A grey haze distorted his vision. A salty taste of blood oozed into his mouth & waves of nausea took hold. It had been 7 days.
7 days since the last time this happened. 7 days since the time before that. Almost like sadistic clockwork. How am I going to tell him?
His body ached from the latest beating. Bruises splattered his body like drunken art. His ribs creaked with the age of old oak floorboards.
But despite the physical pain, the emotional agony of keeping this secret any longer was becoming unbearable. I will tell him. I will
***
In 7 days time, it would happen again. But I won't let it. The beatings, this weekly physical onslaught was consented to. I agreed to it.
Besides, I still needed to tell him. There's only so much I can physically hide. The next chemical assault would have to wait. I love him.
I love him. Too much sometimes. And sometimes, I love him badly. In a bad way. A cruel, selfish way. But I have to keep him. He can't leave.
Without him I might as well be dead anyway. But if I tell him, he might leave. But he might stay. I'm sure he loves me just as much?
The poison coursing my veins also clouds my judgement. My thoughts are completely disordered. This poison is supposed to fight the disease.
But for what? Months of agony and the prospect of a life alone? If I'm to survive this as half a man, alone and lonely, life can fuck off.
I take another handful of pills. And the pain starts to slip away. I'm on a pastel coloured ward, and it's shining. How did I get here?
Around me, smiling angels drift down the length of the ward, wearing nurses uniforms. I'm in a blue pastel gown. On a blue pastel ward.
I feel so light. Free from pain. Free from disease. Floating the length of the ward, gazing into wrong rooms full of familiar faces...
Solitude replaces lonliness. I feel at peace. I actually feel the light around me. It's almost devine. Then something unexpected happens.
He's here.
***
7 days since the last time this happened. 7 days since the time before that. Almost like sadistic clockwork. How am I going to tell him?
His body ached from the latest beating. Bruises splattered his body like drunken art. His ribs creaked with the age of old oak floorboards.
But despite the physical pain, the emotional agony of keeping this secret any longer was becoming unbearable. I will tell him. I will
***
In 7 days time, it would happen again. But I won't let it. The beatings, this weekly physical onslaught was consented to. I agreed to it.
Besides, I still needed to tell him. There's only so much I can physically hide. The next chemical assault would have to wait. I love him.
I love him. Too much sometimes. And sometimes, I love him badly. In a bad way. A cruel, selfish way. But I have to keep him. He can't leave.
Without him I might as well be dead anyway. But if I tell him, he might leave. But he might stay. I'm sure he loves me just as much?
The poison coursing my veins also clouds my judgement. My thoughts are completely disordered. This poison is supposed to fight the disease.
But for what? Months of agony and the prospect of a life alone? If I'm to survive this as half a man, alone and lonely, life can fuck off.
I take another handful of pills. And the pain starts to slip away. I'm on a pastel coloured ward, and it's shining. How did I get here?
Around me, smiling angels drift down the length of the ward, wearing nurses uniforms. I'm in a blue pastel gown. On a blue pastel ward.
I feel so light. Free from pain. Free from disease. Floating the length of the ward, gazing into wrong rooms full of familiar faces...
Solitude replaces lonliness. I feel at peace. I actually feel the light around me. It's almost devine. Then something unexpected happens.
He's here.
***
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