Is poking her tongue out again. She thinks I can’t feel her triumphant viterol. She is revelling in my fall,  enjoying my demise, feasting on my sadness, directing my torment. Rubbing salt into my gapping wound. This is the other side of NG. The one she hides from all. Except me. She has not healed any more than I have. She is still angry. She is hurting like me. She is lashing out as much as she can whilst maintaining radio silence from 163 miles away. She wants me to feel her pain still. I don’t blame her. I’d be pissed off too. Her ironic humour has not gone unappreciated or unnoticed. Her final cryptic middle finger to me not wasted. She will be as secretly pleased as she is annoyed. I like her style. Her desire to tease and goad. Naughty Goat. 

She is not happy. She is realising llness and uncertainty is not something that can be shared after all. Brothers in Arms are forged in the soul, not in the furious haze of desperation, loneliness and need. A bond formed speedily and for the wrong reasons is always useless currency.

Pity was never much of an aphrodisiac.

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