She didn’t even want to speak his name.
He took her dignity, her pride and her self confidence and battered them all into nothing.
Day by day, he’d chip away at her surface in one way or another.
It was a dance between a narcissist and a fragile being; there was no way it could have ever turned out anything but nasty.
Nonetheless, she was there.
And he was lying more by the day, starting to get more serious about the sickening, little power trip he was on.
Soon, she felt like shit beneath a shoe.
He’d gotten his way and broken her down to under him. She depended on him in every aspect of life because he took.
First it was family, then it was friends, then he played on her illnesses.
He claimed she was overreacting as she laid in a pool of her own blood on the floor, or depressed in a self loathing ball.
You see, that was right where he wanted her – vulnerable.
But the funny thing was, when it was over and done, she caught onto his trickery.
She thought to herself, “time to dance with the devil once more.”
So she played along. She waited patiently, holding secrets of his in her hand, just deciding when to throw them in his face.
Her heart grew cold for him. He was the one who was nothing.
Fuck his front. Fuck his lying. Fuck his backstabbing. Fuck his emotionless abuse. Fuck his disgusting sense of self confidence.
She gathered her time and her thoughts and she got what she wanted.
And then, she decided to strike.
Spitting truths like daggers to his blackened heart. Bursting it into nothingness.
As for now, she rebuilt herself, and he does not exist to her.