flame I've helped release.

So if it's going to be "no" then I'll be damned if I'm not going to make him suffer right along with me.
Last week I ordered him to wear a party hat while we took down a camp of muties just to spite him.
This week an idea hit me like a ton of bricks and once I have it worded, I'm going to tear a page out of you, dear diary and give it to Charon.
Bye for now.

Date: Dunno.

Hi, diary, it's me again, Kee.
Who else would it be? Are you cheating on me, diary?
I'll burn you if you do. Hahahaha.

So I'm going to give him the contract today.
I just copied his contract word for word on the paper I ripped from your spine
but I switched his name with mine so that the contract says that he's my employer.
I have no idea what kind of effect this is going to have, but I have nothing to lose so who cares?
The more I think about it, the more there seems to be to analyze and then my head feels like bugs trying to escape hard-packed sand and my heart starts going like a jackhammer and I find myself doing something like whipping pebbles at him. He always does the same thing though. He just sits there and takes it or retreats with a grumble. I wish he would fucking kill me. I wish he would something.
Something is always better than nothing, because as I said before nothing is nothing.
That makes me wonder. Is there truly such a thing as nothing or is it is just the lack of….thing?
What is thing? What is some thing? Just some thing? Any thing?
If I take anything and say it's some thing does that automatically make it less than nothing?
Maybe if he thought I was something I wouldn't be nothing.
Maybe the contract is something. Both of them.

Date: The day after yesterday and before tomorrow.

I gave him the contract today.
I have to…pace myself. I'm bubbling over. I'm carbonated.
We were at the shacks and he was on his rock when I came and dropped it on the parched earth before him. The wind carried it away for a second and I yelled at him to get it and of course he sprang to his heels and retrieved it. I told him to read it. He read it and oh god…the way he looked up from it, the way he looked at me…how do I describe it?
His eyes were like fire without using up all my flamer fuel. No. Like a those grenades I stash to use on robots. The pulsey ones. Blue and slow. A crackling nimbus. The ones that bloom.
"What is this?" He said. His voice! Directed at me! His hand where mine had once been on your yellow paper! "What is the meaning of this?" he said.
"It's my contract" I said to him. "You are now my employer and I will serve you."
He opened his mouth to say something but no sound came out. But I knew I wasn't deaf because I heard the wind carrying the dust. But for once I didn't feel like I had to move with it. My feet felt bolted to the ground. We stood there for a long time, me watching him search for something as his hand tensed over and over the piece of paper and me just watching him, feeding off the waves of mystification that lazily rolled over his heart and through his eyes, mixing with the dust.
"Well?" I finally said.
"I do not understand this" He said to me.
He put his hand to his head like he knew I was in there and I made a conscious effort to wrap my arms around the inside of his head and not let go as he tried to shake me loose.
"What's not to understand?" I said to him. "You now hold my contract."
I got bored of standing there after awhile. He had become a statue. More of a statue than usual.
I walked up to him and poked him.
"put it in your pocket." I said.
He balked. Charon is not one to balk, but it was a balk as sure as my eyes are green.
"How can you be my employer if I am yours? This does not make sense." He said.
As his hand gripped the paper I worried he'd crush it into dust.
I pulled my goggles over my eyes so said dust wouldn't dry out my eyeballs and wondered how he tripped around all day without feeling like a piece of jerky.
Now the dust made sense. It told me as much and who was I to ignore it?
I pulled his contract from my boot and held it with my two fingers, letting the wind threaten to carry it away to wherever all that dust ends up.
"No!" he said.
that word again.
"That's not necessary!" He sounded panicked as he took a few steps forward, his arms outstretched like mine when my Dad used to give me candy.
I rolled up his contract and shoved it back in my boot and watched with great satisfaction as he neatly tucked my contract into his rucksack.
"My first order?" I said to him. That moment. Better than a grenade. Better than the explosion at Raven Rock that had me weeping for the sheer beauty of it.
He appeared to be deep in thought for a moment, and then he socked it to me, deliberately, plainly.
"Your grenades and ammo" he said pointing to the ground.
I was taken aback and asked him "Excuse me?"
"You can't be trusted." He said to me. "No more destruction."
Wait a minute…
"I order you to retract that order and allow me to keep my possessions." I said to him.
Confusion kept us both fixed to our respective spots. He wracking his brain and me wracking mine.
But this was something. Something is good.
Finally he just turned away and went to his rock and I went to mine and rocked back and forth because it helps me think. I thought about dust and something and nothing and fire and how much I just wished I could throw his contract to the wind and have him stay with me anyways. Because I trust him more than I trust myself. Way more. I don't trust myself as far as I can throw myself.
I took out my harmonica and started to play. Well, when I say play, I mean blow, because I wouldn't say I actually know how to play and he yelled at me to "shut the fuck up!"
I tucked my harmonica back into my pocket.
"As you wish, Charon" I yelled back at him.
He groaned in the not too far distance as he shambled a little farther away and settled on his fall back rock, unintelligibly cursing under his breath.
I fell asleep wrapping his first order to me around me like a blanket.
He had ordered me to shut the fuck up and that was not nothing.
And now I feel like I may not blow away afterall.