You asked for it, you fool. You asked, and you received, so it’s your own fault that you curl into yourself as you struggle to fall asleep, the glow of the TV pale blue.
“I want you inside me.” These words, not about you, not about you at all, tumble in your brain at any given moment–while you’re sitting in your car on a chilly evening, as the sun sets and makes the clouds golden, while you smoke your third cigarette, while you walk to class in amidst the pitter-patter of rain. These words, those words, you just can’t get out of your head. You see them in bright red letters, you feel them slap you across the face.
And when she asks you to hit her, you wonder if you do it because she asks or because there’s a part of you that actually wants to, that wants to make her sting, make her skin turn bright red, bright red like the muscle of your tangled heart.
You get drunk, more drunk than you need to be, and when the situation is brought up you do your best to smile behind your cigarette, take another sip of your gin and tonic, pretend like it doesn’t bother you, because at the end of the day, there’s nothing you can do.
But you sit there with your drink, and your cigarette, and your people, and those words get tangled on your tongue.