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Pauleen's blog

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Eventually he will kill me. There will be a day when all the healers in the world can not mend my flesh, bind my bones, or hide the evidence. There will come a day when I am but ash. Will he then turn to Thomas as the subject of his rage? I've convinced myself that I am the problem, that he'd never do such a thing to the boy, but what if I am wrong? What if all this time I've spent pushing people away is a detriment to his health and well being? There will be no one there to protect him when I'm gone at this rate. A fate I've accepted for myself, being alone, but not one I can condone for him. Perhaps I should make arrangements.
Hope is a finicky thing. It's something longed for, and so easily stolen. Another drink, he insisted. For almost twenty-four hours, part of me lingered on the offered drink and his insistence, romanticizing what that drink might be like while knowing full well I would be disappointed. I found him in the same tavern, occupied the same bar where we had met, and I watched him drown. Drunk by the time I got there with one woman wanting to shoot him down and another insistent on aiding him. It wasn't that I had developed some silly notion that a one-night stand might actually blossom into anything. It was his audacity to give me hope. Lesson learned.




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