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I’m bad because I’m smart.
I’ve reached that conclusion when I turned seven. A nice number. Prime. You can’t predict it because no multiplication will lead you to think it’s seven.
Lots of people would say that being smart doesn’t necessarily mean you have to be an evil, bad person. And those who claim that are basically stupid, because they don’t know smartness comes in many ways. I’m not smart in a scientist way or even as an artist—I’m smart in the ways of manipulating people to get what I want, whenever I want it. And I find my will to win a motor to be smart. It’s an asset I use, not something I’ve chosen--- I basically work with what I’m granted. It was practically unavoidable: if I had to survive to my family, it had to be in my own terms.
That’s why I’m evil. I’m evil because I can’t do anything for anyone besides myself, because my own smartness granted me the easy way to get happiness. I’m that much of a bad person, and I’ve found out over the years that it makes me happy. Winning. Looking down at others. A thief, they say, sees everyone as their equal. It’s easier that way. The thief doesn’t get hurt because he sees everyone as a thief so if something gets stolen, it’s just what he predicted. And knowing things leads to happiness, because you have a mindset prepared for despair. Like an escape button.
That’s why human relationships get in the middle of things and I know this isn’t the same for everyone and that it isn’t necessarily truth, but I also know that truth is what you make it to be. I’m smart, and I don’t need friends, because that would be difficult. Friendship means trust and if I trust, and that trust is broken, how do I trust again? How do I calculate basing on something as shape-changing as friendship?
I’m all about numbers and probabilities, so follow me, if you please: let’s say happiness can be measured and living a life trusting friends it’s a ten. Now let’s say that getting what you want without trusting anyone and loving anyone is a decent 6, because after all, you do get what you want. The fact about trust is that it can be broken, so within moments of 10, you’ll have moments of 0. Of 1, 2 if you must. Zero. Ten. That leads me to a conclusion: trusting people actually means five. Six is actually a better number than that.
I get ahead. I plan.
I’m never caught under the wheel.
That’s why I hate Center.
Yes, I hate Center.
She doesn’t care. Am I worried that she doesn’t care that I betrayed her? No, that’s actually smart of her. Because what happened, happened and she knows there’s no point in changing it. But for fuck’s sake, she doesn’t care that I’ll do it again, and that really, really, REALLY annoys me! Where’s the smartness there? Why would you be alright with things you can’t control, like a friend betraying your trust?
How can the thief see everyone as their equal if the other thief is basically shoving every object into his arms, willingly---? oh, fuck the metaphor. Why does she trust me with her soul, with her heart, with her wellbeing, knowing that I’ll crush it under my fingers over… and over… and over again?! I hate her because I don’t understand her and as I said, happiness for me comes from manipulation. How can I manipulate someone when I don’t understand how their mind works?
If A, then B. If you’re betrayed, then you run away—because when you touch boiling milk and get burnt, you see a cow, and cry. How do I make the proper calculations when A, then… love? You’re betrayed more than once, and you refuse to hate me?
I like it when I grow accustomed to things. Because knowing means control, and god knows I like being in control of things, more so from the shadows (you can’t be targeted if you don’t have a form, if you’re merely a whisper to the right person at the right time). And the thing I’m most used to is being hated, despised. No one expects less than that from you. I’m a rat. I’m the pest you want to get rid of, but underestimate. And when you think you’re done with me, you realize I’m everywhere, and the things I whisper become a scream from another throat. Not mine. Even if I’m not there, I’m there.
Why can’t I make her hate me? Like everyone else does!
Why?!
I don’t like her. I hate her. I hate the guts out of Center. She’s like a lone puppy starving for love, and even if you kick the dog, the dog will come to you, waving its tail because it doesn’t matter what you do, the love isn’t related to facts but to the heart. She said it a hundred times. That she loves me. She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. She can’t love me because no one can love me. If you’re nice to people, they love you, they seek you. If you hurt them, they flee. They hate you.
I hurt people. And she loves me. She’s the damn flaw in that equation.
So she’ll become my own flaw. My own weakness--- shit, I despise that word. I’m not weak. I’m smart. I don’t fight battles I cannot win. Me against Center… is that a fight I can win?
I tried to use her love as a tool. I realized that I could, perhaps, make something of a strength out of a flaw in my calculations. She loves me? Then she’ll rush to save me and I can get rid of her. But then again, it was my miscalculation, to work with a miscalculation. She knew all along about my trap. She knew, she fucking knew and she came anyway! She came to save me! Because she loves me! She loves me! She loves me! She loves me and damned be it all because it feels so good. Cursed be her, the heavens and everything related to her, because when her heart beats I find my soul dancing to the rhythm, and when she whispers I crave to feel the warmth of it. And I cling to her. And again. Because she loves me.
Center loves me.
And perhaps, that's ok.