It was late. It always seemed late. We were both so tired, I remember, probably from a night of making love. I was not feeling well. At all.
There had been a chill about me since dinner. I cringed with every bite. Something was wrong. I could smell him in the air. I could feel his hate pushed against my chest like how you found yourself that night. I knew. I was not feeling well. At all.
When we laid down together that night, I knew he had only gotten closer. He was there, somewhere, in our bedroom, waiting. I didn’t want you to fall alseep, I didn’t want to lose your consciousness that night. I knew he was coming for me. A black fear swallowed up my stomach, my heart, my mind.
But you did stop distracting me with your silky voice and touch and you did drift off away from me, off to somewhere else, not able to protect me any longer.
And then he came.
He slowly creeped into our bed. I could feel his coldness and hatred and darkness curl around me and my eyes pooled over with fear. I wanted so bad for you to wake up and chase him out of our room and protect me. But you didn’t. And he only fed on my fear.
He jerked me around teasing, “Why haven’t you gotten quite heavy?”
I only cried harder, “Please go away. Please go away.” And he laughed.
He pulled at my clothes trying to rip them from my struggling body. “They’re too small for you anyway,” he laughed.
I tried to tuck myself closer to you, possibly trying to suck any sense of self-assurance I could from your warmth. It didn’t work. He was on top of me, trying to touch me, spread my legs, kiss me.
I kicked and sobbed and tore linens from the bed. Tears streaked the edges of my face and spilled down to my ears, my hair, my neck.
"Stop!" I screamed at him, horrified at any glimpse of light bouncing off of his jagged features, "stop…" I had nearly given up. What was the use? He would never leave me. He had my body, my mind, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.
And then he was gone.
He had taken what he wanted. And he left me there to rot near your seemingly lifeless body.
Until, of course, I managed to wake you and cry into your arms and try to find my way back home.
Until I can eat. Fake chicken nuggets. My favorite. Not really, but close.
I really must start on my 10 page English paper. Why must I waste all of my talent on overrated blogging and those who do not yet appreciate it? Why must I be so incredibly lazy in the last two weeks of the semester? Thank God it is the last two weeks of the semester. I think perhaps I will make straight As. I think perhaps that will be good enough for you…perhaps this times 10.
I didn’t even feel the pain until after it happened. Pain pierced the flesh, bone, shot up my arm. Electricity raced down my spine, captured my hand back before anymore damage could be done. Skin began peeling back immediately. Pain. Burning. But more pain. My brain drowned in thoughts of ice. I need ice. Ice. I’m burning.