“Ghosts are not something you compete with. One doesn’t go to battle with that which he can’t fight. You don’t jump into the mist and attempt to slice it with a knife. You can do that with flesh and bone, with something that bleeds, someone whose scars are visible, someone you can touch and know it’s real, but not with someone who’s left behind wounds deeper than one could fathom. I see that now. He’s given himself away. I’ve fallen in love with a broken man.”
Warning: Book contains triggers and approaches subjects such as abuse, self-harm, PTSD and suicide.
It’s just another usual night. While I walk towards my designated client, I cannot help but notice the other’s envious stares and the waves of hate coming my way. I heave a sigh and keep minding my own stuff. I’ve never wished to become Stefan’s little pet. At first, those stares made me arrogant. He used to bring me here and show me his club and how awesome he was. They, hishookers, were staring at me with contempt. It made me feel important back then. It fooled me into thinking I was lucky. Thinking he loved me. I still feel that pain in my chest when I think of it. It still affects me. What sort of idiot would want the love of a monster? Me, apparently. No. I don’t want his love. I just want to be loved. By anyone. I just want to know what it’s like.
I keep seeing people on the street, holding hands, smiling warmly at each other, staring at one another like they see a god or a goddess in their partners. How do they do that? Is that feeling so uplifting? And then there’s those who claim they’d give their lives for the ones they love. How do you even reach that point? I loved Stefan, I think. Maybe back then, I would’ve said the same idiocy. I kept doing things to please him. Thought it made him happy. The more he asked, the more I did. The more I did, the more he asked. The more he kept saying I don’t really love him if I am not willing to do this and that. I believed it. What did a 15-year-old know about love? What do I know about love? I don’t even remember how it’s like to be enamored with someone. I know how it’s like to be disappointed, though. I am tasting that bitterness every day of my life.
Since he broke my ribs, I’ve been operating on automatic pilot. I barely feel disgusted when old people, like this man who keeps embracing me on the dance floor right now, fuck me. I am like an object, devoid of emotions. My life is not my own, it’s his. Theirs. I am just a chained dog and the key belongs to Stefan. I don’t feel anything when they fuck me.
