past's misery still haunts me.

It would all be behind me at some point.

These people, these feelings. They would all somehow vanish one day and none of this would matter. If anything, the experience would make me stronger.

I couldn't see it then, in the cafeteria full of my classmates. The words on their tongues about what I had done. Like projectile vomit, they couldn't help it.

I wasn't concieted, it was the unfortunate truth and at that very moment in time, it was all that mattered. I couldn't believe who I had turned into or even worse, what I had just done.

I didn't blame them for talking about it. If I were them I would have done the same thing, and you know what? I would have been ruthless. Junior year was actually where it all started. Senior year would have played out perfectly had it not been for that prior year. Tracing it all back, I now realize it did all start with that one person.

He who ruined my life and knows it.

He who I tried so desperately to make love me and to fix.

He embodied pure evil. His hair was as black as oil and his eyes were black holes in outer space. I craved his re-assurance and his sporatic affectionate touch. I wanted him to be a better person because I needed him in my life. Actually, I needed the person I wanted him to be.

No one could help him and anyone who tried failed miserably, resulting in either leaving the school, starting intense therapy, or in my case, becoming obsessed.

His heart was blackened by his twisted words and negativity. He became the only thing my mind fixated on. My only thought.

I knew what I had gotten into back then, but my mind was too clouded by analyzing his every move, word and touch in order to save him. He is who started it all, and with his conniving, twisted tongue, sick personality and in-ability to love anyone, even himself, he would take my life down with him. All that I had worked for and built on, he would take it down in one clean stroke.

After four years, I feel like I can finally say what I have wanted to since that horrible day. That day that it all caught up to him in the sickest form. They finally stopped talking about me when it happened.

That's right assholes. He's the one you should have been talking about. He's the one who terrorized you and made a monster out of me.

Death knocked on his door, it lurked behind every corner, watching him. Waiting for him. His evilness had finally come to a stop, and I cringe when I say this, I really truly do. But, I wouldn't if I did not truly feel this way.

I've had time to think about it, assess what happened, and make a full circle zinger out of it: The day he died, I did not cry.

I did not close myself off to the world and pray for me to follow him.

I wanted to live. I needed to live without him.

Honestly, if he had not have died, I would have had to go first. It was me or him. I wasn't going out without a fight.

He knows, wherever he is, that it would have caught up to him eventually. He knows what he did to me, and he knows it will never be fixed.

Somewhere deep inside me, within the depths of my complex soul, there remains a black spot on my heart. The spot that he destroyed, the spot that he claimed. I will never get it back, and I still curse him for it.

So I'll say it, with confidence and a bit of hesitance: I do not mourn his death. Quite frankly I never did. After the funeral, I went to my room, shut my door and smiled. I was free from his grip. He could never harm me again.

I will never wish he still walked this earth. He did nothing but hurt me, and stopped at nothing to make me turn myself into him.