Spartan.

Like a copy of a copy of a copy. He speaks and my breath quickens and I absolutely loathe myself for it. There is no question about intent but it's the history that got you there that makes your heart absolutely sink. Junk sick lakewood dawn and olympia night on bathroom floor, a crust of tar surrounds the heart and the things that poke through are what cleaves the body and makes the half-boy emerge. You entered into a covenant, and that was your choice. There is no way to act other than with honor, but the thoughts are not always so easily persuaded.

He looked at me and said, "so, how was your day?" and there wasn't a trace of mockery or haste, and it made me feel like my life is happening underwater. Like there is no action, just reaction, and somehow I got used to it. A blow dart through my flesh and I was so unprepared for it. And ever since the only thing I can think about is how to keep from going over the thin line that separates support from dependence, help from enabling. When I feel that it's already crossed. We are all adults here. That is what I keep forgetting. There is only one life.