I was an experiment. I understand that now. An experiment to see how far I could be pushed, how many gallons of tears she could make me cry.
She broke up with me so many times, and each time, it felt like my worth was gone.
I'm still like that, when a relationship ends, but not as bad.
Back then, I was worse.
Her favorite game was, One Last Kiss Before We Say Goodbye.
And she'd kiss me deeply while the tears flowed down my face. Tounging my mouth, tasting the tears like she was drinking me.
Giggling.
Giggling, I swear to God.

Then she'd go inside and call another boy and I would walk the long walk home, sure, SURE that I would spend the rest of my life alone.
I was fourteen.

She'd call me back in a couple of days and ask if I wanted to come over to watch television. We'd drink Pepsi. She'd drink from the new bottle and I'd finish the flat bottles her mother left in the fridge.

I was a pain junkie. Am I still a pain junkie?