hazed

I rub my hand down my face, frustrated. This girl in front of me tests my patience like hell. When she ran to me after her dad kicked her out, I thought she still had feelings for me. She needed a place to stay, and I needed her. I offered her a room, thinking if she was around me every day, she would remember she loves me. I was dead wrong. Somewhere along the way, we switched roles, I became the one who so desperately needed her and she became cold and closed off. She isn__ my savior; she__ my punishment.

I should move away from his touch. But he__ a constant storm in my life, clouding my head, ensuring I make bad decisions. He doesn__ do it on purpose, he knows we__e not good for each other, but there__ something about us that makes us fight back harder, thinking we can overcome it.

To an onlooker, his face would be unreadable, but to me I know that look. His thoughts roll around his head like a frantic ball as he considers each excuse he'll give me. At this moment I wish I were the onlooker, a stranger, I know he can't quit for good, not yet. He's searching for the perfect sentence, the perfect touch to bid time until I'm safely sucked into his trap. When he reaches me, he doesn't ask for permission, he pulls me into a hug, wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me into his chest. He's willing me to forget__o forgive because somewhere deep down, he knows this time I won't.