To prove to some people, including myself, that I'm not afraid of myself, my past or my writing, I'm going to post this.
It's going to be in several parts, because it's too long otherwise.
All events are real.
Names have been changed to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent.
Most of it should be fairly accurate, because I was psychotic about getting this all on paper for one of my creative writing courses in college . . . and thus TORTURED poor "Todd" by interviewing him (yes, interviewing him, I was a weird kid in college, okay, I still am) to get a better understanding of how what happened happened. He also told me things I didn't know had occurred.
Like him going on dates.
Or picking girl's up.
Because he thought I was messing with his head.
Anyway, as you can probably tell, he was the first guy I was with after Jeff (or Chad) and I was NOT in any state to be dating anyone.
It wasn’t because of the pleasure.
Nor of the pain.
It was to keep her awake.
It served to bring his climax.
She watched his face contort, felt his body clench and then watched him collapse on her.
She strove not to push him off.
Not to bend her head and embed her teeth into his shoulder to startle him.
To shift his heaviness from her.
She wanted to cry.
This is not how it should have been.
He raised himself off her, kissed her forehead and headed to the bathroom.
She felt the breeze from the fan cooling the sweat that had accumulated between her breasts.
She drew the sheet over her and then quickly pushed it back down. It smelled of him and sex.
He came, still wet, from the bathroom.
She felt his weight shift the bed and moaned.
He mistook it for arousal.
"You already wanting more?" he asked, trailing his fingers up her leg.
She clenched her thighs together a bit tighter.
"Playing hard to get?" he laughed.
She wanted to scream at him not to touch her. But couldn’t force her mouth to move.
His hand moved into the cleft between her thighs and she unwillingly became wet.
She fought remembering another man’s touch.
Someone she had loved.
How could she do this?
Her own acquiescence to this angered her.
She wanted to scream again.
It manifested itself in her hands instead.
She turned the strength of the scream into leverage and pushed him from her.
Before he could question or object, she jumped from the bed.
Feeling the coolness of the room touch her body, the carpet pushing up between her toes and the anger consume her.
Tears clouded her eyes.
She stalked blindly to the bathroom and locked the door against him.
The rushing in her ears stopped and she could hear him on the other side.
"What the fuck, Alex? Open the goddamn door."
She felt a sting and looked down.
Her hands were clenched into fists against the door.
Her fingernails biting into her palms.
In the crescent shaped indentions, she saw blood begin to well up.
She was numb.
She turned the shower on to drown out the noise he was causing.
She waited until the water was scalding and stepped under the stream.
"OPEN THE GOD. DAMN. DOOR!"
She heard the knob jiggle, his fist pounding at the wood and then stopped listening.
The water burned her skin.
Melting his touch, his designer cologne and her anger.
She watched it slide down her body and then to the drain.
But she could still smell him.
It choked her.
Brought her to her knees in the shower.
She tried not to throw up.
The pounding stopped.
She grabbed the sponge from the hook in the shower and began to scrub.
She could feel the skin, already shocked from heat, chaffing under the strength of the friction.
She couldn’t tell if the water in her eyes was the shower or tears.
Her throat felt raw.
She had been screaming.
"Alex, oh god, baby are you okay??"
The anger had left his voice and only worry remained.
She felt calm.
She turned off the water, stepped from the shower and toweled herself off.
When she opened the door, he was sitting on the edge of the bed.
"What’s going on, babe? You had me about to tear down the damn door. What is your damage?"
She didn’t want to answer him.
She placed her hands on his chest and watched her fingers slip in and out of the hair there.
"Damnit, Alex, talk to me."
She pushed him back on the bed and straddled his waist.
"Alex, stop it, we have to talk. What the fuck is going on?"
She leaned into him and forced her mouth against his.
She began to kiss him, roughly at first but becoming a sliding of tongues and lips that aroused instead of hurt.
He tried to reason with her again. "Alex, baby, stop and talk to me. Tell me what’s going on."
She bit his lip. And slid a bit further down on him.
"Goddamn it! Listen to me! You’re not going to disappear for a week, fuck me, run into the bathroom, lock me out, scream like you’re dying and then act like nothing happened! STOP and talk to me!"
He didn’t understand.
She leaned her head in and bit his chest.
That was all he could take.