In all your mythological, delusional wonder, you have gone back online and have officially begun laying the foundations for your next castle of lies and trolling for your next victim. I know once you have selected her, you will tell her a mountain of lies about me just as you with the rest who came before her. That your wife (who you will refer to and denounce as your ex) ruined your life, that your daughters are “just like her,” that everyone lies about you and hurts you and you are the victim. How your parents denied you things you felt you should have gotten. How people turned against you. How people denied you this or that. How you lost everything because of things others did to you. I know you will lie about me, show her pictures of me so she has a face to go with the name, and I do not care.
You will tell her all the good things about you that are only half-true and the rest delusion. You will talk about jobs you had in you early years and your subsequent worth that seem like you had conquered the world with the work of your bare hands. You will brandish your talent about the air like a freshly sharpened and polished sword, certainly a piece meant for display only, and amaze her with your art. Your intelligence. Your eye for detail. The knack of seeing things others with more experience “somehow” missed.
You will overwhelm her with a deluge of music as use it as evidence, proof, verification that you are emotionally genuine. That you feel something when you hear it. You will send her songs one at a time and tell her that usually people don’t listen and entreat her to just this once. You will tell her how you chose them for her, eventually saying that they make you think of her. Some of them will be songs of lamentation, filled with singer after singer mourning past loves that did them wrong, that abandoned them, and then you will draw her into conversation about how hurt you are that you are starting over again. How you thought you finally had it right. And then you found yourself alone. In sorrow. Aching with loneliness. Burdened with a heavy heart.
You will pursue her relentlessly, wantonly, shamelessly. You will wear her down. You will seduce her, all the while these mystical lies swirling about her head in a dance, convincing her that you are worth it. That you have just been hurt one too many times. That you are the victim and are scared but had to invite her in because she makes you laugh. Because when you see this or that you think of her. You wonder how she is. You miss her in her absence. You will make her believe you are falling for her.
This is the folklore of Kevin. A story, a grandiose fiction and nothing more. But I do care about is how these lies will unfailingly lead into all the hurt, sadness, emptiness, loneliness, frustration, anger, chaos, suffering, and torture that follow after. I care that you are ready and are seeking to prime and manipulate another innocent into the destruction again. So yet another almost broken and shattered soul will be left behind in your wake.
I care that those around you will be silent and tell her only long after she has already figured it out herself. I hurt for whoever falls into the trap, because I know the free fall that is about to ensue. I know the things you will do to her, how you will blame her, how you will come close to killing her as you did me — multiple times — how you will devalue her, run around on her with women inflicted with incurable, fatal diseases, how you will steal her money, sell her possessions, threaten her, cut her off from her family, hold inside against her will, audit every call and text in and out against the online accounts, how you will leave her without the phones, how you will force her to give up all her passwords to you and punish her for everyone in her contacts lists, how you will get her to leave her job, how you will trap her in that house with you, how you will have people watching the house and the rare occasions she is out alone, watching her, how you will beat her, how you will deprive her of sleep, how you will bully her into sleeping with you, and how you will beat her like a man, give her black eyes and busted lips, and then turn around and get in her face and tell her that you love her. That she is your home. That you don’t know how you lived without her. And then do all these things again and again. Never apologizing, never once saying you are sorry, because she is the broken, defective, useless, worthless one. The one who has so little value that she shouldn’t exist at all.
I care that she will believe you. I care that she will sob uncontrollably as she pleads and begs with you to spare her life, and you will look her in the eyes and mock her. You will tell her that you don’t care. I care that she may come to a place where she is resigned to die with you and goes as far as I did only to have you walk out and leave me there, not caring whether or not I actually died. I am fearful that she would succeed.
Being with you is like being dead. There is no happiness, there is no hope. Everything precious dies in your possession. Everything becomes lost.
You think that because I lost everything because of you, that you won. That I got what I deserved for leaving. You think that I am cowering in the dark, hidden in a far away corner, being startled at every little noise, because I am afraid of you and I dare not enter into the light and tell anyone about what you did. You think I am worthless without you, that I needed to you in order to have any value. You think that all the life, the joy, the happiness, the hope has been sucked out of me. But you are wrong.
You think I wouldn’t tell anyone, but I have.
You think I wouldn’t dare contact someone I don’t know to warn them about what you really are.
You think I wouldn’t risk the chance of you coming after me, but I already have that target on my back.
You think I wouldn’t be foolish enough to break that silence.