What You Dont Know

September 29, 2017
By radicalrealizations SILVER, Hemet, California
radicalrealizations SILVER, Hemet, California
7 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
those who mind don't matter those who matter don't mind -dr.sue

  You know that I'm the school player, but you don't know why I play girls. You think it's because I'm a self consumed jerk, that doesn't care about anyone else but myself right? Well you couldn't be more wrong. You don't know why I do it, and you don't know what’s behind closed doors. All you know is what you've heard about me, how I break ‘’every’’ girl's heart. That's an exaggeration, I ONLY pick the girls that have a seemingly perfect life, the ones that  parade around like they've got no problems in the world. I wish I had no problems, but I do, and that's why I chose them in hope that I can destroy their happiness. I’m envious of them, they don't deserve to have their life be so easy. God obviously decided I don't deserve to have an easy life, why should they have one?

  It starts out the same, a few compliments here and there and suddenly I am king and they are in my court pleasing me. Getting to this point has never been a challenge for me, I'm a good looking guy, and you can get a girl to do whatever you want if you tell her you love her. That's the thing I make them believe I do, I put in so much effort for about a week or two I buy them roses, put them as my wallpaper, spend time with them, and tell them I'll never take advantage of them. They realize later on that I was just using them the whole time, but when they do it's already too late, I've not only taken away there their purity but happiness as well. I know this because after everything is done and I've gotten what I wanted I walk them to my door, throw their purse on the ground look them in the eyes, and tell them to never talk to me again. I know this hurts them, I can see the tears as they walk away. I always get a smile on my face once I hear those sniffles, because I know I've been successful. I've destroyed there seemingly perfect world.

  I still haven't explained however what makes me want to do this. It all started in the 3rd grade after my mother killed herself. My father was a good man before her death, but after everything changed. He turned to alcohol and shortly after he realized the liquor wasn't enough to drown out the pain he turned to physical abuse. He never felt remorse whenever his brown leather belt hit my light brown skin. Although my skin, did not appear to be light anymore, It was filled with bruises that toppled on top of one another like the skyscrapers in New York, or like the wood chips on the playground. I actually claimed for a while that the woodchips were the reasons from the bruises, I said ‘’I guess I just play too rough’’. I always defend my father, I never wanted anyone look at him like he was a villain when he's always been my hero. Despite how much I bled a night from the whippings, he will always be admired by me, he is my father, I love him. I know he loves me to under all the intoxication of the liquor.

  The beatings got worse when I started high school. It wasn't until I started high school that I understood why his belt buckle always had a permanent indent in my thigh. Violence was the only way he could vent. I soon discovered the only way I could was locking lips with some new victim each day.

  I based the way I treated girls on the way my father treated me. Never really get to know a girl, because then you'll feel bad for hurting them. Just like how my father never really takes the time to sit down and hear what's new in my life, maybe if he did, the kicks and hits might stop, and he’d finally start to care. That's another thing, never care. Don't mind the fact that they're  probably in bed crying themselves to sleep while you on the other hand sleep soundly. My father's snores drown out the noise of my tears, every night. He doesn't care. I promise myself that for every bruise I get, I give a girl a hickey. That way you get to watch from the sidelines as she frantically tries to cover up with makeup or a scarf hoping no one will realize and think she might be some sort of a slut. Like my father watches me try to do the same with my bruises covering them up hoping no one realizes I'm abused. He gets pleasure from it and so do I, as we watch our victims struggle to try to be normal. Finally, my rule in how to treat girls, is like how my father treats me, always be able take away there only ounce of vulnerable innocence.



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