I try to imagine what it would be like from her perspective. I imagine the feeling of pure power and dominance. The wink of pity towards me for thinking I had a chance with her prize. I think of how she must feel when he does look at me, her burning anger and her grief. She must feel sorry for me. Sorry that I fell for a man she claimed and strung up like venison.
It's no longer the meat she wants, it's a display of power. It's the feeling she gets when he turns away from my eager heart to please hers. It's the rush of adrenaline she gets when he has to shake his head at me when I simply speak.
She doesn't want him. She wants the pain she knows i writhe in. She feeds off of the blood and gore of my torment. She loves every damn second of it.
