#anyway i do think they're all similarly delusional albeit in varying degrees

[moondirti]

i do think dark! gaz has a bit of a... complex about everything he does. a sort of hypocrisy, or sanctimonious attitude — the apollonian champion who'll scorn the sensuous for all but himself. it's a friction that started at work (as all things do, of course) but has gone so far as to infiltrate life beyond it, too.

toxicity. manipulation. isolation. dumbification.

perhaps non obvious to a stranger, nothing like the more flagrant quirks of his teammates. on a surface level, he's the only typical member of his task force. the charm he uses to cut through life used as a shortcut for the others. kyle is the one obliged to order drinks at every bar, or the shepherd to lead flightier birds into the overbearing mens' beds. who's told, repeatedly, how approachable and handsome and kind he is compared to them. that he sets himself apart, despite how equally sullied his hands are. despite the blood crusting beneath his fingernails, and the callus on his trigger finger. despite the sins he's committed fighting those with perfectly mirrored ledgers, trying to stop them from committing more by committing more.

and there's nothing to argue against, not really. spoor it back to basic, where they were taught to justify transgressions by the flag stamped over their arm — it's okay when he does something, because he's on the right side. thrust that ideology forward and it's quick to snowball. now nothing is off limits, not as long as he can justify it. and wouldn't he — decorated, promoted, hand-picked, college educated, admired, perceptive, quick witted, revered, moral, righteous kyle — have well founded grounds for everything he intends to do?

of course he does. he knows best, always.

you edge closer, and that ugliness starts to bare its teeth.

like dipping your toes into placid waters, surface undisturbed, only to be pulled under by leviathan itself. it's something that's been allowed- no, encouraged to grow. fed and fattened up, cleaving through the sea unchallenged. in every relationship, he will appoint himself as the moral arbitrator for your every action. that is, being respected means that everything you do will be picked apart. be ready to defend your decisions, because he's appraising them all. keeps an incisive eye on you, your health, your hobbies, your friends, your clothing, your sleep, your finances, etc... something i think he inherited from price and adapted for his own; though he won't control those aspects for you (at least, not directly), he'll expect you to live up to the expectations he holds.

— which are not the expectations he has for himself.

(sensualism, overconsumption, corruption, arrogance, indecency.

they're all on the cards for him, if he can warrant it.)

and why would they be? you're not him, not unless you prove you're on par, in time. kyle maintains a double standard, though he wouldn't necessarily call it that. he just can't expect you to prescribe the level of thought he does to everything, or do it with enough discretion. do you really dig into the full range of consequence, decide value based on utility? do you know to tally the calculus that determines right from wrong,

(to vindicate pain, you have to maximise happiness. perfectly simple, really. applies to most everything — from the way he bullies you into the relationship in the first place, by determining it's for your greater good, to how he prunes off your friends, one 'break up with him!' advocate at a time.)

or do you act on impulse, like so many of the brutes he's told he's better than?

he wouldn't blame you if you do.

nor would he end things, should you disappoint him.

but you see, having kyle lose faith in you is arguably worse.

to most, things look like they get better. even you're so easily fooled, at first. he's much gentler than he was before. his words no longer have that sharp edge to them, censure a dull knife tucked in the back of a drawer. if you trip or make a mistake, he'll shush the pleas rolling to the tip of your tongue, soft kisses placed over your eyes, cradling your trembling arm. if you succumb to any of your baser desires — like employing your vibrator in his absence, oblivious to the cameras he's installed around the house — he'll just come back home and wring a dozen more orgasms out of you, indulgent of the lust you're so brazen about.

however nice it is, you half expect the switch to flip at any moment; watching warily from the corner of your eye as he goes about his days, completely content to let you do whatever you want. things just feel wrong, thrown off kiler. like there's something going unsaid, or a piece you're misunderstanding. how someone can just shift like that — turn their back on the model they upheld for so long, seemingly overnight. it strikes you the wrong way. too good to be true, almost.

(undoubtedly.)

you finally understand once you voice your concerns.

because kyle refuses to hear you out, pouting condescendingly when you go on about how 'hard things used to be' and how you're 'worried about his change of heart.' (two very antithetical sentiments, he has to say.) doesn't answer any of your questions. rather, he coos softly at your cries, brushing the hair off your temple like one would do a beloved animal. those tears are too big for you, lovie. so silly worrying about complicated things like that. why don't you clear that little head for me before supper.

you're no longer regarded as human, at least not one worthy of deference. but that's just what you wanted, wasn't it? by being so negligent of what it takes to keep that status in his eyes. humans exhibit discipline, intelligence, order, routine. if you can't uphold what that entails, then—

well, you're no better than a pet.

(free range, at least.)