Throughout my ranting the mare seems calm, the words I violently throw at her fall off like water off a duck's back. Her emotional hide seems almost impenetrable and I wonder what on earth has happened to her to make her so thick-skinned. I keep thinking that something I'm saying is going to hit home. Finally, it does. I've found my black arrow to her dragon hide. I don't know what it is about what I've said, but I see her flinch. Her previous lack of reaction makes the subtle movement so much more pronounced.

She steps close to me, and if I had been feeling more vulnerable, more yearning for closeness and affection, I might have stayed still and let her breath caress my cheek. But no - I'm fucking pissed. I don't want to be touched or loved or whatever this shit is that she's trying to pull. I throw my head back and lift my forefeet off the ground, backing away with an enraged snort. "Don't touch me!" I spit. I don't want to be touched when I'm pissed off, I don't want to be breathed upon. Don't even think about me. No I'm not fucking psychic but don't think about me!

'I see you're upset, and as your friend..'

And she goes on, stumbling with her words. Yes, I've hurt her. A sick satisfaction spreads through me, as if somehow this is what I feed on. My eyes wide, looking her large, upset form up and down. I'm upset, of course I'm upset. No good reason, no logic. If she asked what's wrong I would tell her that I don't fucking know. 'That's what friends do.' Is she my friend? Her kindness when I'm standing here trying to crush her soul stops me from continuing on my rampage. She's making it difficult to rage, to be irrational, to lose my mind over nothing.

More calmly than almost anything I've said before, a deep and low, serious tone slips from me. "I do not have friends. I have never had friends." My eyes narrow at her. "We have never been friends. You are my herd mate, you are my subordinate by rank. Whatever you think has bonded us has been in your imagination." I don't yell, I don't stomp. Her offer to be the shoulder to cry on (if I cried) is touching, and though I like to pretend it, my heart is not made of stone. A part of me doesn't want to crush her hopes that we are friends, somehow companions against the world. But I'm not trying to be mean when I tell her that we aren't friends. We aren't. There is nothing that binds us, and I don't see her awkward emotions, general apathy, or psychopathic companion as bringing us closer. I don't believe we will ever be what I consider 'friends'. It is true I have dealt with her more than other herd members, and certainly more than any of our other soldiers - even Oxy. But the emotional connection that she imagines... is a fairytale.

She's right. I am just venting. I am mad about nothing, there is nothing that she has done. There is nothing else I'd like to say - she's taken the wind out of my sails. Instead I have a simmering anger that I cannot dissipate and yelling at her doesn't even seem fun anymore. Only December could make having a bitch fest so exhausting. Now, I don't know what to do with myself except sulk. Sulk and be annoyed at the pale mare for leaving me SO unsatisfied. PASSIVE raging that you can't control and can't let out is even worse than the screaming kind. Thanks December, you made it worse. I glare at her and sigh with exasperation. What a headache.

WC: 633
Tag: @[December]

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool