Lycans and Werewolves, a lot of people who don’t know better would tell you they are one and the same. But in my world of werewolves and the paranormal that is our culture, I can tell you, the two are different.
Lycans are humans bitten by werewolves and werewolves are humans born with werewolf biology.
Well that’s the text book definition, the company line. Whatever you want to call it. But the two types of wolves are so far different than they look. Werewolves are all about control. Control of their abilities and emotions, these are the traits that allow them to blend into society and still be wolves.
Lycans on the other hand…Lycans are easy to anger and from what I know, can be highly, emotional. Like the human side can’t let them give in to that control they need to be a true wolf.
Booker Parish, is a lycan.
Bg Sommers, me, I’m a werewolf.
So imagine how my family and friends and by this I mean, the werewolf variety would act if they knew about me and Booker once being not only in love, but lovers. Shit might hit the fan. Especially since Booker is my sister’s friend.
Shit has already hit the fan for me, because my pack mate, Paris D’arenberg, uncovered my little secret about Booker and I. All Because I had a dream and mumbled his name in my sleep and then orgasm, all right before the eyes of my pack mate who was in bed beside me at the time. Woken by my throws of dream filled passion.
And now I find myself in a familiar situation.
I’m in the kitchen on top of the bench stop. Looking back at one, Booker Parish, who is three years older than me and taken. Like I’m taken. I have a pack mate, he has a girlfriend. Sure she’s a non, but it works for him I guess. He’s leaning back against the sink and resting his hands at the edge of it looking at me.
Only last time we were in a kitchen together and I was sitting like this, and he was standing opposite me, we ended up having sex. But that seems like it was a lifetime ago now and neither one of us is so naively young.
We’ve grown up, we’ve become wolves.
This is like a courting. We haven’t even spoken yet. If we don’t speak to one another soon, it’s going to get all too physical. Because that’s how easy it is to fall into this attraction thing I have with Booker Parish. We’re fine when we’re in a group setting, and there are plenty of people around us, to act as buffers and distractions. But alone time together, is a test. Most of the time.
I asked him over to my place in Red Hook cause we need to talk. Or should I say I do.
I need to put this thing to rest, to bed. Because I’m in a relationship with an alpha werewolf who does not play nice with others, when it comes to me. But I’m finding it hard to know how to begin without seeming foolish.
Maybe Booker doesn’t feel about me the way Paris seems to think he does.
I very deliberately wore jeans. I don’t really wear jeans all that often. But I I didn’t want my armour to be weak around this lycan. Didn’t want him to think I am dressing up for him. So I wore boots, jeans and even two tops, a long sleeved Raglan top and a t-shirt over that. Deliberately didn’t wear make-up and left my black hair down instead of doing anything with it. I don’t want to him to think I’m trying to court him in this dance around each other. Because that’s not my goal.
“He knows about us doesn’t he? Paris.” Booker says breaking our silence because something had to give. He pushes off the sink and moves steadily towards me.
“He knows about the past us.” I state back at Booker.
He sighs wistfully and keeps honing in on me. “I guess we couldn’t keep us a secret thing forever huh? Even though I hoped.” He says lowering his voice so it’s a almost a husky whisper.
I watch him come over and push my knees apart, standing between them, at the edge of the kitchen bench.
He slips a hand up the back of my neck and into my hair. I decide to ignore the fact that my pulse is racing and I’m not pushing him away. I didn’t call this meeting to reignite something, I called it to put it right.
“Don’t do it Book.” I state softly, eyeing his lips as I say the words.
I remember those lips, very well. That’s the problem with the werewolf brain, it’s sensory memory is incredible.
So are those lips.
“What? Hold you again?” He mutters softly inching closer. “I should never have pushed you away to begin with.”
Continued in We The Wolves
“You can’t win a fight against me Bg, you know that.” Paris says not even slightly phased by my partial shape shift.
As if I’m a threat to him!
My claws are just itching to slash at his skin, because I am so damn pissed at him.
There was no reason to make me having a wet dream into an issue. Only he sees it as cheating. That I’ve cheated on him with another wolf, because it wasn’t his name I called out. Because it was a lycan who was making love to me in a dream, I don’t even remember.
Because that lycan is our friend, Booker Parish and Booker and I once upon a time, long time ago, dated and were in love.
Or so we thought.
“Oh I can win a fight against you Paris D’arenberg. Just not a physical one!” I growl at him. “I’m not the one who wants to fight here. I’m the one who woke up in the middle of a fight with you that she didn’t know she was even having! All because of some stupid, subconscious dream.”
“The subconscious doesn’t make that which matters to us any less real. You were clearly having sex with Booker in your dream. You orgasmed because of him, not me!”
Learning control over my orgasms is something we’ve been working on the whole time we’ve been together. It’s not like Paris and I lack a decent and active sex life. Far from it. And only when I am truly being punished do I not get to come.
But this wet dream with Booker Parish, that I don’t even remember the slightest detail from, is something else.
“Are you still in love with him?” Paris sounds more unhappy than angry as he asks me this. “is that it?”
I feel a breath leave me and my shoulders relax, the blood is rushing around through my veins pounding in my ears, deafening me. My claws retract painfully and shift back to my hands and I gulp for air as my teeth shift back to my human teeth.
Paris sees the small shape shifts and I wonder if my eyes have changed back. I can’t tell without looking at a mirror.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He mutters beginning to pace.
I honestly have no idea how to answer. So I do the only logical thing I can do.
“No, of course not.” I reply and he looks over at me and tilts his head.
“You seem to forget little wolf, I can practically taste it when you’re lying.” He looks away again, before saying “You’ve still got werewolf eyes.” Which is another way of saying, I’m still on edge, ready to fight, because my werewolf self, is still emotionally wound up and invested in this thing beating in my heart with confusion.
“I’m not lying. I’m in love with you, I want to be with you. I’ve no desire to be with Booker again.”
Paris walks over to me slowly.
“Maybe that’s what is. What I can taste on you.” He says still keeping a bit of distance from me.
“You might be in love with me, but on some level, you desire him.”
My mouth opens to retort something back, but I find myself speechless. Because it makes sense what he says. Booker and I may have not been a long term relationship. But he was my first love, and my first lover.
We’ve lived around each other ever since. We’ve watched each other have partners, pack mates, boyfriends, girlfriends and still when we look at each other.
We spark and we’ve both known better than to let any of our friends, see that.
And then I had to go betray that, by having a wet dream about him. And I don’t even know why.
I haven’t seen booker in something like a month. It’s not like we interact with each other every time I’m in Brooklyn or doing something for the Breukelen.
We have different placing’s in our pack and this means we move in different circles. Sometimes they cross.
“You should uh, go.” Paris says softly backing away from me.
“What?” I can feel tears welling in my eyes.
“I had no idea you felt this way about anyone, let alone Booker.” Paris says.
“I don’t feel this way, whatever way, about anyone else, just you.” I implore. My fucking werewolf head, such a trouble maker if ever there was one.
“I want to believe that Bg, but…” Paris sighs. Oh he is really messed up about this. And I don’t know how to fix this, to fix us. “I get that we’re similar looking, the physique, and maybe I’m just a substitute for him, that’s why you were attracted to me.”
“No, no, no.” I rush out. Although maybe, subconsciously it was why I initially liked him.
“I think over the weekend, you should go back to Brooklyn and really ask yourself if it’s me you want or deep down, it’s Booker. And at the end of the weekend, tell me your choice, so we can move past this, however we need.”
Continued in… Breukelen Heart Beats
Paris looks ready to explode as he hears my words.
“I’ll tell you about Booker and me.” He edges forward on that seat, as if ready to rush me, his fingers gripping it tightly so he has something to break when his grip gets too tight to take without shape shifting.
“Booker and I dated.” I hold his gaze. “A long time ago, before I met you.”
He opens his mouth and stops grinding his teeth. “How come I’ve never heard this before now?”
Male wolves, they have a fucking ego on them, let me tell you. That’s why he’s never heard this before. Because Paris is the type of male to be jealous of anyone who was with me before him his feelings for me are so deep, that the logic of Booker being a part of my past, doesn’t even enter into his reasoning.
Male wolves can get seriously possessive. My Ex, Conall Wakely was possessive of me, but he went about it in a rather subtlety manipulative way, so it took me awhile to see what he was doing. Even though other’s could see it, eventually I saw through it.
Male wolves and their pack mates. It’s an intensity you need to be ready for.
“Because nobody knew we dated. We were a secret and kept it that way. Even now, you’re the only one outside of either Booker or myself who knows this.” I explain.
I see him try and digest this information as he looks away from me briefly, but it’s not a reprieve from the situation at hand.
“We all have pasts Bg, but I don’t have wet dreams about the women I’ve slept with in the past.”
And here comes the second wave of attack.
“How old where you when you two got together? I always thought, you dated Conall before me.”
“Booker came before Conall.” His eyes narrow on me sharply as he frowns deeply.
Oh fucking wrong choice of words Bg!
“He’s the one isn’t he?”
“What?” I asked missing something in our conversation that clearly hasn’t been said but is playing out loud and clear in Paris’s mind.
“It makes sense now. You remember I once asked you about who you’re first lover was? Who you gave your virginity too?”
Oh Christ on a crunch. Here we go.
“I thought it had to be Conall, but it was Booker right? He was your first love.”
Now it’s my turn to look away. Which just confirms everything he’s said and we both know it.
“You’re still in love with him, some part of you is still in love with him, that’s why you came in your sleep, calling his name not mine.”
My heart is beating like crazy because this is the weirdest confrontation I’ve ever had and I don’t know how I feel about denying that statement. I’m not sure if I would be lying to myself or to Paris.
“Look at me!” Paris roars across the room making me flinch.
Anger is evident in every part of him and I know better than to look away from the werewolf who is spoiling for a fight with me. If I do, he’ll come for charge at me.
“It’s not like that.” I say softly. But I’m not actually sure if it is or it’s not. “I’m not involved with Booker, I’m with you. I love you.” I try to reach him, but Paris’s anger and jealousy are intense as the man himself.
“I don’t believe you.” Paris says dropping his voice.
He doesn’t believe I love him? What the hell, where did this come from? Because of an unconscious action in a dream? Some mumbled words?
I feel my legs begin to shake and my hands twitch. My skin is getting hot. Pain shoots across my abdomen. Oh shit, I’m so upset it’s bringing on a shape shift.
My fingers flex and stretch, waiting for their extension and nails to break and push out talons for claws.
Paris stands up and looms on the opposite side of the room taking up a lot of space. “I can’t handle this. This idea that you’re in love with him.”
Sweat beads across my forehead and feel the flutter of my eyelids close down heavily before I blink back up at him, through my werewolf eyes.
He stares back at them. He has to know how I am feeling right now. Because heightened emoitions bring on my partial shape shifting abilities with ease.
Sometimes I’m not even aware of it happening to me, it’s that damn smooth, when I’m that wound up and lost in feeling.
“Okay, you wanna fight? You got a fight.” I growl at him as my werewolf teeth push through my gums and blood drips into my mouth.
Continued in…. Teeth, Claws and a Werewolf Heart
My heart beat thuds in my chest like it is trying to expand it so I can breathe. I only see anger in those stormy blue eyes before me and it’s all he has for me. Where has the loving Paris I know gone?
He gets dark sometimes, but it isn’t usually around or because of me. I’ve seen it once before. Paris can let the werewolf in him seriously take a hold. To the point that he almost gets buried inside, like some kind of internal shape shift is happening and the Alpha werewolf starts to control him. It’s like his heart get’s replaced by the darkest parts of the beast.
But this darkness, it’s brought on by the werewolf trauma of fighting through life. Not over an erotic dream that I had while sleeping next to him.
This is, scary, this is Paris jealous. Really, jealous because of me.
“What?” The word whimpers out of my mouth because I’m wounded. I don’t understand what is going on here. How it could go on here.
“You had a wet dream about Booker Parish.” Paris goes on steadily. “And I want to know why. It wasn’t a regular dream about anyone else in your life, it was very clear to me, it was a sex dream with Booker. So when did you start sleeping with him?”
My whole body is trembling. I push up in the bed to a sitting position now, to face him properly. But it’s not fear that is making my arms shake and my chest pound. It’s anger.
“I’m not sleeping with Booker Parish!” The bed cover slips down me and Paris’s eyes divert briefly to my naked breasts. He looks away, as if pained.
“Cover up.” He instructs.
“No.” I growl back at him and his head snaps back around to me. “You sit there, accusing me of sleeping with your and my friend,”
“Fellow pack mate to you,” Paris stings me with.
“Right, right. We come from the same pack so we must be sleeping together!” I am truly annoyed at him now. “Grow up Paris.” I pull back the covers and slide out of the bed, looking for clothing.
Fuck him! He wants to attack me when I’m vulnerable to suggestion, just waking up, when I’m naked. Well I know how to play this fucking game of punch-up! I pull on clothes quickly. A pair of leggings and a long sleeved top. Armour. Cover me from him, so his gaze can’t affect my being.
“So?” He asks again and I turn on him.
“Are you fucking serious?” I yell in disbelief. “You honestly think I’m sleeping with Booker Parish because I said his name while I was asleep?”
“You didn’t just say his name Bg, you repeated it, over and over again and then I watched as you shuddered and came, touching yourself. While I was spooned up against you. And I know you and Booker are, friends as well as pack mates.”
Oh my fucking god. “I’m going to loose it.” I mutter to myself. “You’re jealous of a fucking dream Paris, a dream!”
“A dream that made you come.” Paris states back at me. “If you were horny, you would’ve just woke me up and rode me.”
I roll my eyes and slam my hands down onto my hips. This is ridiculous beyond belief!
“There’s no fucking logic in dreams Paris, they’re just shit that comes into your head!” I continue to yell at him.
“Look I know you and Booker are friends as well as pack mates,” I growl at him again, beginning to bear my teeth. “And whilst you don’t have a lot of contact with him here, when you’re in Manhattan Maen territory, you can’t say that’s not the case when you’re in Brooklyn. He’s one of your sister’s posse and one of the first called on each time your protective detail is given.”
My eyes widen till I think my eyebrows are going to fly off my face.
“You think, I fuck around with Booker when I have the chance, when I’m over in Brooklyn and you’re not there with me?”
He’s silent again. Dark blue eyes never leave me and I begin to pace around the side of the bed, furthest from him.
“Okay, you want to know about Booker and me.”
I still and look out at him, letting out a deep breath to calm myself.
“I’ll tell you about Booker and me.”
Continued in…. Male Wolves
“You were dreaming.” Paris states. “You were restless, more than normal.” He pauses waiting for me to clearly understand what he is getting at. I don’t.
“Did I hurt you in my sleep?” I ask puzzled.
It would take a fair bit to hurt Paris, especially from a soft, supple body, that was in rem sleep. He is a hulk of muscle, big, solid and tough. Having alpha werewolf genetics on top of that, means he’s intimidating, and comes across as damn-near bullet proof, invincible.
Of course, he’s not immortal but he can take more of a beating that most. I don’t have anywhere near that much power to physically break him down. So I’m perplexed as to what I could’ve done in my sleep to earn this greeting as a wake up call.
“You don’t remember your dream?” He questions me. His body is tense, his clothing is tight against it and it shows not only his bulk but also, how he is not in anyway relaxed or okay.
I know I feel good, like I got a great night’s rest. Which makes his attitude towards me, even more perplexing. I try to remember if I even knew I was dreaming. I wonder if I’m dreaming now, and this is somehow my anxiety playing out on my nerves.
“You were making noises.” He watches me closely. “Moaning.”
Okay. I still don’t get this.
“I woke up because of it.” Paris says at me and I frown. “I watched you to make sure you were okay, that you weren’t having a nightmare. It definitely wasn’t a nightmare.”
Really? He’s going to be pissed at me because I made some noises in my sleep? That’s just pathetic and does not in any way deserve the third degree of interrogation that I’m getting here, now! I feel righteously justified in giving him a serve of my mind, but he cuts my thought of with his next words.
“You called out a name and then appeared to come in your sleep.”
I tense and I see a recognition in his eyes that he notices the smallest of movement in my body at his words.
“It wasn’t my name you called out Bg.” Paris says back at me and I feel a sense of dread wash over me and I am all too awake hearing this now.
“So again, last time I ask. Is there something you want to tell me?” He persists and his voice is low and deceptively calm, less annoyed sounding. But That’s just to fool me, to suck me into him so he can come at me with his damn, male pride and anger.
“Paris, I don’t remember any of that, I don’t know what you want me to say. What to tell you.”
“I want you tell me why my pack mate, came calling out a Lycan’s name! I want to know why you called out Booker Parish’s name in my bed!” He growls at me.
Continued in…Dark Heart
Waking up alone is the worst.
Okay, let me give you some context on that. Waking up alone, after being with someone, investing your heart and soul into them, feeling their very physical being intune with yours as much as two beings together can be, is the worst.
It’s like a downer.
For me it’s weird. My pack mate Paris is always in bed with me when I wake up, for the most part, we fall asleep together and we wake up together, it’s a rather beautifully symmetric way to start your day.
In cycle and sync with one another, thinking of, one another. That makes me sound sappy doesn’t it?
Paris normally is draped across me in some sort of all-consuming manner, as if silently saying “mine”. The heaviness of his arms and legs wrapping around me, is a comfort of assurance and security, emotionally as well as physically.
He’s tall, six three and I’m smaller, although not small at five eight. But it makes our fit rather good when we spoon together, hiding from the werewolf world in the comforter of our bed. Most mornings, he wakes me up with sex.
So it’s odd that’s he’s one, not doing that and two, not on curling into me. I turn over quickly and look at the emptiness of the be behind me, the space next me is cool to the touch. Paris is long gone. I begin to sit up and wonder if I’m in trouble here. If something has happened to him.
Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I see a figure, a shadowy figure near the bed. I blink quickly and move to push back in the bed. Paris’s apartment is a secure place and if anyone should be in this room with me, it should be him.
And when I find myself alert and awake, I notice, it is him. He’s already fully dressed, in dark colours, sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching me. Just watching me in the dimness of the room.
His eyes are dark blue and human. But it’s like I can see a very caged and annoyed animal pacing back and forth behind them. And that animal look is focussed on me. This is not a look of desire and longing. This is a look of an animal sizing up it’s enemy.
This is not my Paris. My lover. My pack mate.
“Paris?” Even my voice sounds small against that look.
It’s powerfully intimidating. Especially since I do not understand why he would ever look at me like this. His actions alone, of stillness and waiting for me to wake, being prepared to face me clothed, tell me many things about him. The clothing is his armour. He’s spoiling for a fight. With me. Waiting patiently, for me, so he can start this fight. Very werewolf like, having all the damn patience in the world if you think it’ll get you what you’re after.
“Something you want to tell me?” He utters in a cold voice, his eyes never leaving my face.
It’s like I don’t understand the question. We went to bed together in love, and tired and like any normal couple would. And I woke up in an alternate universe by the look of it.
But let’s face facts, we’re not a normal couple. We’re both werewolves, from extremely different packs. He’s an Alpha and a pack leader, he’s used to power and getting what he wants (he wanted me, he got me, after a fashion). And he knows how to fight, physically, but emotionally fighting, that’s my battle ground.
I’m a…well, let’s go with different. Nobody’s really got a category for me just yet. But I’m a werewolf with abilities, that up until recently, I didn’t know I had. And being around his alpha-ness over there in the chair, is only strengthening them.
We live in a werewolf culture, so our lives are in no way going to be normal. But even with that knowledge, I have no idea what is going on here.
“Paris what’s going on?” I try for.
“That’s what I’m asking you, Bg.” He replies still clearly annoyed at me for mysterious reasons.
“I don’t know why you’re asking me.” I say stating the obvious. “I just woke up.”
His eyes seem to study my face, darting around, as if looking for unconscious reactions from me in my body language.
To be continued in Wet Dream …
The Red White and Werewolf podcast series is out now and can be found on Sticher Radio, iTunes and Talk Shoe radio!
Some habits are hard to break.
I mean, really hard to not do.
If you’re a werewolf, you’re bound to have more than a few habits. Enough to form a routine.
It’s how we’re raised to live in this world as both ourself and the beast within us.
Routine is a form of control. Habits form routines and we learn from them what works, and does not.
Those Hollywood movies and tv shows about pouty, pretty, people may fool you humans. Sure we look as human and normal as you do, but we’re only part human, the part is wolf. Ancient wolf. Werewolf.
And we’re you’re a werewolf there are some things, that despite each generation born, can’t or more correctly won’t be suppressed.
Those instincts that drive animals, to their own habitual needs.
Those parts of our dna that just don’t go away.
The werewolf within our skin, is instinctual and burns to come out.
So its not surprising to read that that on the island of Sibale Island, in the Philippines, werewolves, are once again being hunted.
Whilst I’m not from the Philippines, I am a werewolf and any werewolf will understand the struggle that exists within them.
Especially if they’ve never really been taught how to deal with the werewolf aspects, the restless-ness that creeps forever under the surface of our skin.
A need for freedom to roam and explore. A wanting hunger that takes a lot of food, more than we’re supposed to be seen eating as humans, to settle.
And animals. We have issues with them. And animals have issues with us. Not all, but some. It can get….weird.
So perhaps it’s not surprising that cattle becomes seen as fair game. When you have an animal inside you and it see’s animals who are controlled by others, and therefore, kept in a state of servitude.
They begin to look like a weaker species, like prey.
Werewolves are dominant for the most part, by nature, even Beta wolves can be dominant amongst another animals (but when you put them up against an alpha werewolf, nuh-uh.)
Or maybe it’s just a case of the police and villagers in Sibale Island, Romblon, knowing about the world, the one that includes the werewolves in the first world.
Our race is hard to kill (probably why we haven’t died off just yet).
The police seem to have figured out the pattern for attacks, takes place in our around the full moon. Let’s face it, that is somewhat of a big ass give-away. You’d think if it was werewolves, they’d be smarter than to act up around moon time.
But control isn’t an anything to come by when you’re trying to be two things at once.
That’s what being a werewolf is like really.
You’re one thing and you’re another and the thing is, they’re one and the same, bound up in your blood, coursing through the fibre that makes up someone called you. But you’re bound to other elements in this world, that reach deep into your soul.
The full moon hums into your soul and vibrates along tendons, stretching fibre and facia, to surge the werewolf out. And again, we circle back to control. Even in our tribal form, we need to know how to be ourselves.
We may learn to control our werewolf instincts when we’re looking as human as the person next to you.
We may learn control when we’re in our tribal form. But we can not control the moon itself and what it does to us. Any of us. Lunar week and it does bring out the “loonies” amongst us, just check your police stats, watch them rise anytime there’s a full moon.
This world, we just live in it. Not control it as much as we might fool ourselves to think otherwise.
Nature has her habits too and all of us are subject to them, wether werewolf or human, wether we like them or not.
Who knew falling in love with a demon could be so hard on the heart? Katelyn Pheonix sure didn’t when she met shadow demon, Tarin Armadel.
Katelyn has always lead a low life. She’s never had a life full of privilege, prominence or affluence. But she’s always been able to see the truth in other people, it’s always been her gift. Because Katelyn’s not your average human female. She’s a truth-sayer and being one of those is rare and highly, valuable if you want to commit personal espionage on others. Especially when you want to target paranormal beings.
After a failed murder attempt on her life, vampires and bounty hunters chasing her, an assassin targeting her, Katelyn could do with a lucky break.
Pity the truth-sayer god, Asha whom she is the vessel for, has decided the same thing and left Katleyn to fend for herself and her heart, with Tarin.
Without her truth-sayer abilities how does Katelyn know if she can trust her demon lover? Especially when it looks like he’d willingly pair up with his enemies, to enslave Katelyn for his own purposes. But before Katelyn can work out her feelings on the matter, there is the issue of finding out who’s after them and why.
Katelyn and Tarin must face more than their enemies together. They must face up to what they mean to one another, in order to save what they have, together.
Availalable from Smashwords
I don’t like hurt.
Especially the emotional kind of hurt. It does something to the body. Leaves marks on your soul. It weighs on you and damages part of who you are, in tiny fragments that sometimes heal, but forever leave an invisible scar. It doesn’t feel good and it takes too long to make sense of and get over.
The thing is, some people, are brilliant at emotional hurt. They can manipulate and deceive and impact that thing in you that will cripple you badly. They’re the ones who like hurt, hurting others.
Humans can never wrap their head around the logic of that motive. But the reality is, it’s like a sensation, a high, a good feeling, a normal impulse for them to hurt others. A natural response. An instinct. It’s in their nature and they can’t fight it.
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t need to be wrapped in cotton wool. I’ve never really led a charmed life. It’s been rough all over and if all you know is rough, then all you know to do is roll with it, survive it. Which is what I’d been doing for years. I’ve been doing the best I can. Anyway I can. Anyway that suited me and helped me and got me what I wanted out of this life.
Hurting someone like me, with my ‘talent’, gift, ability whatever you want to call it, it’s more than hurtful. It’s more than a passing thing if it’s done right. It’s damaging. Blindingly damaging. It’s like taking all your feelings, and perceptions and everything you have at your disposal and putting them off line. It changes your insides and remakes you.
It’s why I’ve always been a loner. I learned long ago, that I couldn’t do my thing, I couldn’t read people; get their truth, if they ruined parts of mine. It’s why I’ve never had a relationship. Never allowed myself to feel all those things, that so many people take for granted in being human. Love, passion, desire, want and need, trust and companionship.
Those things are the downfall of someone like me. They counter more than they feed. I don’t want to lose a part of myself to that, because it happened once before when I was young and it wasn’t good, it was bad, very bad, and not just for me. The truth can hurt, and it can set you free, but at what expense?
People don’t know where that saying came from and it’s probably a very good thing, because if you saw what I could set free, from within me, you’d be beyond scared. You’d be cowering before me.
I know what lies inside me and it isn’t good. Nobody can see it, because nobody knows to look for it. To think of it. Because the truth is, what you make of it and nobody makes much of me, because that’s the way I like it.
Guess that’s a form of deception, an odd thing for a truthful person to do. Maybe I’m not as pure as my abilities might make me seem. After all, I use them by giving them to the person who’s willing to pay the right price.
Does that make me an honest soul?