He claims to be in love with me.
I don't think he even knows what love is.

How can someone like him even begin to comprehend such an emotion? I've told him that he's wrong. That he isn't thinking clearly. Or even thinking at all, for that matter. I've tried to explain my disinterest and why things will and would never work out between us. I don't love him. How could anyone love him? He is the literal embodiment of death. He kills everything he touches. Well, in most cases. But never in mine. I've noticed that he's only ever reached out to me while he wears gloves. (An offer I never take.) He's very deliberate about keeping those boney fingers covered. I suppose that's a relief. Along with the mask he wears over his skull of a face.

No eyes, yet he always watches me. No tongue or lips, yet he always calls out to me. He brings a chill into any room he enters. He literally takes the life out of things. Maybe that's what he's attracted to with me. General life and warmth. Something about it must be drawing him in. Even though he claims to never have fallen in love with anyone else before. In the history of human existence, I am believed to be the first. Not sure if that makes me lucky or unlucky. More likely unlucky.

Because who knew death could be so petty.

He refuses to allow me to die. Time doesn't seem to touch me either. I exist now the same as I existed when he first confessed to me. That was over a hundred years ago. Turns out the god of time is quite the faithful wingman to the god of death. Small world.

This means that not only do I have to press onwards with this lengthy and very much unwanted existence. I also have to press onwards through Death's ever determined rizz game. It should come as no surprise that the entity who has never once had a partner or romance of any capacity since he has existed has severely weak charm.

His shots were typically of the same caliber each round. "Share an eternity with me." Which sounds like what I'm already doing, given my immortal circumstances. But no. There is the ethereal eternity life as the bride of Death. And then there is the permanent purgatory of taxes. Sure, I got to live with eternal youth. But what is the point when you don't get to live that posh vampire existence?

I am working two jobs just to make all my bills. The good news is that I never need health insurance nor acquire any medical debts. I am as healthy as a horse. Always will be. Which means I never need to use any of my sick days from work. More work, more money. More money, more food. Just because I couldn't starve to death didn't mean I didn't still get those fierce hunger pains. I still need to eat. I still need to sleep. I am still human, after all. At least, I think I am. This immortality is against my will. Possibly even temporary. Until Death finally takes my denial seriously.

I am tired. I am worn. Withered. Wilted. I had never even bothered with nor desired romance with other humans, let alone a minor, lowercase "g," god of death. Even thinking of romance is exhausting. I'd genuinely rather just... give up the ghost. It is well past my time anyway. I wasn't a big fan of living even back during my normal years. This is all a bit too much.

He calls this a gift to me. A token of his affection.
I call it my personal Saw trap.
He thinks he is spoiling me.
This is torture.

I have asked him before to simply let me go. Multiple times. On multiple occasions. He denied me. Telling me that given time, I would eventually return his affections. Talk about toxic. Sounds more like extortion or blackmail to me. Holding me hostage. Stockholm syndrome much?

Well, the sad news for him is that I am patient, too. And stubborn. I want what I want and don't want what I don't want. I don't want him. I want release. So, we will just have to see who will break first.