Her Boyfriend’s Back and I’m gonna be in trouble….

 

Well.  Fuck.

Boyfriend decided that he’d confront me directly.  And “confront” didn’t mean, as I was expecting, that he’d block my path and bitch me out about staying away from his girl.  I expected a warning.  He let his fists speak for him.

Now, Boyfriend isn’t exactly a powerhouse.  He’s no football player or wrestler.  In fact, I don’t think he’s in any athletic program.  But that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know how to throw a punch.  I’ve got a pretty impressive black eye.  I’d show it to you all, but that’d sort of defeat the purpose of anonymity.  Just run “black eye” through a Google image search.  It’s not quite as bad as most of those results, but you can pretend that I look exactly like that if you want to.

So after a few seconds of me what-the-fucking at him, he let me up.  I was on the ground at this point, naturally.  No, I’m not ashamed to admit this.  I know that I’m not the most muscular guy on campus, and I don’t think that the internet will look down on me for losing a fight.

“You stay the hell away from her,” he told me.  I responded with something along the lines of “What the fuck, man?  There’s nothing between us!”  Of course, then I needed to explain what was going on.  Thank God it was already getting dark out and no one was around to draw a crowd.

“Look,” I told him, “you’re going to have to trust me on this.  There’s something that’s going on with her, and she’s coming to me for help because I’m the only one who can help her.”

“I know, you jackass.  I know what you did to her.  I’ve read your fucking blog,” he said.

…

Okay, so he didn’t say that, but how ironic would that be?  No, what he really said was something like “She can come to me for anything.”  I tried explaining that, no, this is something that she doesn’t want you involved with.  She can’t even tell you because she loves you so much that she wants to keep him safe from this.

I’m such a great guy, aren’t I?  I didn’t even tell him that I was legitimately crushing on her, or that it was more that she needed me than she wanted him to be safe.

…

I’m watch her sleep.  Right as I type this up.  Not even kidding.  Sure, it’s for her sake, and she specifically asked me to.  She refuses to be alone even for a second now.  Hell, the only reason I got beat up in the first place was that I managed to convince her that I needed to get us food, and she was too scared to go out.  But still…I feel creepy watching her.  Like I’m walked in on her changing and decided to keep looking instead of turning away as soon as possible.  It just feels dirty.

I wish I could say she looks like she’s at peace when she sleeps.  But she’s doesn’t.  She’s not.  She has to leave a light on the entire time.  It usually takes her hours to get to sleep.  When finally does manage to drift off, she tosses and turns.  Sometimes she whimpers or cries or her breath becomes quick and panicked.  When she doesn’t, she doesn’t look calm.  She just looks dead.  And she always, always wakes up screaming.

This is stupid.  We have to be alone for this, or else it just looks weird.  We have to sleep in the lounges because we both have roommates and they wouldn’t exactly take to well to having us both around all the time.  We shouldn’t be alone.  We should be in groups.  What if the Slender Man shows up while the other one is sleeping?

She doesn’t go to classes anymore, either.  I’m still trying.  I’m so sleep deprived, but I guess the black eye hides that a bit now, huh?  But when I go to classes, she just sits outside the classroom the entire time.  Until she sees or hears me, she just stares off into space, an empty look in her eyes.  I can tell that she’s losing time.  She doesn’t have anyone to keep her awake, so her mind just sleeps, even if her body doesn’t.  That’s maybe how it happens.  She just spaces out because she can’t face reality.

And when she is spacing out, she’s often sketching in that damn notebook.  No, I’m not uploading the pictures.  I rip them up before she can see them.  I’m not subjecting her to that.

The sad part is, I honestly don’t know which is worse: the times when she’s numb, dead, and empty, or the times when she’s paranoid, panicked, and slipping into insanity.  She’s rarely ever lucid before.  I’m just her anchor.  Her babysitter.  That one constant she refuses to let go of because I’m proof that she’s not crazy, that this thing does exist, that it’s possible to face this and be well adjusted.  I give her hope.

But she’s still not getting any better.

…she told me she loved me last night.  She was hyperventilating and I helped calm her down, and then she started crying, and she kept thanking me and sobbing and telling me that she loved me for all this.  And it broke my heart.  Because I know that she doesn’t really love me.  She only thinks she does, because I’m the only one who can help her.  I’m her knight in shining armor.  Me, of all people.  The guy who fucking cried when he thought M died.  The guy who’s an asshole in the hopes that people just stop fucking reading his blog and don’t get attached to him.  The guy who can’t even fucking trust himself anymore.  It truly is a shame how much faith she puts into me.  A pity that I can never live up to her expectations.  Truly, I am one of the least heroic or bold persons in our shared predicament.  She has yet to realize that.  Perhaps it is for the best that she idolizes me.  Perhaps I will be her beacon of hope yet.  Perhaps I can pull her back from insanity yet.

But unfortunately, it is probable that I cannot.

I’m sorry.  I must go now.  She is beginning to awaken.