Into the Dark

by Dana Isaly

I fucking hate hipsters,

I never go for men. Ever. I don’t like them. I don’t like our breed. We are dirty and foul-minded.

I’m the girl you see bringing a book with her to social events because I would rather be reading, and because I need something to distract myself from my social anxiety.

“You cling onto people like a lifeline when you feel like they might have the slightest interest in you, whether that be for friendship or for more.

“It’s probably because I have zero self-worth and because my parents were divorced when I was five. I’m ugly, I stumble over my words, I’m too scared to go anywhere new because of my crippling anxiety, and I don’t understand why anyone would want to associate themselves with me. And it’s so, so easy to leave. So when someone shows any interest in me, I cling to it like a life preserver. Their attention keeps me afloat. It keeps me out of the darkest corners of my mind where I love to retreat when everything gets too hard.”

“Because if you’re going to love me, I need you to love me with every single fiber of your being,” My head swivels and looks back on her. “I want someone’s full and unyielding attention. I want someone to look at me and only me. That way I know that person will never leave me.” “That’s not love, Lyra. That’s an obsession. Love is forgiving and always evolving. There’s room to grow and change where there’s love. But with obsession, it can only go one way. Obsession will consume you in a way that you can’t come back from.” “Then I want obsession.”

“Just as a disclaimer, I rarely think people are attracted to me until they give me attention. If someone is staring at me, I assume it’s just because I’m fat or because I’ve got my resting bitch face on—anything other than that they’re actually interested in me as a person. But once they show interest in me, I latch on and open up. I have this houseplant at home. I’m not sure what it is, but it just sits in front of my window. And after about a week of not watering it, it will start to wilt. But once I give it just a small amount of water, it perks up within minutes. That’s what I feel like. I feel like a neglected houseplant that just needs some fucking water.”

“I just need to find someone that will obsess over me the way I obsess over them.”

Questions lead to answers, my demon so wisely says.

We all have issues. We all have trauma. If I were to judge you for yours, it would kind of make me a cunt.”

He has a fucking motorcycle. I have never been attracted to someone so much in my life.

“Your screams,” he murmurs as I come down from the high. “Those fucking screams are spiritual, Lyra.”

I am utterly and wholly his. I am utterly and wholly hers.

You’re worried she’s going to judge you for the house but not for the fact that you’re a serial killer?

I will give her whatever she wants. If she loves my monster, I can love her angel.

I’ve just adopted a girlfriend.

“I don’t know how to feel those things,” he finally admits. “All I know is that I don’t want you to leave. So I’m not letting you leave.” I grab his face and make him look at me. It’s ridiculous he would ever think I would want to. He gives me everything I want. I don’t need love. I have never needed love. “I don’t want to leave. And I don’t need your feelings. I need you to devour and dominate me. I need to be a part of your every waking thought. I need you to want me, not love me. Love can be broken. Love can fade. Love ends in cheating and divorces and trauma.” He blinks and looks like he wants to interrupt me but lets me carry on my rant. “Obsession doesn’t fade. Obsession dominates and controls us. It monopolizes our thoughts and our actions to the point we can’t see past it. That’s what you are to me, Elijah. You destroy anything else in my line of sight. You are it for me. Every part of my body cries out for you.”

“Love is the most fickle emotion there is. It’s toxic. It infects you and makes you feel safe and secure, and then it fucks off and decides it would rather connect to someone else. Love ends in disaster. It leaves a trail of heartbreak and destruction and poison in its wake. Love is a tsunami. You don’t survive it.”

“I can’t give you love, Lyra. But I can give you myself. You can have all of me. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t belong to myself anymore. I belong to you.”

What a way to go—being in the arms of the only person that could make me feel. I smile up at her and take her in one last time. I think, maybe, I love her. I give her arm one last squeeze. “Mine,” I whisper.