My palms are sweaty as you stare so powerfully into my eyes, whilst I stare so helplessly into yours. The fear that courses through my spine at every noise you make and every breath you take, your mere existence trepidates me to brittleness. You circle around me, as if to start an interrogation or an investigation, going round once, twice, thrice but no more. Three times lucky, your favourite catchphrase and your favourite manipulation as that is all it takes to shatter me. I fall to my knees, pleading, yet you stare longingly as though you were a witness, and not a perpetrator. My knees are weak and my breath is ragged, my face is tarnished, and my emotion has been stripped, stripped of exposure, stripped of happiness, stripped of my love for you that I cannot believe had once been prevalent, and you dare to think you will not be caught, and you dare to think my vengeance is never to be executed. The audacity you have is unbelievable. I refuse to let myself become a victim. Victimisation is what makes us seem so defenceless, we appear to not have minds and voices of our own and we appear to be merely objects, as charity cases, dependent on the wealth of the rich and the supposed strength of aristocratic men and dependent on the agonising publicity. I am not a victim nor am I a slave. Neither am I something to gaze at out of pity on television screens, the waterworks betwixt the Sunday beers and a bubble bath. I am not helpless. I am able to fight my own battles. I am not weak. I am not weak. You expect to keep me as your mistress, until you eventually abandon me, because you're aware I cannot leave if I want to survive. You may use me for sexual pleasure to keep you occupied whilst your fiancée worries recklessly about your welfare, obliviously thinking you are away for business and you may treat me as if I'm nothing but just a submissive bitch but I'm the one, and the only one, keeping your sanity intact. The 'business' you keep with me you will subconsciously treasure as you go back to a girl whom your parents had arranged for you, and whom you're expected to accept without any question. The words I am ever so boldly stating, I will most probably never have the courage to say to you directly, rather, I'd like to display so to you within my physicality when your ascribed status ceases to remain and I've destroyed your reputation in the state you keep me, and when you are unable to tolerate the threats, the disappointment, the judgement, and then ever so suddenly, succumbing to yourself, it will arise to become an internal conflict in which neither side of you will consequent to be victorious. See now, this is not the Edwardian times but instead the 21st Century, so the misogyny you declare to be your most winning attitude that you are able to entice women of the town with will come to harm you. The abuse you've laid onto me will soon be reciprocated onto you, to an extent that is unbearable. And I will be enjoying every second of it as if it were torturous ecstasy.
