7e
xxxxx
Her eyes darted around the confines of the small, dark room. Her room was cramped, making her feel all the more claustrophobic; a dingy mattress lay on the floor across from the door and a rickety wooden chair stood in the middle of the room. She paced around the room, staying away from that chair. Oh no, that was His chair; she couldn't be near it unless he was with her.
He would stop loving her if she touched it.
The floor of the room was dirty; she knew it even if she couldn't see. It was most dirty around the chair; her blood was on the floor – on the chair – and the walls had peeling paint on them; what use to be white paint was now a murky gray.
She stood against the wall; her back pressed against it as she looked around. She could hear the drip, drip, drip of the faucet in the bathroom that adjoined her room.
She knew she had been alone far longer than she normally was. How many hours had it been? How many days?
No matter how long it was; her mind reeled in worry over it.
Where is he?
Why isn't he here?
Did he forget about me?
Is he mad at me? What did I do wrong?
Is he hurt?
I hope he still loves me...
Ah, yes he loved her. He loved her in one of the sickest, most demented ways a man could ever love a woman.
At first she fought him; she fought him with such passion! She begged him for her freedom; Please let me go, she had begged. She pleaded for him not to hurt her; to stop the bleeding that he loved to cause.
But he never listened.
He always hurt her.
But oh how he loved her!
At first she hated him, she hated his sick and twisted ways. It disgusted her how a man could laugh at torturing a defenseless woman. She remember how he use to strike fear into her when she heard his footsteps outside the door and knew that there was no stop to his torture. She remembered how most the time his love – her pain – had paralyzed her in fear. How could he hate her so much?
But loved her.
And she needed him.
Where is he?
She circled her room like a caged animal. Her eyes stayed locked on the door as she waited for him.
She waited for him because he would have it no other way.
He took her, he chose her, out of every other woman in the world. She had to wait for him or loose his love.
She was his special prize.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
She had become familiar with that noise; she welcomed it as the only noise because it was the only noise allowed except the sound of her breathing or her screams while He was with her. She had welcomed the noise because as days and nights melded together and she no longer knew what day it was; she could feel her self slipping.
Where are you?
They had loved, loved like a man and a woman often did.
She had fought at first; she thought she didn't want it, but she did.
Deep down she did; he told her but she didn't listen. She wouldn't listen.
You can't rape the willing, he had told her afterwards. She had cried at his words and his violation then. How could a man hurt a woman in such a violating way?
Now she understood, he had loved her. Her pain was how she loved him and his violence was his love.
She became more frantic, her pacing became faster as she chewed at the nails she no longer had. He had taken them away.
She had hurt him with them; scratch him when he tried to show her his love. So he took them away. She cried when he did because it had hurt so bad, but she knew now; when he hurt her he loved her.
She was never allowed to hurt him.
He wouldn't love her anymore if she did.
The familiar thump, thump, thump of his footsteps sounded outside the bedroom door and her heart thudded against her chest in the same rhythm .
He came!
When the door lock clicked clicked and the squeak of the door was natural, when light flooded the room she squinted and covered her eyes. It was so weird to see the light.
But when her eyes no longer stung from it, they drifted up to see his staring back at her. There was love in those eyes.
Only his cruel and endlessly painful love for her.