You probably don’t want to read this because it got weird and I don’t even know.. but writey!
Everybody has a self destruct button. And it had taken Sam Wilson no more than 20 minutes to find mine.
It was fantastic, really. I couldn’t help but admire his prowess. It must have been incredible to watch. The boy - and yes, I will call him a boy - was a genius, but not in the ordinary sense. It was easy to see he could struggle with maths, or spelling, or anything requiring logical thought… but emotions. He could twist and turn them and devour them and come out wholly as himself and it was amazing and terrifying and I think, when he destroyed me, I fell in love with him, a little bit.
I fell in love with the idea of him, a boy - a man - who genuinely held the world in his hands.
Sam Wilson had me at his beck and call. Not that he’d ever call - he didn’t need me. I was amusing, for as long as I lasted. So yes, 20 minutes. After that, I was just another toy. Minion. Slave.
I can think of at least 12 more disturbing words you could use for what I am - was - to him.
I still think - call me delusional - that I was something different. Because, yes, I was easily manipulated, weak, a joke. But he chose to manipulate me. He didn’t need to. But he wanted to. For a joke.
And when I was broken - when I was his - he chose to have me. He didn’t discard me, like the cigarettes he loved to smoke, he kept me.
And yes, looking back, he was a complete and utter bastard, and I was a complete and utter fool.
But this is how the world turns. Girl meets boy.
I don’t know what drew me to him, or him to me, or why he chose me.
There were 5 of us. 5 girls. The first time we met, there were 5 girls fawning on him, and unashamedly, I was one of them. He was attractive. Older. Smoking, dressed in leather. Being with him would scream rebel and we were all fighting for a label of any kind.
I suppose he saw my weakness straight away.
He saw how easily he could press that tempting self destruct button, how readily I would let him. No, it’s not a metaphor, not innuendo. There’s no deeper meaning. He knew from the start I was ready to fall apart at a word. He used it, wielded it, held it over me.
And I let him.
I accept the blame in this situation - I was always going to, when it came to Sam Wilson.
