A girl recounters and walks around in her past
4th of August, 2016
This was my first moment. I was born out of the controlled breaths of a sixteen-year-old girl laying on a fold-out sofa placed in the middle of her childhood room. The fabric was dark blue, and five years later she would set it on fire in the woods outside. She would watch it engulfed in a bright green flame, warming her body up and making her believe in rebirth, in revenge, and momentarily, some sort of God. I find myself in her room which was still tidy back then, and I lay down next to her body which is pinned down to the fold-out sofa by her wrists. I follow her eyes to the chandelier and the plastic crystals hanging down from it, and we both watch them move ever so slightly to the rhythm of the man on top of her. I was born from the tears rolling down the side of her cheekbone which he is pretending not to see, and I know that he is thinking about how the tears make her eyes look bigger and how they bring her face to life by making it red and swollen. He has told her before how pretty she is when she cries. I look into his eyes and remember how much she loved them, even now, even then, and I listen to the grunts he tries to quiet down so that her parents don’t hear them from the bedroom upstairs, and I smell the sweat running down his bicep and onto the dark blue fabric underneath her. The girl I used to be wasn’t half bad, but she made her fair share of mistakes, one being falling in love with him, and another falling in love with the next guy, and then the one after that. Mostly her mistake was to keep on loving them after they did shit like this. I put my hand on her cheek and I tell her that I’m sorry.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
But they can’t hear me, and I can’t stop him. I lay next to her until he can’t help but to groan out loud in pleasure and pull himself outside of her, coming on her stomach. She lays there for a while without moving as he throws her his underwear to wipe it off. He sits up and looks back at her over his shoulder. This is my least favourite part. I don’t need to look at him to remember his smile, I have seen it so many times before, but for her, it’s the first time.
“When you say no, you don’t like… actually mean it right?”
I whisper in her ear to grab a kitchen knife and cut his dick off. I tell her to throw it out the window and watch as the birds eat it while he bleeds out dry, holding the little piece of skin where his pride used to be. But she can’t hear me.
“No. Of course not.”
She turns her back to me and he lays down on the other side of her, stroking a bit of her fringe off of her forehead and I know what he is thinking. He looks at her hands and the finger where a ring used to be, and he is thinking that it’ll be right back where it should be soon, that he is so lucky that she is his, that this body belongs to nobody else but him.
“I love you,” he says softly.
“I love you too”.
I wrap my arm around her waist, but she never even knew it was there. I tell her that tomorrow won’t feel so bad, you’ll stop bleeding almost right away and in a few days, it will stop hurting.
“One day you won’t love him at all, and you’ll smile so much, and the best parts of your life haven’t even started yet.”
I try to make her hear me but I know that she can’t. I’m not actually there.
“You will leave this house and love a lot of people. Good people. And they’ll love you too, just you wait.”