greer. five.

cw: binge eating, para 4 + 5

I saw what the other children had, and what I did not, and it was all I ever saw again. I felt a deep, primal tug in my chest, my palms tingle, a need. A want. A necessity. And so I would take things from them, because they had them and I did not. Five years old slipping things into my pocket and blinking in faux-confusion when questioned. Tucked away at home, marvelling at the things that were now mine. A signet ring, a keychain, a lip balm. Tiny things. Trinkets. They were mine, and it filled me up for a while - until the hole got bigger and I wanted, needed more.

So I stole people. From friends, from lovers, I wanted them. I needed them, and all the pretty things that came with them. Laughter and glitter and presents on my birthday, attention and secrets and everything else that filled me up temporarily. My poor parents gave me all they could but it was not enough - never. Even if they gave me the whole world I'd still look at the universe and need every star in the sky.

I own eight pairs of sunglasses. Eight. Haven't bought a single one myself, like the three wallets and fifteen pairs of sandals stowed underneath my bed. The weather in Five is shit it's a miracle if we get fifteen sunny days a year underneath the smog, but it's not about their usefulness, it's how having them there makes me feel. I buy, and feel full for a little bit - and then feel empty, then pawn them off, then make money, then buy more, and it goes on and on and on until I am surrounded by piles of things and suffocate.

But a fancy dinner does the trick, ordering one of everything and forcing them down my throat until I think I might be sick. But I feel full, for a while, and that makes me smile. Then I feel disgusting, and buy things to make me feel better, and people like me better when I have things, and then I have them, and life is made up of the little moments of joy that drown out the deep, empty abyss I've always felt within me.

When I can't fit another bite in I steal kisses from boys and girls, claiming them one by one by one. Bored easily, I flit from one to another and spiral down the rabbit hole of need until there's not a pair of lips in my grade I haven't felt against mine. Someone called me a little slut once and I laughed, called them a geriatric right back, but then I went home and sat in my room of things and bawled my eyes out until I was empty. Then I filled myself up until I could barely move. 

Who needs those clowns with their awful words. I have friends. Collections, I hoard their attention in my heart. Poe, for one. They've got everything I ever wanted - money, fortune, taste - and they're good company. I know a good thing when I see it and they're one of them. So I clutch them to my chest, keep them as close as my enemies who I kiss in the dark -  the same lips that spat terrible things at me just to say I knew what terrible tasted like. I take and take and take until I have every bit of them. The good, the awful, the terrible.

Then I leave them, suck the life out of the next person I acquire.

But not Poe. Poe's too precious to discard. I think it's because they know how terrible I am and yet still make the effort to be my friend. Or that they know far worse types of people and remind me of it constantly. Or that they don't question how I have my money and my things and my friends without ever spending a dime or working a job. I'm not sure, but there's something about them I desire that's more than the material, the status, the itch in my fingertips. I go back time and time again, and I know I would - even if there is better out there. I just want to be their friend. No more, no less, no desire, no desperation, no longing or need for anything else from them.

I think that's why they're so precious to me. Because I don't necessarily need their friendship. I simply want it. When I'm red-eyed and blubbering, biting down on nailbeds of fingers that are so awfully selfish, wailing about some terrible person I'd crawl back to anyway, they just pick me up and look after me without so much as a thought. Just a stupid, skinny, ratty-looking seventeen year old kid with as many freckles as stolen things and they still keep half an eye out for me, because they know it makes me happy to be around them. 

I'd never steal from Poe. Not ever. The one person on the planet I'd never con. That's why they're so precious to me. All I take from them, they'd give to me willingly anyway.

They give.  They already give too much than I'd ever deserve. 

So I take it all, a small smile, a thousand thank-you's. Maybe one day I'll learn to give it all back to them. Because Poe's my person. My person - but I'd never hold them back if they wanted to leave. It'd hurt. It'd hurt so much, but I'd let them.

Maybe that's giving. Maybe I'll learn how to let them go.

One day. For now, I'll stay selfish.

I'll stay greedy.