Looking into that beautiful, discordant gaze of yours, I liquefied. Still. Despite your brutality. Your amber eyes glowed with an otherworldly lustre. I found you achingly beautiful in your brokenness, much of which carved itself into the lines on your face. In many ways you embodied as much mystery as does the Mona Lisa. This gave you a sort of divinity in my eyes: so much of you known to me, so much more of you an enigma. And so, I found myself reaching for more of you, to feed this strange hunger your presence cultivated within me. I began to believe that, one day, something broke inside you, I have no idea what transforming you into the devil Himself, juxtaposing a charming and gorgeous façade with a monstrous, sadistic spirit. Or maybe you’d always been broken, but your cloaking device only worked for a limited time. Oh, my Dangerous Angel, my passion and my pain, how could I still love you so?
Whenever we got back to our room, five floors of stairs up, it’s like you became some kind of Edward Hyde. Mean, harsh, and scary. All the bullying, all the hideous questions, all the insane accusations, they engulfed us me, as if having gushed from the walls. How could someone who behaves so lovingly and gently in public become so cruel and demented in private? I lowered myself cautiously onto the bed.
And I tried not to cower, as I witnessed your transformation from loving to demonic and sadistic. Cowering just made the demon more ferocious, more intent on inflicting pain. I cast my gaze to the ground as you undressed, then took my cue and did the same, slowly, gently. I dreaded what would happen next, what you would do. When I grabbed my nightshirt, you lunged toward me and tore it out of my hands, tossing it across the room, near the door. You towered over me, and gruffly placed your hand on my chin and lifted it so that my eyes meet yours.
That sinister, fiery glow in your eyes frightened me. I did not want to lie down. I did not want to submit myself to you and your sadistic tendencies.
I remained motionless, my eyes begging for mercy.
“Lie down,” this time your voice, laden with so much anger, boomed.
I did as you commanded. My heart pounded and my stomach seized with fear.
“On your stomach.”
I obeyed. You mounted me. And thrust yourself into me, into my behind. You were barbed wire, tearing me wide open. I whimpered. I begged you to stop. I tried to keep quiet. But I couldn’t. The rougher you got, the more you hurt me. The more you hurt me, the rougher you got. I felt like I was bleeding out of my ass. You wrapped your fingers in my hair and pulls, jerking my head toward you.
“Shut up,” you hissed in my ear.
“You’re hurting me. Please. Stop.”
“I’m not done with you yet, you slut. How many other men have you had, this way? Don’t lie to me. I know. I’ve seen proof.”
You dismounted me. Then, yanking my hair, forced me onto my back.
You reached down to grab your tallboy from the floor and took a long swig, then lit a Pall Mall cigarette. You lifted your arm, inviting me to lay my head on your chest. I accepted this invitation.
“I want to come in your mouth.”
“Please. I can’t.”
“You lying whore! I know you’ve done hundreds of other men, and all just for crack. So, why won’t you do it for love?”
How could I convince a man who’s always right, even when He’s wrong, that He’s wrong? And why does he think I’ve done these things? What proof could he possibly have?
Without warning, you grabbed my hair and tugged me forward, holding my head down above your genitals, forcing your penis into my mouth. You thrusted so forcefully that I gagged. And when I reflexively used my teeth, You whipped my head away from your groin, and began yelling.
“You hurt me. Why did you do that? You did it on purpose, didn’t you? You bitch. I’ll bet you didn’t pull that shit with all your crack dealers, did you?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t do it on purpose—”
Your fist hit my face with a dull thwack. Another one. I froze, mouth gaping open, unable to speak, then quickly placed my hand over that spot. I felt my skin balloon out and grow red. I got out of the bed, stood in front the mirror above the pedestal sink and just stared at myself. I felt like I was in love with a live grenade that has no pin. Who is that girl staring back at me? How did she let things get to this point? And who is that man, that monster?