"That is not exactly how love works, dude." Peter sighs besides me. It’s somehow funny, a flirty-handsome-stranger I met last night now is sitting in a bar with me, sipping his second bottle of beer, listening to how I am feeling towards Tom--my current boyfriend--and the reasons why I’m running away to Bali all by myself.
"Then tell me how it works," I said. His pretty big hand reaches his bottle of beer and sips it before he says, "love is supposedly making you happy, Lana. If your boyfriend does abusive things to you until you have bruises all over your body, it isn't love. Don't you think all of your scars are painful?"
I'm shaking my head. "He said he wants to change, Peter!"
"Well, okay, and does he change?"
He somehow shut me down. "He doesn't isn't he? He is still doing bad things to you so you heal yourself and run awa--"
"You don't understand, Peter." I cut him. He stops talking, staring at me as if he's given me a chance to explain. "I know, I'm aware that I'm having a bad relationship. I'm aware that I love attention, toxic retention, I don't care. As long it's him, as long it's his touch, as long he wants to shut me up, I don't care. I'm craving more and more of it."
He burst into small chuckles. "Does he act like he wants you so badly or does he just come at you while his emotion is high?" he grabbed his beer, handing it to me. "It’s called obsession, you dumb cute froggie. And you’re just like his rubber frog toy he uses when he wants to take a bath."
