I miss him. The beast. The terrible man who just fucked me to satisfy his addiction. The young man who walks around as if he has just won a gold medal. The creature who asks you to fuck over and over until you cave and then once you do, he vanishes. Leaving you with an empty feeling in your chest. You know you don't love this man. But just because you banged doesn't mean you are something. At least that's what I'm trying to realize. The one moment he held on to me so tightly; just barely asleep breathing onto my neck and nestling against my chest like a child, is when I felt something. But it wasn't immediately. At first I thought it was just going to be that second but he could barely breathe when so close to me but he stayed. Why did he stay? Why did he wish that the bloody scratches I had left would become scars? Why does he want to remember this night? Why did he want to fuck me so bad in the first place? "I will never understand."
