Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
And if they’re so concerned about her that their argument is “it’s for her own good, so people don’t take advantage of her,” then instead of trying to change her, why don’t they put all that effort in scolding and trying to fix the ones who are actually the problem? The ones who would take advantage of her.
More than anything, I want to teach her that. I want to give herself back to her. I want her to be the sweet everyone has tried to turn bitter, because God knows we need to protect what little sweet is left in the world. Before everyone gets their way and convinces all the pleasers they should stop all that paltry kindness bullshit. That they can’t just walk around throwing out “yeses” all willy-nilly. That they need to keep all that love and nurturing nature to themselves, just because someone undeserving could steal some of it.
Fuck that.
It’s now my goal to undo the damage others have done to her. To erase the things people have made her believe about herself. All that anxiety she feels? She wouldn’t have nearly as much if she wasn’t spending all her energy fighting who she truly is inside. If she just embraced it, gave in to her own wants and traits, all the effort she puts into trying to do what the assholes are telling her to—suppress the desire to help people, to make others happy, to be there for someone who needs them—could be spent just… being fucking happy as herself.
Because in the end, isn’t she just trying to please the people who are telling her she needs to stop being a people pleaser?
Hence why her mind seems to be in constant turmoil, manifesting as anxiety and depression, causing her actual chemical imbalances and hereditary disorders to be downright uncontrollable even with medication.
They’ve twisted this highly intelligent, artistic, empathetic, and deeply thoughtful brain until it’s in knots. Add in the fact she has intrusive repetitive thoughts that aren’t able to be quieted with meds, and it’s no wonder she’s been damn near comatose the past year. She’s a child sitting between her two parents who are screaming at each other about things she doesn’t understand. Only she’s a grown woman, and the arguing is her own thoughts, taking place so loudly inside her mind she can’t focus on anything else.
It fucking pisses me off.
And I won’t allow it any longer.
For the sixth day in a row, the moment I wake up, I reach for my phone on the charger on my nightstand and send her a message I know she’ll sweetly avoid instead of turning me down. Probably without even realizing it, she’s unwilling to give me a flat-out no.
RomanticSadistLL:
Good morning, pretty. Ready for a kiss yet?
WillDive4Plants:
😂 Just got in my favorite chair at the gym! Gotta write 19k words in two days. Pray my Adderall kicks in soon!
The pleasure I felt a few days ago when the little writer told me she signed up to be in a charity anthology, inspired to write after almost ten months of being unable to, was surprising in its intensity. But I’m sure it had a lot to do with the way she didn’t hesitate to tell me it was thanks to my attention. She’s sent several messages stating in various ways that I was the reason her words were flowing again.
All I’ve done is answer her questions honestly and praised her whenever I possibly can. I feel her practically glow through the screen with each “good girl” she receives.
I take a shower and throw on my workout clothes, then grab my phone to send her a message. It’s been about forty-five minutes since I got hers, which should’ve given her time to write a good chunk uninterrupted.
RomanticSadistLL:
Then I should come by, and you can meet me outside.
This suggestion always gets the most creative diversions from my little wordsmith.
WillDive4Plants:
That's what Ted Bundy used to tell women right before he threw them in his Volkswagen.🙃
I chuckle at that. I’ve learned without even asking about it that she’s utterly obsessed with serial killers. My first clue was that time in the dumpster, when she named the coleus Edmond after Edmond Kemper. Next, she sent a photo of her in a T-shirt that read “Choke me like Bundy. Eat me like Dahmer.” It opened up a whole world of filthy flirtation over texts with the little hippy.
RomanticSadistLL:
That's not a no. I'll be by in about 15 minutes.
I taunt, even though she never actually tells me no. But I know she’s not quite ready, so I really am only teasing. I’ll still go to the gym to work out, but I won’t see her, seeing as her favorite chair she mentioned is one in the women’s locker room.
WillDive4Plants:
Stooooop. I'm hiding!
I don’t reply, knowing she won’t be able to stand it and will continue to send more until I do.