I feel like a little bitch, sitting in an alcove and smoking cherry cloves. The feeling in my stomach is overwhelming, and I can taste the fear rising like vomit in my throat. I remember when he called me that, "a little bitch." It made me so furious, like I could see crimson and taste the blood before it hit my tongue. Now it just tinges my thoughts with apprehension, wondering whether or not I'm changing for the better. Why am I so unstable? I'm doing these things, I swear I am, but I can't believe it. I know you're worried, I know it know it know it. I'm remembering me and her, singing in the car as we sped down the road to some barely-known destination, knowing that these songs are our summer anthems together. Believe me, these are the confessions of a king. I am the master of my domain, and I am under my own control. Don't distrust in me, because this is going to work out for us. I am going to escape unscathed, slightly battered, and stronger for it all. I will be there when you really need me. Do you see how my thoughts are right now? Mad, terrified, anxious, vengeful, distasteful. You and I, do we belong here? There don't need to be words, I know they're safe, but they're unnecessary. So I try to calm myself, try to put on the mask we all know and cherish so dearly. I am not safe in my own skin any longer. You wonder why I've changed so drastically? I can't understand why these things have happened to me, or why I've caused myself so much agony. And, God, it hurts so bad. I go to sleep with tears running down my face, my face is cracked. I remember the runs she and I ran, the nostalgic nods towards our golden days, our golden nights of destruction. Our two-headed, monstrous creation of a creature... beautiful and ugly and massive and demure. It's sort of like I'm trying to grasp onto these tiny shards of glass, and all they do is slice into my hand and I'm left broken and bleeding. How could I resist? How could I?