You’re such an asshole. You don’t even care. You’re like, “Hey, pussy,” and you go to the ends of the earth to make it happen. What about me? What about how much better I am without you? What about the fact that my brain makes no distinction between you and a harmful addiction? You shouldn’t respond to me. You shouldn’t be texting me from that number. Proves me right. If you cared about me, you would leave me alone. As is, if you come, you might as well bring all the shit that got me here in the first place. At the very least, you should bring acid.
I’m hurting. I’ve been hurting for days. I can’t resist anymore. You, or anything. If you’re a good person, you’ll let me suffer for now, and you’ll disappear. Ball is in your court.
But if you’ve gotta be the devil, I’ll pay for your Uber.