I can’t look up again. And again. And again. If he wants to kill himself, he’s going to stop with all the threats, and do it. Whether I am there to see the sorry sight of it or not. Part of the fucking problem is the audience. Whether the reader is never wrong or sacred in his consumer rightness or just as asshole. It’s not about the reader. A concept of quid pro quo the reader refuses to look at let alone understand. There is a part of the reader that wants the kid to jump.

I keep thinking there must be a part of myself that wants the kid to jump, too. Because I am so tired of him. I am exhausted of him. I cannot do this over and over again.

Just jump.

Or hang yourself. You are the owner of all your ropes that you would hang from your neck down to your little dick. Do it.

I try to make this rhetoric, a deranged polemic that would be about me. Not him. I am tired of him killng himself. He is not tired of killing himself. If there is any guilt to be had here, it would be on me. I am the one who is lost in his behavior. I am the one who has tried to reason with him. I am the one who has allowed his wounds to bleed all over me. I am the one who has made no progress with this kid. I am the one who is going to want to gouge my eyes out if I have to see it in my face.

Don’t. Do. It.

Just do something for me once in your twisted life.

We made one pact.

To recognize that I was sexually abused in exactly the same way he was sexually abused. It was a ritual.

We agreed to go from there. We agreed to move forward.

Only he never did.

I was only one more “helper” adult he could bring to his helper adult’s fucking knees.

And what am I supposed to do with that – with this being on my knees in front of you – am I supposed to suck your cock. I don’t suck cock. I never have. I see no mystery in it. In the same way I do not see any mystery about YOU. YOU. I am not going to stoop to sucking your cock because I am NOT ORDINARY and you cannot PUSH ME into it because that would be me not being me and I am never, ever going to give you that. There would be nothing in it – NOTHING – in it. For me. All I wanted, all I want, is for you to live. Suck all the bone from my soul, but the price you have to pay is living with the rest of us imperfect monsters.

Every kid ever born who has had to endure sexual abuse the way we did will always see adults as monsters. Okay, I get it. It’s very difficult to pretend differently, like most adults are basically good people, they do not mean to hurt anyone, but in our guts we do not believe this. We pretend we do. Pretending helps get us through the day. But we would murder most adults if we thought we could get away with it.

It would be so easy for me if in the end you jumped with the rope around your pretty neck.

I could walk away.

At least, that is what I tell myself. Because I have to. Because losing you would be more than I can fucking get through this I could not do it. I cannot just get up from that fallen ground.

I could just shrug and never think about it again. Another lie.

What do you want from me. To let you cum in my mouth.

That would mean you win. I have always loved you, but you don’t want to hear it. You refuse to inject it into your veins. I still love you.

But I will never, ever, ever, ever let you win.