I wish I could tell you that he wasn’t much of a looker, or that his smile never reached his eyes and lit them like glorified gods. I wish I could actually find something negative to say about him other than our parting; but I just can’t. Because he’s not a bad person. He never really was. He just hurt everyone by being hurt. He hurt me through his hurting.

I was never fond of the idea of him smoking like a chimney but he did anyways. And I knew that he would never quit for me. And that kind of upset me. Not because I didn’t like the smell of cigarettes mixing with his sweet smell. Not because I could taste the tobacco on his tongue. Not because it would kill him. But because it gave me less control over him; over my life. And he damn well knew that. And I think that upset me more than anything. More than the not being able to control part. I didn’t so much want to control him I just needed to live in a world where there were variables in which I had some predictability over. In which I was able to determine Y by knowing X. He was none of those variables. And while some might say that I loved him for the exact reason that I detested him, I’d beg to differ. I loved his sense of adventure, his eyes that always seemed to be telling me something different from what his actions pursued. But he was also a very calculated individual. And from knowing him I knew how he reached his calculations. So it’s unfair to say that I chose him precisely because he defied all that I sought comfort in. Because I found home in him.

Thou dost not tremble from your touch but of your gaze; languorously sliding and slipping beneath every conceivable area exposed to the naked eye. - Kirsten

I never willingly shut people out. I never meant to make everyone think that I was some self-righteous bitch who couldn’t give even an ounce of concern for the feelings of those around her. And how much, possibly, she could be hurting them. I never meant to make those I genuinely cared about feel guarded in my presence, unsure of when I’d say something that stung. I was never actually verbally told that I do all these things, but I can tell by the look on your face that I’ve told nothing short of the truth. And for that, I’m sorry. Only I’m not, not really. It’s in my nature, it courses through my body and pumps through my veins and rattles against my bones. And if that makes me a monster, something bestial… then so be it. I apologize for nothing other than letting you get too close.

Every once in a while I get asked why I never talk about my family. Why I never talk about anything that even remotely ties me to anyone or anything. Why do I never speak of the things in my day to day life when asked? Because that shit’s just way too personal. And I can’t possibly trust you, a mere stranger, with such information. To know my family; is to know me. And I just can’t have that. Until spoken, I hadn’t actually realized this was my problem. I just thought, like you and everyone else, that I never talked about my family with anyone because it didn’t matter. But that’s a lie. Because it’s the only thing that ever mattered to me. It is not just the blood that runs deep within our veins that bind us to one another. It is so much more. It is the memories and the experiences tied to them. It is them seeing the monster that I am and somehow, loving me in spite of all that I am. It is my understanding that they are all that I have. That when you all crumble and turn asunder, they will still be standing there as the dust surrounds them. Maybe I just happen to be incredibly loyal, though I highly doubt it, but for my family I would raze the city to the ground if they so asked it of me. It’s one of those things you cannot understand unless you have a family as tightly bound as mine.

But this story isn’t about family. And it certainly isn’t about you. It’s about me and how I got to this point. It’s a struggle to let myself understand how I became so distrusting of humanity, how I became so apathetic to those around me. It’s about a boy who shattered me into a million little pieces. And how, despite all previous beliefs, I picked the shards of myself up one by one, preparing myself for rebirth. My name is Leah and I will remind you why Little Red Riding Hood had better not talk to strangers and Cinderella had better have kept herself locked up in that damned room. I will remind you why you cage your heart.