Rastaban told me today that I was resentful.

I am, I suppose, although I do not feel it. I find it tiresome to look in on that girl every day. I am not important enough to deserve any other role; yet it is tiresome.

If that is resentment, then I suppose I am resentful.

Does that make me resentful of Rastaban as well? Perhaps. Mainly I am tired. He is tiresome. His energy impinges on me. Sometimes I suspect he does it on purpose.

He makes me so tired. His energy is like a force of nature. You're safe when his attention is elsewhere, but when he turns, it's like being hit by a maelstrom. Sudden elemental energy. Drugs. You are not responsible for your actions when under the influence of Rastaban.

It is easier to say that. Perhaps it is even true.

His energy is tiresome, and his attention as well. There is simply too much of it. Everything in moderation. There is no such thing as moderation to Rastaban. He is a creature of all or nothing.

He tries to force that on everyone else, as well.

I cannot resist him. It is simply too hard to try. A touch, a smile, a hint of teeth, and I am on my back or on my stomach, legs open, skin parting.

I suppose I am resentful if I am anything.

He makes me uncomfortable. His energy is too much. He overwhelms me more than Orlouge does. I find myself thinking about him, longing after him. He makes me feel warm. Safe. That is a dangerous mindset that I must learn to avoid.

I try, but cannot stop wanting him. I can stop myself from showing my responses, at least. It is an effort to feel. He forces me to. I dare not show it.

I want to beg him to touch me. I want to beg him to leave me alone.

I suppose that could be considered resentment.

I want not to think about how he makes me feel. I want control. I want him to allow me to close myself off completely.

I have no idea what he wants from me. Why he will not leave me alone.

Probably, it doesn't matter. That is just the way things are.

He makes me feel. I cannot bear that. It is unsafe. I am satisfied with life as it is. I do not wish for change. I prefer the quiet and the cold. It is quiet, here. Less tiresome.

Even focussing this much is tiresome. I do not want to think about this. I want to be left alone to my cold and my quiet.

I keep coming back to Rastaban. Knowing I damn myself, I do it anyway.

Perhaps that is resentment. If he says it is, it must be. I would not call it that.