LUSEA
i could recognize him by touch alone, by smell
i would know him blind,
I love you. Those three words he used to use so sparingly, now tossed around so easily they don't have any meaning. I love you, but does he really? And if he does, is it even enough? It love enough when everything else is broken to pieces, spat upon and shattered like the debris after a fire? A fire I didn't start, for once.
I always thought I could withstand the deluge of him, the ferocity of his flood. And I thought that he was strong enough to keep from getting burnt by me- that he liked that I'm a fighter, liked that I blazed, liked the way I pushed him, honed him, refused to take his shit. It's why I waited for so long before agreeing to give him a shot, because I'd seen boys fall apart before. Weak boys, childish boys, boys who thought of women as nothing more than things to play with, to throw away the moment they realized we cannot be controlled.
I thought that he was better than them, that he was a man, but no. He's just a little boy.
He wants to play games? Fine. I'll play. "It's okay, Sunny," I croon a little, lifting my free hand to stroke his cheek. "I know you're sorry. It's been a long time, and you're different now. Of course you are. You have different needs."
Then I wrap my fingers in his hair and try to pull him so his ear is at my lips, hard, sharp, almost enough to caress his skin, my voice a cruel and saccharine snarl. "Maybe I'm different, too. Maybe I need something different. Or someone..." And I swear, I can hear the sound of it: my voice and a man's, the action obvious, low rumbling moans and aching need rippling in the space behind him. The things I would usually do to him, but on someone else, with someone else-
And then I let go, as fast as I grabbed him, and fall back on the ground, defeated and tired. Because the truth is I don't want to punish him, I hate the idea, I hate the sound. I only want to know that the one sure thing in my life is still certain. I only want to feel safe.
I always thought I could withstand the deluge of him, the ferocity of his flood. And I thought that he was strong enough to keep from getting burnt by me- that he liked that I'm a fighter, liked that I blazed, liked the way I pushed him, honed him, refused to take his shit. It's why I waited for so long before agreeing to give him a shot, because I'd seen boys fall apart before. Weak boys, childish boys, boys who thought of women as nothing more than things to play with, to throw away the moment they realized we cannot be controlled.
I thought that he was better than them, that he was a man, but no. He's just a little boy.
He wants to play games? Fine. I'll play. "It's okay, Sunny," I croon a little, lifting my free hand to stroke his cheek. "I know you're sorry. It's been a long time, and you're different now. Of course you are. You have different needs."
Then I wrap my fingers in his hair and try to pull him so his ear is at my lips, hard, sharp, almost enough to caress his skin, my voice a cruel and saccharine snarl. "Maybe I'm different, too. Maybe I need something different. Or someone..." And I swear, I can hear the sound of it: my voice and a man's, the action obvious, low rumbling moans and aching need rippling in the space behind him. The things I would usually do to him, but on someone else, with someone else-
And then I let go, as fast as I grabbed him, and fall back on the ground, defeated and tired. Because the truth is I don't want to punish him, I hate the idea, I hate the sound. I only want to know that the one sure thing in my life is still certain. I only want to feel safe.
i would know him in death,
at the end of the world
SUNJATA
