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Oliver Pike (notafishie) wrote in wariscoming,

He thought about what Faith was saying. He picked up on the fact that she wasn't really talking about him any longer. He thought very carefully about his words before he said anything. "It's a monster, Faith. It's a monster that lives right in here." He tapped his chest, in the area of his heart. "Doesn't matter whether your first time is an accident or not. That monster just curls up around your heart and starts eating you alive. You can fight it, if you've got people around you to support you. Failing that, you can hide from it. That's why I did, boozing myself to high hell so that I can barely remember a couple days over the span of a couple months. If I hadn't done that?" He shrugged helplessly. "Things might've gone a whole different way. 'Cause I didn't have anybody. Not a single person I could've called. And I couldn't have fought off the monster on my own. So that would leave one option: Feed it. Make the pain go away by giving in to the monster."

He leaned forward again, resuming the position he'd had before the story. His hands trembled a little, but they were gradually steadying. "Those couple days I can remember? I was damn close. It hurt so bad that sometimes I just wanted to say fuck it, fuck this, fuck trying to be good, I just want to stop hurting so let's fucking party. Only reason I didn't is because I was sober so rarely that when I was, I had the strength to fight it off. If I'd been sober more often? No way I could've dealt with the relentless onslaught. Hell, I can still barely deal the memory of it now. No way would I have been able to handle it then."

He sucked in a breath before continuing. "I've moved past it now. Mostly. But it never goes away. On a good day, I'm mostly fine. But on a bad day?" He smirked mirthlessly. "Take the other day, those three jerkoffs in the club. I was turning to leave when the first punch hit. Only reason I was leaving? I caught myself thinking about pulling out my gun and making them regret mouthing off to me." He sighed, looking down at his hands, steady now. "Three 'real people' who's only crime was being retarded enough to mouth off to the wrong guy. And they were about this close," he pinched his index finger and thumb about an inch apart, "from getting nice big holes blown in their heads."

He looked up from his hands now, his eyes back on her, intense. "So yeah. I get it. I wish I didn't, but I do."