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2011-11-01 / 2:55 p.m.

I find him hiding in that place that we both used to pretend to hang around, just so we could see each other. It's two or three in the morning, and neither of us expect to find one another. Not here. Not now. That's not how it works anymore.
I can tell that he's been drinking, but I don't admit the same - I let him make his own assumptions. He looks at my face, the giraffe print and the novelty headband, doesn't say anything, just nods. Allows me to use Hallowe'en as an excuse to dress up on an ordinary Friday. I relax a little. He's still holding onto parts of himself that I thought he had lost.
There's a lot to be said, so we launch into an age old conversation of ours about monkeys on motorbikes. We creep around the unsaid, and that's just about okay.
My phone rings. Somebody cares, I guess, but I keep hiding, the way I used to, and he knows that I'm still under his thumb the way I've always been.
I don't tell him I've missed him, and he doesn't say it either. He wants to fuck me still, he says. That's not how he used to say it, but I know what he means. I don't know what to say to that, and so I say nothing at all, and he makes that sigh of acknowledgement in only the way that he can.
I use my will power and my strength, and I leave.
"Let me see you sometime", he says.

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