Just because you knew more about it, doesn't mean you were better at it.
Doesn't that sound like something Hannah would say?
She was so much tougher than me.
I was always so proud of her.
She knew how to stand up to you.
Why couldn't I do it?
Maybe I was one of those dumbasses who thought they could change a terrible person into a good one.
Maybe I hoped that deep inside you actually loved me.
I was so wrong.
I think that as much as you enjoyed being "the hotshot with two girlfriends", you hated not being able to control her.
I was the one you could control.
I tried so hard to change that.
But I wasn't strong enough.
A slap to the face.
Followed by being shoved to the ground, being bruised by your tight grip on my arm.
A kick to the stomach.
A kick to the side.
I'd try to roll over so maybe I could protect myself.
"What do you think you're doing, cunt? Did I tell you that you could move?"
Silence.
"That's what I thought."
Another kick.
If I could find the power to look up at your face, I'd see the same thing each time.
Those empty eyes.
Hollow.
Like there was no feeling.
That smirk.
Was it power?
Were you proud of yourself?
Proud that you could make another living thing feel enough pain to wish they were dead?
I think that was another reason I wasn't strong enough.
I didn't try.
I hoped that maybe, one day, you would take things too far.
Maybe I wouldn't have to wake up the next morning to face that again.
Maybe you would kill me.
I was always so disappointed when you didn't.
You were too careful for that.
It was ironic.
You didn't care enough to love me, keep me safe, let me be the only one.
But you cared enough to not kill me.
So I started to try doing it myself.
With a smile on my face.
