Words I'd Never Say

Draft #2

Obsession is a dangerous thing. It convinces one to do crazy things, believing it is in the name of love. Crazy things that could get you some jail time. Crazy things that could kill you. It's the small things that lead you to stalking. It could be the color of her hair that cascades down her back. It could be the shimmer in her eyes that show strength, determination, and courage. It could be the way she walks or talks. Small things that could drive you to kidnap someone, stalk someone, or kill someone.

I think that's what happened. It seems as if I'm dead, watching through my own eyes as he does what he wanted to with my corpse when I was alive. I guess he thought that if I wouldn't do it alive, maybe my corpse would in death. Maybe he was right. And maybe I'm not dead. But I know that I'm not in my body right now.

In fact, I can see it. I can see it lying limply as he rocks back and forth against it. The life in my eyes is lost and the color in my skin has faded. His forehead is glistening with sweat and the pleasure is evident on his face. I can feel the pain, but from afar. It's almost as if I'm a bystander, watching as a man rocks against a corpse that I knew all too well. For some reason I don't feel fazed by this at all. What worries me is the fact that I feel something else, something worse.

  What is this feeling? It feels like darkness at its worst. The darkness that tries so hard to consume you completely, not leaving a loop hole for light. The darkness that leaves you hopeless, flightless, and lifeless by the time it's done. So that when I return to my body, if I do, I would be hollow, a sorry excuse for a person.

I think he did this on purpose. He made me this way because as soon as my coma was over, I was willing to do whatever he wanted. He was my boss now. I did what I was told. He put me in that coma just to take me out and make me realize something. I was his to begin with. I was his from the moment he saw me. There was never a point that I wasn't. He knew that. That son of a gun knew that from the beginning, and he just tortured me and put me alone with my thoughts until I was ready. Because he knew that I would come out his mentally, just the way he wanted. He could pretend that he was my savior and make me worship him the way nuns worship God.

It is just about as crazy as it sounds. But for years I was tortured and abused both mentally and physically. He broke me just to build me back up the way he wanted. I was like a building that had all the right things in all the wrong places. I needed to be rebuilt, so that everything about me was perfect to him. And when he was done with torturing me, he built me, straight from the ground up. He put the pieces together, and soon, I was a beautiful picture. I was flawless in his eyes.

The fight left. The determination disappeared. The courage fled. All of the things that made me strong was gone. He made me weak. He made me succumb to the darkness. He made me a walking corpse, lifeless but breathing. I didn't think like I used to. The only thought that crossed my mind every moment of the day was simple:please him. If he is happy, so are you. I believed that for a long time. I became his wife, and we raised beautiful children. I actually learned to love him. I loved the way he looked at me, and the way he talked and walked, and the way he treated me: like a queen. I mean I guess I was the queen. And he was the king...

Of hell...😈