It's hard to wake up, trudging through the haze that makes up that space between reality and dreams, and I realize with delayed reactions just exactly why it takes so long. The hangover is more than pronounced, more than looming, and the headache and the uneasy rolling of my stomach reminds me of one of the many reasons I'm not the most wonderful of drinkers.

Things began to hit me like ocean waves, rolling, loud, hard, stinging, starting by lapping at my ankles and working upwards, and more and more I began to hate the position I was in. He was still sleeping beside me, the aqua lashes dipped down and laying against the tops of his cheeks, long strands of silk swaying with the sleeping breaths that passed through his lips.

He was it, the one that bended all my rules, that defied everything I had come to know and live by for these last few years. That little shit got under my skin, broke my little glass castle, and I bet he's laughing about it right now.

Well, maybe not right now...but once he wakes up I'm sure he will be.

He had the nerve, the sheer nerve to call me dumbfuck, to tell me I wasn't that good (okay, so perhaps those weren't his exact words, but it's the same thing, damnit!), and a host of other things last night! He carried me through the dorm hallways, mocked my lack of drinking, he...he...

He made me tell him things...things no one knows, or believes.

He woke me up from my nightmares and held me in the shower, when all I wanted to do was burn the fucking filth off my skin.

He's making me feel things, making me vulnerable, and I hate him for it.

But he's so beautiful while he's sleeping there, and he's so much like me in some ways, that I find it difficult to keep those negative feelings up.

Notice I said "difficult" and not "impossible".

Yeah, so I was jealous as that guy left the other day; what business is it of yours? So, I was pissed when he insulted my "abilities"; who the fuck cares? I want him to be mine, just like everyone else, my toy, my centerpiece, my Hope diamond.

Problem is, he would never be, never be a part of my "harem", as he calls it. Of course, maybe if I have him, I don't need on-

I'm stopping that thought right there, right now! Don't need them? Don't need my dedicated followers? Don't need the love and adoration they rain onto me?

I let out a small sigh and shift on the bed, sending my already queasy stomach on to some more screaming protests. Everyone else is boring now, dull, repetitive, the same. They speak the same words, work the same dance, try to impress me in the same ways.

I'm bored.

So, maybe that's why I won't leave before he wakes up today. Maybe this is why I think about him when I'm home alone, and search the club with my eyes in hopes of seeing him, drinking in the darkest corner.

I won't let him do this; I can't let him. I can regain my footing; I can gather my upper hand back.

I refuse to fall, damnit. Not again, not ever.

The End