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He only has so much patience. No one’s tolerance is infinite, and it would be unreasonable for me to expect him to just, to what, exactly? Endlessly tolerate my bullshit? Let me disrespect him? That would be so mean, and it just wouldn’t be fair. Despite what some may say, Val is a person. He has feelings. Which I would know, I do know, I know that better than anyone else in hell. It’s just. He’s just, he’s a very complex individual, and a lot of people don’t know how to handle that. Some people just, they can’t handle it. They can’t handle him. It’s not their fault, but it is their loss. Most people are so… weak-willed. I don’t blame him for losing his temper.
It’s impressive, in a way. How demure he remains when enraged, when he still needs to be professional. He doesn't lose his shit, almost ever, especially considering the idiots he has to deal with on a daily fucking basis, myself included. I can’t blame him. I mean, it’s not like I don’t know how frustrating I am, like, I do get it. Sometimes people lash out, especially when they’re with the person they love most in the whole entire world. And he does love me, he loves me the most. Even if sometimes it doesn’t feel that way, even when he punches me in the face and breaks my nose and tells me how he hates me, god does he fucking hate me. When he tells me how badly he wishes I hadn’t been such a piece of shit when I was alive so he wouldn’t have to fucking deal with me all the goddamn time. Everything he does is in my best interest. He’s honest with me about such difficult truths because he respects me, because he wants me to be better, to be the best I can be. For him. Because he loves me.
That’s why I don’t really hold it against him, those rare occasions when he does get, you know, upset with me. It makes sense as a reaction, emotions exist for a reason. And like yea, sometimes it feels like, maybe, maybe, a little bit out of control. But we’re both passionate people. It’s one of the things I love most about him. It’s one of the reasons I fell for him in the first place.
And anyway, he hasn’t held it against me; the time when I’ve tried to hurt him. He doesn’t blame me when I get overamped and start to seriously try to kill god, to kill Him. He understands that stupid little sheep just get, disoriented sometimes. There's nothing more to it.
I mean, if you continuously dose someone with speed, continuously subject them to extreme violence, brutal and repeated sexual violation, sleep deprivation, starvation. You can’t really be surprised when they eventually lose their shit. But that’s the thing about Val. He knows that, he understands. He doesn't act shocked when the trauma causes symptoms. Because it comes with the territory!! You want a harem of limitless, cock-hungry junkies, you’re gonna have to get comfortable with the occasional drug-fueled freak out. He doesn’t have unrealistic expectations of me, he doesn’t blame me for the weird shit I do when I’m really fucking strung out. Sometimes he even thinks it’s cute enough to film and sell as intox porn, which is extremely validating! But when I ‘act out,’ as some would call it, he knows it’s just the drugs. When I thrash and scream and claw and bite, it’s not personal, it’s not how I actually feel about him. Not really.
Is it, Angie? Are you lying to me, whore? Are you seriously fucking lying, right now, right to my fucking face?
I’m not, I wasn’t. But it was a rhetorical question. He knows how I feel about him.
I would never do that sober, I would never do that on downers, or dissos, or deliriants. If I seriously fight back, it’s because my body is on autopilot. And he knows that!
But more important than that, is he makes sure that I know it too.
He could just leave me there, gasping for air, feeling so guilty that I think I might break, for real this time. Stroking my cheek so very softly, he always reassures me. Val knows I would never intentionally hurt him. He knows I could never intentionally defy him, not when I'm in my right mind. Not when I remember my place. I’m so grateful, though, he understands that about me, that he doesn’t just throw me out on my ass for being a chronic fuck-up. The least I can do is reciprocate that softness. The least I can do is be as understanding of him as he is of me. I mean, I love him. That’s what you do when you love someone.
I don’t know if you’ve ever loved someone like that. You won't understand, if you’ve never felt that way before. You couldn’t.
Because when you love somebody, the way that I love Val, the way that he loves me, it changes the parameters of your entire existence. It changes the context, the implications. It rips apart the seams of your universe, unraveling the fabric, tailoring a brand new world, just for you. It’s a kind of love that could split atoms, that destroys matter in ways contradicting the very laws of physics themselves. Things become other things, feelings become other feelings. I’m not just going to fuck up the best relationship I’ve ever had over some stupid petty bullshit. Would you burn down your house just because you fell down the stairs and broke your leg? Yea, exactly. It just wouldn’t make sense.
Genuinely, he’s so patient with me, he really is. He almost never loses his temper. Sometimes, more often I guess, he does come close, but he has, like, really, really good self control, and he’s so good at catching himself before actually doing anything to me. Like yea, he does raise his hand to strike me, but he almost always pulls it away at the last possible moment. He leaves me scared but physically unscathed, probably like 98% of the time, which is honestly a frankly amazing ratio for me.
Sure, it’s a little bit scary, sometimes, but the important part is how many times he doesn’t actually hit me, despite the fact that my very existence makes him want to kill me. I really respect his willpower. I haven’t been completely able to resist trying to murder myself.
Like, okay, sometimes he does hit me out of scene. But it’s literally just because he needs to get my attention, to give me notes on my performance. I should be paying attention anyway, so it really is my fault, and I understand that. I just, I can get really, really spaced out sometimes, especially when I’m working. It’s gotta be really irritating trying to direct a shoot when your muse goes unresponsive. It’s a waste of time, his time, I'm wasting his time. Hitting me is just the most efficient way to bring me back, why would I blame Val for that? And, it’s really not that hard, it’s not like he’s trying to hurt me. He only left marks on my face like maybe one time, and besides, our relationship is strong enough that I would always rather he express his honest feelings. Even if they're not pretty, even if they’re not socially acceptable. Even if he has to hurt me. It's worth it, to be thought so highly of. To be trusted so fully, so recklessly.
I love that he feels safe enough to be that vulnerable with me. Because that’s really what it is, isn’t it? When he does lose his patience? It's vulnerability, intimacy. The terrifying ordeal of being seen, of being known. But I need him to feel safe being himself around me. It doesn’t matter if I’m destroyed in the process.
People get confused sometimes when they see us interacting, implying that there’s something ‘wrong’ with our relationship. Like unethical or something, I don’t fucking know. He told me not to worry about it, so I mostly don’t. If I’m being honest, I think the issue is that people are just jealous of me. Because he loves me so much. Why wouldn’t they be jealous?
I’m his favorite. Me. I’m the one he feels comfortable letting his guard down around, and that is not something to be taken lightly. I can’t fucking criticize the way he lets his guard down, not when the rest of hell is so cruel and unforgiving. What the fuck kind of boyfriend would that make me? Just fucking, no.
Everyone has different body language, everyone has different ways that they express themselves. You can’t expect people to just, change how they communicate, just because you don’t like it. Just because it ‘hurts your feelings’ like oh my god shut the fuck up. If it hurts, that’s on me to handle, not him to change. He reminds me of that often, but he doesn’t need to. I know he’s right. I just need to manage my expectations. I need to react more appropriately. That’s all.
He needs me. I know he does.
I’m the only one who knows what he’s thinking, just from the way he grabs me by the hair. I am the only one who understands the nuances in the nerves in my scalp, the slight shifts of pressure as he adjusts his grip, sharp tugs that sometimes make me yelp. Hurting me is his love language, on what grounds could I possibly argue with that? There are none.
I feel the affection when he drags me up to meet his eyes. I see the rage, the years of built up frustration and angst. The uncomfortable combination of clinical detachment and whimsically childlike sadism. The pain that he thinks I couldn’t ever understand, the pain that I already understand, viscerally. I see it all, and I see it honestly. I see each act of so-called violence for the grand gestures of love and devotion that I know he means them to be.
Like, when he’s been fighting with Vox, and all he can feel is that caustic fury about to bubble over and consume him, when he drags me off set in the middle of a gangbang, cum still dripping down my trembling legs as he beats the absolute shit out of me. I know he only does it because I’m just so fucking special. Irresistible. That’s why he doesn’t like when I tell him ‘no.’
People just want me so bad they can’t help themselves. It isn’t malicious.
See, Vox couldn’t handle it, he can't handle the way that Val needs to express his feelings. Nothing against him, nothing against Val, of course, but it would simply be too much, it would break him. And, to be quite honest, Val wouldn’t want to let Vox see him that vulnerable, even if Vox could take it. It’s funny, everyone assumes I’m the side piece, that Val really loves Vox, because honestly, how could someone of such high status possibly love something as worthless as me? They think I’m just an easy fuck to him, a barely glorified fleshlight. And like, they’re not wrong, not entirely. But they also sure as fuck aren’t right.
I am an easy fuck, and a really fucking good one at that. But that’s not why he keeps me around. Val loves me. He loves me. I know he does. He has to. More than that, though, Val doesn’t love Vox the way he loves me. Val doesn’t even trust Vox the way that he trusts me. I don’t tell people that. No one would believe me, and it wouldn’t be productive. Please don’t argue, though. Please, please don’t. It has to be true. I need it to be true. I need it to be true. The alternative is simply too painful to consider, so I just, I don’t debate it anymore.
I know, I know it deep inside myself. Val loves me, he does. Vox is the distraction, not me. I’m perfect, I'm fucking perfect, I’m so fucking perfect. He loves me. Val loves me more than he loves anybody else.
When he wakes me up at 4am, stumbling into my room, drunk as a skunk and twice as angry, grabbing me roughly by the arm and dragging me to my dressing room. When he smashes my face against the mirror, until it cracks, until it shatters, leaving chunks of glass buried deep in my facial tissue, still holding me tightly by the hair, slamming my skull into the now-empty frame, over and over and over, until he gets bored, or tired. Or maybe until he calms down. None of these things confuse me. I understand exactly what he’s saying, what he doesn’t need to say out loud, because I understand. I understand him. I know I’m special because he doesn’t hurt anyone else the way he hurts me. He doesn’t feel safe around anyone else, not safe enough to express himself so authentically. When he screams in my face, that this is all my fault, this is all my fucking fault, that I’m a worthless piece of shit, a waste of space, stardust, carbon, canon. That if I wasn’t such a vain, narcissistic faggot, he wouldn’t be forced to do this.
When he makes me apologize for breaking his mirror, for destroying his property, for wasting his time and costing him money, I understand the subtext. I know what he’s trying to say. I don’t give a shit if anyone else can see it. I know. And I’m the only one who needs to know.
When he shoves me to my knees, the shards of the mirror digging into my skin, pressing my shoulders down hard with his hands to ensure the fragments cut deep into my flesh, deep enough for him to feel satisfied, I don’t take it as anything other than validation of my worth as his toy.
What joy, what luck! To be played with, and in such an enthusiastic manner.
It’s just his way of expressing love.
When he holds my head in place, skull-fucking me until I’m choking and sobbing and scared, my own saliva and stomach acid oozing from my mouth like toxic sludge, making my fur a slimy, sticky, disgusting mess, when he shoves me back at the last second and cums on the floor, right on the pieces of broken glass. When he tells me to pick up each shard with my teeth, to suck them clean, to swallow his cum.
No matter what, babydoll.
He waits. I balk.
C’mon, baby.
He prompts me again, a little more firmly.
I believe in you.
Fuck, fuck, I love him so goddamn much.
Sweetheart?
The room is quiet but for my stifled, shallow breathing.
Do it.
I just, I really really don't want to. I don't want to do this.
I said, fucking do it. Get on the fucking ground and clean up the mess you made, dumbass. I thought I trained you better than this.
I move just a little bit too slowly, and he swiftly covers my mouth with his hand. My heart sinks as he mechanically forces me to chew the brittle fragment, crunching it, shattering it even further, tearing the inside of my mouth to shreds, just to swallow the cum-covered bits of glass.
You do want to be a good boy for Daddy, right? Right, you retarded little whore? You want to make me proud, don’t you?
Of course I do. He knows I would do anything to make him proud.
When he screams at me, so loud it echoes through the studio, echoes through my empty skull, it’s because he wants everyone to know much he cares about me. I mean, no one would waste that much energy on something that they didn’t feel a deep and terrible love for, at least. He tells me how lucky I am that he bothers to puts up with me, how fucking annoying I am, how needy, clingy, whiny, weak. How I’d be nothing, less than nothing, if it weren’t for his pity. How no one would even want to fuck such a psychotic, drugged-out whore if my value was not deceitfully inflated via my calculatedly manipulative and conniving proximity to him. How any sane person would see me for what I am, immediately, how anyone can see from one look that I’m far more inconvenience than I’m worth. I know he’s right. Sometimes, I don't know. I guess, I wish he would phrase it like. A little bit more gently? IDK. But still, I refuse to tell him how to express himself. If that’s the way he feels, if that's the way he's comfortable talking to me, who am I to question it? I already said it, several times, are you even listening to me? Val loves me. He loves me.
He does.
I know that he loves me. I can tell, I can see it. I can see it in the way he wipes away my tears, the way he pets my hair and tells me to stop crying, shut the fuck up, to stop being such a little bitch. I can see it when he pries open my eyelids with his fingers, in the way he stares through them, penetrating my soul, balls deep. The way he spits his poison directly into my eyes. The way he kicks me in the stomach with his steel-toed boots, as hard as he can, if I try to wipe it away before he gives me permission.
If that’s not love, then I guess I don’t know what love is.
Not fucking likely.
I can hear the concern in his voice, the compassion, the care. He doesn't have to say it explicitly for me to know it's there. I can hear it when he tells me how fucking lucky I am that I have such a fuckable mouth. I can tell how much restraint he uses when he tells me how I can't even get him off reliably, and how pathetic he finds that. How lucky I am that he doesn't just blow my fucking brains out next time I fuck up the rhythm, right when he's about to cum, when I ruin everything forever all the time but it's okay because he knows I'm trying my best, he understands, and it makes sense to have big feelings about that.
It's not his fault that I have no other skills, and he doesn't blame me for being so incredibly useless. He assures me, he knows I couldn't possibly learn anything new. It's too late for that. If I tried I would fail, and he just can't bear to watch me hurt myself. Not like that, not for no reason.
When he tells me all I am are some holes to abuse, a pretty little face to fucking destroy. When he tells me that all I am, to him, to anyone, to everyone, all I am is porn. Would someone who didn't understand true love be able to hear the affection, the worry, trapped between the tiny crevices of each word he growls in my ear? He's not being mean, I'm being too sensitive, and besides, we have a unique communication style. I don't expect normies to 'get it'. I know how it might look to outsiders, but that’s only because they don’t know Val the way that I do.
No one does.