⛓ • we'll never have sex ;; peter ballard ;; ❤︎

three

You sat in bed, alone, as usual. The emptiness that followed with his side of the bed being cold filled your heart, and you're not sure why you're surprised he didn't stay.

And you're not sure why you're acting as if you two are a couple, you two are barely friends with benefits, you two are barely even friends. Yet the title of acquaintances wouldn't fit you both either.

His side of the bed, as if he comes home to you every night and rests next to you. Letting the hardships of the day carry him back to you, back to the home that your presence always was willing to be for him and only him.

It confuses you, as you are willing to give your all to a man who cannot care for you. You two are somehow less than lovers that hold each other late into the night. But more than friends who laugh innocently together.

You're staring down at your hands, wondering if you could do better to make him stay. Alone, and desperate for more love than Peter could give. Last night he had felt generous, he had held you in his arms. Rocked you to sleep and told you, he'd never leave. That was a lie, but in the moment you had let yourself believe it.

He was gentle, and kind most of the time. Of course, he'd sometimes get rough. Slap you, harm you, squeeze your wrists a bit too tight while pulling you along in a heated rage.

But he loved you, he didn't say it back. But he loved you, he showed it every day. Those small moments when he's feeling nice, when he kisses your hand or cheeks. Setting alight the fire that dies every time he hurts you.

He does love you, you just have to look for his affection. Stare the devil down and convince him that the deal he made was beneficial for both sides so he doesn't take your life. But how can the devil be so angelic, so pretty, so kind when he wants to be and other times tearing you apart from the inside out.

You check the clock, it's 2 AM. You assume Peter had left some time ago, you roll over on your side. Holding your hands to your chest and curling into yourself.

Peter had crawled into your palace, so perfectly kept and filled with gold. He had destroyed the pillars, the foundation, everything. And when you collapsed into yourself, he swore he'd rebuild you.

And he did, but you were not identical to how you were before you had ever met him. You had been sweet, hard working, confident and bright. Now, you kept your opinions to yourself for the most part.

They were unwanted as far as you knew, Peter made it very clear that he didn't care much for what you had to say at all. Brushing you off each time you'd open your mouth to speak.

He did, however, show extreme interest in the idea of children. More specifically, of raising his own.

It gave you hope that maybe one day, he'd leave this place with you. The two of you would start a family, a grand one. That's all you could hope for, all you could wish.

It was perhaps the only thing keeping you sane, then again, most tasks that your job had to offer takes a great deal of sanity.

And, as of late, you had been running on low supply due to your "lover." If you can even call him that.

You feel the weight of everything, everything you have done crush you. There is no monster disguised as a genie in white to keep your fears away, to grant your desire to not be alone.

All these kids, everything they had been through, you took part in. They were robbed of their childhood, and all they would ever know is white walls and something like three hours a day of rainbows. Nobody actually viewed them as people, they were lab rats, they were soldiers to be.