Symbiosis

We were best friends. We were lovers. Inexorably linked. For such a commitment-phobe, I fell in love quickly. But I didn’t fall, really. I dove headfirst. I chose her. No, she chose me. She was always lurking in the shadows. She always knew I was The One. She was just waiting until I was ready. She loved me. She watched as my hair fell out in clumps, She handed me the mouthwash and she soothed me as I nursed the blisters on my knuckles and together we reveled in the cracks, little channels of blood escaping from the frigid, sallow skin. She watched my lips turn blue and laughed condescendingly when people gasped in horror. They are just jealous, she told me. We linked arms and she helped me walk on shaking, spindly legs down the hallway. Jealous. They’re jealous. Sometimes I hated her. She turned me into something cold and callous. I told her of my hatred once, and she grew violent. She asked me if I was getting soft, vulnerable. I needed her, she needed me. A perfect symbiosis, but god, she was a parasite. My erratic heart pumped her venom through me and it gave me strength. I ran manically around the track, every morning at three, because I couldn’t sleep, and she encouraged me, run, you disgusting creature, run. Run until you matter. You’re beautiful, you’re hideous, you’re disappearing and you’re running like a mad, mad animal in circles around that track and you’re going to do it again tomorrow until the crevasses in your collarbones deepen, until your jeans dangle pathetically from the daggers protruding from your hips. You need me, she whispers tantalizingly. Sick paradox. I need her To elevate me above my needs