Another knife in my hands; a stain that never comes off the sheets- Clean me off… ( I’m so dirty babe )

12.30.13 -1

Music/title: I Never Told You What I Do For A Living; My Chemical Romance
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The day I realized he was a psychopath, that’s when I really fell in love with him..

 

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“I’d just really like to cut them up into tiny little pieces.”
Looking back, I dunno why I always thought he was joking..
He always said these things in such a cheerful way when we were friends.  Everything he did was funny to me.  Hell, it STILL is, but for entirely different reasons…

We’d been best friends for years, yet dating for only a few months at this point.  And I remember he was trying to explain his “darker side” to me one night. I laughed, as usual. I told him I was entirely comfortable with him being mean to people.

“No, you don’t understand.
It’s… It’s like..
My dog. You know the one that’s sick?”

[ Yes. ]

“Yeah. I’m glad it’s dying. I want it to die. It’s a miserable waste of a human’s time and money, just the same as weak people… They all deserve to die.”

.. . . . .

 
I remember staring at him at him for a moment.
I remember he looked so small sitting in front of me; elaborating to the woman he loved, a person who’s heart was too big for her own good, that he was perfectly comfortable tormenting and destroying the people he felt inferior to him. That he actively wanted this.

And a part of me felt scared for a moment. I felt scared at the realization that the person I was dating, the person I loved more anything, could so easily and comfortably kill so many people he felt useless as a waste of space, time, and overall life.

But I saw him shaking on the floor.. I saw his heart laid out there before me, and I wanted to love it. I wanted so badly to show him he could be loved and happy despite the things he felt; the things about himself he couldn’t control.

So I crawled on top of him. I covered him with the weight of my body, and I let him feel that I didn’t care. That I still loved and accepted every part of him. Whether he ever killed or not, I wanted to be with him- despite everything he felt, or would ever feel. My life was a part of his now.

I felt his body slowly stop shaking beneath me.

“That’s amazing….
I’ve… I’ve never had anyone fix me like that..
..I love you, Bettina.”

.. .. . … . .

 
I’ve been thinking about this a lot, lately.
I feel like I should be more concerned or worried about him and what he’s capable of. Not many people proudly say, “Yes, my fiancé is perfectly comfortable killing people, and would easily get away with it.”

But, for some reason, I do..

 
I see the way he looks at me, how happy just my mere presence makes him, and I know that he’ll never kill as long as I’m alive. I know that he’ll live a content, full life with the occasional anger and urge to kill people. And I know the moment I die he will quickly find the people he despises- Ending their lives in the most tormenting, gruesome way imaginable.

I am perfectly comfortable with this.
And yet, I wonder…

 

What does this say about me?