The Sky Is Green

I am liar. I like to think a fantastic one. One who looks you in the eye and tells you the sky is blue when it is actually green. You say,"It is indeed blue today" without ever looking up, and my glee knows no bounds.            

I like to lie when you say something mean to me, and I see red, and I want to hurt you so painfully in that moment but I don't. I say, “It’s fine." I laugh. My eyes sting, yet you believe me.

I want to hurt you for everything you've ever said to me. I want to cut you with words, see you bleed sorrow, crush your charm so it can no longer protect you. So that you have to lie too. I don't. I lie, again.                                       

Sometimes, though, I think I might be a terrible liar.

She looks at me with doe-brown eyes, and I am transparent. She knows when I smile just a bit too wide for it to be natural. Somehow, that one-inch difference is enough to give everything I hide away. How does she do it?            

It makes me want to hurt her too. I hate when she looks at me with pity after I'm done berating her. She just looks. Looks and looks until I'm the one who breaks gaze. Why can't I ever best her in this game of wits? She's ugly, she's foolish. She shouldn't be able to get the better of me.                          

"You're kind, gentle," she had whispered to me this morning. I was bowed over the bathroom sink. The cold water was running, my fingers had gone numb under it, and my mind was screaming. I could hear whispers outside the bathroom door. You were talking about me.                    

"It doesn't matter what they say," she kept saying, over and over and over. For a moment, I was glad she was drowning out your voice. Then I wasn't. You've always wanted the best for me, even when you kill me and bring me to life again and then kill me. "You might not have performed well this time, but you'll do so next time. If not then, maybe the one after. If not even then, maybe the one after. If not..."                      

 I wished she would stop talking. I couldn't tune her out, never can. I looked up, and she was staring at me. For all she had said to me, her face was expressionless. I fucking hated her so much.              

I loved you, too, just then. When you opened the bathroom door and found me staring in the mirror. You looked surprised to find me awake. Concern had furrowed your eyebrows.      

"Honey, did you listen to all that?" I nodded. "We're just concerned about you, so we keep talking about you. It's never with the intention to hurt. You get that, right?" You took my hand and got me out of the bathroom.

I got through most of the day before I lied to you again. It hadn’t been my fault; You had hurt me. You never do realize when you hurt me, do you? Anyway, I think I might be a fantastic liar. You think I love you. I think I hate me.