Excerpts From The Book I'll Never Write

#80

He said he wanted to move in, not into my house but into my life. So I invited him over, told him not to mind the mess and kissed him like his name was oxygen. One week later I cleared a spot in my chest for him, right next to my heart. He brought over some clothes, folded so neatly I wondered if he'd boughten them that way, and with steady hands, he put the clothes away and closed my chest. And then those same hands found my hips and laid me down onto the bed that I hadn't made. We fucked. We didn't make love because in order to make love my house would have needed to be our home and it wasn't. So now, with my chest filled with him and my sheets stained with him and my lips attached to him, I asked him to marry me. It didn't come out as 'will you marry me' it came out as 'I need to tell you something'. So he listened, and then he left. Apparently my life's shattered windows and used furniture was not what he was looking for and I'm only using this analogy because my voice shakes every time I say that I was raped. So he left, he emptied my chest but left a pair of socks that wrap around my heart and make my chest tighten with fear. He didn't want to move into my house, what a foolish girl I was to let him into my heart.