For Nothing Can Rescue Me

He thinks, sometimes, that it would nice to be rescued. He knows it's ridiculous -- and besides, he's been rescued a couple times. Once, years ago, they realised something was wrong and they came for him. Granted, it might have been self-defense -- he had been trying to kill his friends, after all.

The second time he'd just been scolded, but his need for rescue had all been his own doing that time. And now he remembers a third time, and that rescue cost him his girlfriend, and cost his best friend her boyfriend. Not much to recommend, there.

So now, he's grown-up and he is, if not got it together, able to fake it really well. And everyone around him is still getting rescued. His job now is to be the rescuer, to stand back and just love everyone because that's important, or so they say. He guesses that he serves to remind them all of what the point is -- or maybe he just gives them a safe place to run to when they can't take it anymore. Because he loves them, he will shelter them and say things like "I love you" and "I'll help you."

He doesn't seem to get that said back to him, much. Loving people doesn't seem to make a difference in his own life -- he lost the woman he loved best, or at least the most. His own fault, there, and he could admit it now. Only there isn't anyone listening to hear him admit it. There doesn't seem to be anyone, now, who isn't just coming to him saying "help me, fix this, what should I do?"

He's happy to do it, of course. He likes being needed; it gives him some focus and direction even when he really isn't going anywhere. It makes him feel like he's doing something to show that he really does love.

Only sometimes, when he's sitting here alone and staring at the darkness, he thinks how nice it would be to get rescued. How nice it would feel to have someone show up and say "I'm here to help, and I'm not going away until you're better again." He's fairly sure he'd turn any such offers down, but he also admits he hopes that whoever offers would be stubborn enough to keep offering until he gave in.

Because he thinks he needs rescuing. It's hard to say from what, exactly, because there isn't anything here, hurting him. He isn't in danger from anything but the voices in his own head which tell him about his failures and short-comings. He's created his own Hell, here, and it really isn't that hellish. It can't be, because he's seen real Hell in his friend's eyes, and this isn't that.

He wonders if he's making it worse for himself, just because he really wants to be rescued and knows he has to be worse off than her in order to raise his hand and get anyone's attention.

He knows it's childish, and so he doesn't actually say anything about what he wants. But the thought is there, and he knows he's put it there himself, and he hates himself more for it because what would be wrong with just being the knight in armor, shiny or not, to rescue the fair damsel? He could even rescue the fair knight, if he had any knightly friends. All he seems to know are damsels -- and one ruffian he isn't sure he wants to admit knowing. But... he ought to be happy, right? He has everything he ever thought he wanted.

More or less. Maybe the problem is just that, in his type of life, the only way to know if someone loves you is if they kill something for you. And nobody has killed anybody for him in a long, long time.