Pain

The recipe is simple. A sour friendship, a torn heart. Heavy bleeding. The only way to staunch the flow is to compress the heart. The heart solidifies, now a metallic shell that fills with bile and heartache. The heavy weight settles in your chest, dragging you down, but you learn to live with the torment.

Until _it_ comes along.

It starts innocently enough, offering to distract you from your torment. _It_ steps in and takes some of the weight from your chest, helps you out at first. In return, you take _it_ with you everywhere, out to breakfast and late night dinner. _It_ lulls you to sleep, keeps you company when you're lonely. _It_ starts to ask more and more of you, but _it_ takes more of the weight so everything seems ok.

_It_ asks for commitment, _it_ clings to you. You stay home at night and feed _it_, giving _it_ what _it_ wants. Long sleeves hide the commitment, they wouldn't understand anyway. They don't know _it_ like you do. They don't appreciate _it_ .

_It_ is all you need, _it_ tells you so.