Hidden In Plain Sight

suave.

Sometimes I find myself thinking about my past Friends, how hard I was trying to get close to them, how desperate I was to see the good in them, and I’m met with the sense of complete confusion: “How the fuck didn’t I see it back then?” How was it even possible for me to think that they were even one bit sincere within their attempts to lure me in, to make me trust them, fall in love with them? It was so fucking obvious that today it feels utterly impossible that there was a time when I just was not aware of it to the extend I am today. 

And then I remember. Of course, that’s how they did it. Clever, clever girls; way smarter than I ever was. 

Have you ever been unexplainably attracted to someone who you know is not good for you? In literature, there are several character tropes for these fascinating beings, including the femme fatale and mythological creatures like the succubus and the siren. These creatures, often possessing qualities not strictly applicable to human beings, are so beautiful, so ethereal that they just pull you in, even if you might rationally understand that you probably shouldn’t go their way. They can appear completely innocent to you, or their appearance might reflect their dangerous nature very explicitly too – and it is still all the same to you. Because not even direct and undeniable warnings are enough to repel you from them. 

When I think about my Friends and how I perceived them at the time, I can remember feeling wary and scared of them – for obvious reasons. I didn’t feel safe around them, even if my brain was blocking the majority of the abuse for me in that moment; I was still able to detect that sense of uneasiness when I was close to them. But even then, with the dread and fear settling deep into my soul, I still found myself utterly enchanted by my Friends. 

Their sharp fangs dripping with blood were right there in front of me, but I didn’t see them for what they were. Because my Friend was looking at me with a soulful sparkle in her eyes, her eyebrows lifted slightly, and she was extending her hand out for me, to help me out of the hole she had dug for me and pushed me in. 

And I didn’t have a choice. No one else was there to help me out and lick my wounds, so I had to take my Friend’s hand, but she looked so pretty, and I felt bad for her, thinking about how guilty she must feel right now. And I gave her the chance to make it better for herself. 

She pulled me out of the hole, I landed on the ground in front of her. She pulled my hands covered in lacerations, stuck out her split tongue and licked the wounds irritated with sand and gravel. But she only made my hands hurt even further: her tongue was covered in tiny spikes, and her saliva was saltier than the Hartwall Vichy Original. I grimaced in pain but let her continue.

Because the Kid didn’t have her Hello Kitty water bottle with her.

In trance,

ichigonya