Why Am I Writing This Again?

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(S.C.S.F.A. cont.) Right; I need routine, a challenge, and memory as core elements, like I'm some sort of experimental machine of the american dream. I need to make sure that I don't forget. Like the day the Silent Man stood at every window, watching to remind me what my silence had done. This is usually when I give up, you know. I've mentioned cognitive compartmentalization as opposed to dissonance, the segmented interpretations of reality that feed to whatever undaunted yearning my soul cries out with. I was two people in this time--I was Fern, as I always had been, cold and critical when I felt it necessary, but still compassionate enough to make sure that it made sense by the end of it. I tried desperately to stay honest with myself and live in the moment, so that I would always remember that I chose this path. I chose to fall in love with the Joker. A rift in my persona had been created, the soft romantic focusing all of her attentions on matching her new world with a unique mark. This world held possibility, because in this world, I controlled the tide. And I refused to let life drown my will to be happy while pursuing my dreams. I didn't realize how close Vasanta and Kalle were in the restaurant. He was, in a number of ways, a pervert. She was a lesbian, in the midst of a tragic break up. Okay, on a few levels, looking back, it can make sense, but for the most part their friendship seemed sweet, like two brothers looking out for eachother. I just never considered it. I assumed because of Vasanta putting off a much more rational mind than most, she would see the underlying meaning in those stories that I wrote. I was childish, in that I assumed all females must have some sort of interest in 'romance stories' and justified their vulgarity as 'next level'. I thought she might catch the way the characters interacted with each other, and how it implied a dark romance . She was so shy about the details that I questioned whether I might have lost a friendship, on a number of occasions. Thankfully, for whatever strange reason, she's always been one of the most forgiving people I've ever met in my life, with a grace any angel should envy. She admitted that Kalle may possibly find it intriguing, retreating to "I don't know," as an embarrassed reminder of how far the scenerio had gone. I felt a bit guilty assuming so much at that point. I always imagine a certain air of principles to adopt when one is reading that insists on catching the subtle minutia. Maybe, when we are unaware of them, they are that much more discomforting, disturbing in their mystery. Whatever it was, before I had even memorized the link myself to give to Kalle, Vasanta had told him of the awkward, but kinda cute hostess that was interested in him. He knew my situation, and by the time I had asked to use his phone, he was well aware of what the link I saved in his notes would lead to. It was his response. The next day, he had his moment. Early hours of the restaurant, the gm was in his office, or the kitchen prepping, the cooks were out back smoking, the bartender and most servers still hadn't come in yet. I was the only one up front, facing the host stand while I cleaned off the menues, something I only got to do now because we weren't officially open yet. The click of dress shoes to my right, and only seconds before I felt him pressed behind me, one hand on my body, the other pressed into the counter, a ready balance for when he would push away from me. "I could make use of a girl like you." Oh no, that's not ver batum. What he said to me in those seconds echoes through me with so much sin, I know that it Must stay in my head. It left me trembling, weak. In those seconds he pulled away from me, I didn't dare face him. He knew that in those moments, I was a puppet and nothing more. I was prey. And oh, I loved it. As he walked away, I dared him to repeat himself, hoping that I looked only a little bit flustered. This soft romantic had a name. I kinda wanna call her Koi. Koi was falling in love, one rebounding, painful step at a time. Farther and farther into the rabbit hole, she crumbled, Cruel and cold Into the hands of a new found passion. Into a fantasy, where she could only exist for so long, until she destroyed it, just like everything else. Sounds dramatic as sh*t, right? Don't worry, it's fictional. You don't have to cry if it's a lie, right?