“I made them pay.” He whispered again, his voice cold and short, but the words meant nothing to me, even though I suspected they were extremely important to him. Only his arms mattered, just the hard, solid feeling of tangible flesh enclosing me was enough. His embrace does everything his lips can't or won't do, they tell you you're safe and I'll protect you, even look like you care for me, even if It's chaotic, but everything is chaotic. Through it all, his lips just kept repeating, "I made them pay," and I felt something different but still very real, more real than anything. I hate him but at the same time I don't hate him, I don't understand anything anymore, worse than myself. I wept for a long time, taking solace in his deceptively comfortable arms. Illusions, fantasies, very helpful. I never wanted to leave. I want to stay here forever, clutching his chest, his fingers brushing my hair, his heartbeat in my ears: you-be-safe, trust-me-love, love you. Love. Do I want him to lov
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