Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Love is a tender thing

I love it when you slap me.  In the sharp mineral taste of blood I taste also life.  Vampiric tendencies.  Tonight you hit me across the back of the head with the cordless phone.  You can justify this with the fact that the plastic doesn't crack the bone; it leaves a burgeoning goose egg and a ringing in my ears. I turn my head and vomit.
Brown eyes flashing with anger, you snarl and force a bucket into my hands.  Clean it up.  It's hard to do with my hands tied together.  I clumsily scrape up the piles of sick and slop them into the pail.  You sneer at my handicap; laughing at my efforts. 
Reaching up, you snap out the solitary bulb and tramp back up the steps.  I hear the lock slide into place behind you. 
The basement is dank and smells like rat shit.  Indeed, for a while I could hear the scutterings of my rodent friends at night.  There was a family, they lived just on the other side of the water heater.  I named them, mom and dad and four little ones.  I used to sing to them at night when I got lonely. 
One day you heard me singing.  Came downstairs and saw me rubbing the tip of the mother's nose.  Next day you came back, grinning.  You set the trap just beyond my reach, baited it with a ripe strawberry- my favorite.  Doubly cruel. 
That night I waited, not daring to sing and bring my friends out of safety.  In the early morning hours came the inevitable SNAP.  When you came down to check the next day you showed me the mothers limp body, snout stretched towards the juicy berry.  Within a week they were all gone, leaving me with the less enjoyable company of ants that burrow into my clothes and nip at my skin. 
That's when I started liking the blood.  In my own blood I smell also the blood of my fallen nocturnal comrades, in bleeding we are all the same. 
I have lost track of how long I have been down here.  A week maybe, a month.  It can't have been a year yet because when you brought me down there was snow coming in under the door and now there is sometimes rain but sometimes a warm breeze. 
I asked you at first what I did.  Pleaded to know why you kept me down here, how long you were going to punish me, if you were going to kill me.  Now I stay silent. 
It was after a wedding that you brought me down.  I was in my pretty new dress, green silk on the top with a fitted black skirt.  I said I looked like a modern day Scarlette O'Hara.  You smiled and told me I was silly.  A year and a half we had been dating, and your sister was getting married. 
Funny how I can remember details from that day and not from the rest of my life upstairs.  She wore lily's in her hair, and I had wine colored lipstick that opened in my clutch and ruined the lining.  It was a light spring day; I watched them dance and slipped my shoes off under the table and smiled into your beautiful brown eyes.  After that I excused myself and went to the bathroom.  Standing outside, your cousin; the one with the brilliant green eyes. 
Maybe I smiled too brightly because when I came out he was still there, and then his arms were pushing me behind the stairs and his lips were covering my mouth, neck, breasts with sloppy kisses.  He tasted like jack and coke and I pushed him away, hard.  Perhaps I screamed, but then there you were looking down at me with my dress wrinkled lying on the floor with green eyes telling everyone that I had pulled him down on top of me.  The wedding planner took green eyes away and gave him water and I cried into your breast pocket while you held me on the steps to the reception hall. 
Later you told everyone that you were taking me home early to put me to bed.  I let you lead me into the house and wrap me in your arms. 
Then, my first time. 
The blow took me by surprise and I reeled for a second, cowering.  They came harder and faster, your rings digging into my skin.  I put my hand to my face and felt blood trickling down from my brow, and everything faded to brown.
I woke up in this basement, with a rat licking my face.
I screamed for hours, days maybe, until I realized that there was no one to hear, no one except you.  You would come down more often in those first few days, bringing me water and food and roughing me up.  I tried reasoning and begging and trying to make you see that it was all a simple misconception.  You spat back words, whore and bitch and unfaithful cunt.  Now, I believe you.
Last week, I found a link in my chain that is almost rusted through.  I have been working at it ever since, wrapping it around itself and striking it with the little rock I found in the corner.  Today it broke.
I am waiting, waiting. 
Hours pass and I hear the buzz of the oven pre-heater upstairs.  Another frozen pizza tonight, your favorite.  Finally steps shuffle to the door and I hear the lock sliding back.  You descend and reach up to pull the cord to the light.  In the moment of confusion between light and dark, I spring.  I move with agility, knocking you to the ground and pinning you between my legs with the chain around your neck.  I pull and you kick, bite, scratch.  I pull harder.  Finally, you gurgle and gasp for air and go quiet.  I release, just a little.  Your breath is shallow, but it is there.  Good.
Smiling I wrap the chain around your neck once more.  You cannot win this fight, but neither can I. 
Here we will remain.  I refuse to smother you entirely, but then you refused to put my out of my misery these long days.  At least when we do expire, it will be in a loving embrace. 
There is one rat left, a little baby boy.  He can't feed himself without his mother and sisters.  I will give him the feast of a lifetime. 

Redemption

This is not a sentimental piece.
His eyes aren't as blue as I remember, and his grin is more lopsided.
He's still charming but somehow though I see this it doesn't give me butterflies anymore.
I look at him, not with disgust or anger or hurt, but with a cool calculated assessment.
He talks about you, darling.  He talks about long-ish blond hair and sparking blue eyes.  We both talk about you.  You are my person, but to him you are the one who got away, and always will be.
I think you know this.
Someday maybe, three-five-ten-fifteen years down the road I will be dancing at a wedding, your wedding.  Maybe you will marry that boy, or maybe you will marry the smart sensitive boy you are with now, or maybe you will marry some other one who has yet to waltz into your life.
This I know:
Whatever boy you marry, I hope he looks at you just the same way this one does.  He is broken, we are all broken, but in his own broken way he cares.
This is cruel to write, It's tactless and I should not say it I know.  But.
In losing my own beautiful brown eyed love I have to have something to believe in.
I am glad I saw him, I am glad I have heard him talk about you in this way.
I believe in redemption and I believe in second chances.  Perhaps he is not the devil, but he is not what I want, not anymore.  He is not my puzzle piece. 
Sometimes I wonder who will be at my wedding, sitting next to me as you look lovely in green (blue?) down the line.  Sometimes I wonder who will be next to you at yours.
Either way, I think we both have good options.

I believe in fairy tales, yes.  And we are going to get our happily ever afters.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Happily Ever After.

I believe in true love.  I believe in fairy tales and happy endings and prince charming.  Go ahead, call me naive, I dare you. 
I just know that when you kissed me that night under the street light you sucked out all the poison and brought me back to life with a gasp. 
Life is a fairy tale, except there was a Jeep instead of a pumpkin and I seem to be both princess and wicked witch.
I will have my happy ending, I will have my happily ever after.
When I cease to believe that, I cease to exists as myself at all.
So be my Prince Charming, please.  
Do it soon, before they take me into the forest to carve out my heart.

Public Relations

You fuck me until I cry.  You tell me you like it when I'm scared; tell me that you like the tears.
My lamp is too far away, I think, to reach and bash you across the head.  Even if it was closer, you're keeping my arms pinned behind me. 
And yet, I'm afraid of hurting you.  You're driving yourself deeper into me, grunting with each thrust; I wince and I'm equally scared that if I fight back you'll snap me by accident or I'll scratch you and draw blood.
I love you.  This is a mantra, repeated countlessly as I tense my body away from yours.  I love you.  I love you.  I love you.
You tell me I like this, tell me I'm a whore.  Maybe later I will agree, but right now I am broken and you are keeping my wings clipped.
Tomorrow I will apologize for sending you into this rage.  I will grovel, trying to work out what I did that was wrong enough to make you treat me this way.
Then, I will put on heels and a sundress and affix myself to your arm.  To the outside world I am just what I seem; simpering southern lady, lovely senators wife.
Tonight it's grunting and slapping and pulling my hair.  Tonight is terror and sweat and salty tears.
Someday soon, you will pull my neck until it snaps.  A part of me can't wait.