Sometimes I forget and think "none," but really, I saw him flinch and not stop flinching for months.

Far too much. But she kept forgiving me. By the end, I felt terrible. I told myself it was her fault, and yeah, some of it was...but I caused her a lot of unnecessary pain when I tried to get her to change. I'm sorry, Meagan.

Enough to make him turn away, tucking his hands into his sleeves like a little boy. Enough to make him think of me when he closed his eyes before sleeping. Enough to gnaw at him from the inside until his pain consumed my memory. More than I will ever know.

I'd mark it off as another accomplishment as I saw him cry. They would all cry, I could make them do it. I'd carry on my role until I knew it was time. I could take their dreams and slowly rip them apart between my hands as if it were a piece a paper and I'd force them to watch in agony. I could pick one out anywhere - walking down a street, sitting in a corner in a club, the words upon a screen. Those kind of men, those kind of people, who were so ready to love. So ready to be loved, but were either too shy or simply too misunderstood. I would show them that love and take theirs, then I'd crush them. Step on them, under the heel of my shoe and watch them cry.

I hurt.

I wanted them to hurt like I did. I wanted to know that there were people in the world that felt the same. I wanted to destroy myself and I sure as hell wasn't going down alone.

I'm sorry.

I am. I know I took something from each of them. I could see it in their faces as I watched them break. One of them calls me up every few months, plastered and incoherent, and begs me to love him. He's not moved in five years, still in place, in his limbo, wanting me to love him again. I'm sorry.

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