Rep needed twitter. There was nothing to do on the island, no internet, no outside life, not even a television channel to vegetate in front of. Before when he felt bored he could just push the junk off his couch and flop there, surrounded by his possessions and watch TV, and if even that hadn't worked there were always the drugs, there was always drink and drugs. Here there was neither, not the same way it had been. He spent his days rewatching tired movies he'd seen a hundred ******** times and doing duties where nothing ******** happened. His whole life had been danger, it had been never knowing when someone would shank him or he would need to shank someone, it had been never knowing when his heart was hammering in his chest on a high if it was about to beat its last. Deus was exciting, it was dangerous, but sometimes when things were calm it was unbearable. Even cliff diving did not seem to reach him the way it had before, he knew where the safe places were now and he couldn't pretend that he'd hit the dangerous ones. Harrison liked routine, Rep hated it.

Deep down, Rep craved other people more than anything else. Even when they wore him out, even when they hurt him or frustrated him, he wanted to be with them and around them. It made him a persistent nightmare and he knew people treated him now the same way they had when he'd been a whingeing child wanting to be given attention and doing anything he could to get it. But he couldn't stop because stopping was the worst thing on earth, stopping was boredom, stopping was torture on a level he couldn't begin to explain. Some people enjoyed solitude and loneliness, they found their own company enjoyable. The truth was there was no one Rep hated the company of more than himself, it was like being locked in a room with someone you wanted to hurt, someone you wanted to kill every day of your life. He wanted to strangle that whingeing child to shut it up, to finally have some ******** peace. But he couldn't, because he was also a coward. Living was a habit he couldn't bear to break, not now.

He needed twitter because there other people couldn't escape him, no matter how much they hated what he said, no matter how much they hated him, they would listen, and he never wanted them to know that they were the things he looked forward to in his life, that they were what kept him going. Some of them would hate that, would hate being enablers to the ******** rotten creature that he apparently was. He didn't feel rotten, he was detestable but when he examined his own insides and tried to look inside his head all he saw was direct reason. People said A, A had been proven to be wrong in his life, he would direct them that A was wrong, there was no lying, no twisting anything, he claimed only to be as right as any flawed human being could be. He couldn't see the problems so he couldn't fix them. And there had to be problems, if there weren't he'd be loved by other people more generally. Instead there was only Harrison, and he would never diminish Harrison, Harrison was his whole world, his everything and his other. Jordan too had cared about him but even he'd had second thoughts. People on the whole seemed to find him irritating, and he refused to adopt insincerity in order to be loved. Because then they would love only the mask he wore and not what lay underneath it.

There was a consistent determination that he lived by, keep going, keep standing up for what he believed in, never shut up, never surrender. It was a fight that kept him going because when he stopped and gave up he feared he'd never move again. But sometimes he got tired, sometimes he faltered and doubted and those most of all were the dangerous times.

He needed twitter.

Twitter didn't need him.

And sometimes that hurt. But only when he let it. Only when he was weak.

Its okay cause everyone's already used to you being wrong

And it had rattled him, thrown him out of his stride though he wished it hadn't. Was there any point in telling people what he thought, in trying to understand himself through the mirror that was their opinions and views, of trying to correct them or have them argue back and help him understand what the ******** was wrong with him? He needed them, they were important, the most
But sometimes he wondered why he did it, sometimes doubt would slither in and twist everything up. No one wanted him raining on their parade, no one even liked him. He gave them all of him, all of his neuroses, his feelings and prejudices, he did not lie to them, he laid himself bare. And they didn't want what they saw, they didn't want him, just as everyone ******** else had. He wished he could start over somewhere else, sometimes people liked him when they didn't know him, when they thought he was an all-right bloke, before they saw that it was darkness all the way down.

He should stop, he should close it for ever, leave himself only with the silence and solitude of the island, demand even more of Harrison's time and attention.

But if he was going let people not liking him win he should have done it himself when he was young, let himself starve as a kid or off himself as a teenager, life now was a well instated habit, roots that reached down into the world and wouldn't let go. He didn't want to die, even if people were s**t it didn't change the deep love he had for things, for the world itself and the non-human things in it. He loved Harrison too. Harrison was important. More important that all the things in the world. He had no real intention of giving up, he was addicted to persistence, to going on and on and on.

But sometimes, even when you were a master of going and going and going, something randomly threw you out of your stride, and it had.

No one ever took him seriously, but quitting wasn't an option.