I have this ex-boyfriend–
well, he’s not really an ex-boyfriend.
I guess he’s more of an ex…??? because
he wasn’t technically my boyfriend because
he had a girlfriend
during the time he was [
It went like this:
I wouldn’t have to hit you if you weren’t so bad.
Did I say you could touch me?
It turns me on when you cry.
Take it in your mouth!
I could love you, but I do love her.
It went like this:
He’s kissing me, and my eyes are open, looking at the love notes from Catherine that he’s tacked to his wall. I, just Katherine, am fatter than she is. I am the side chick, the backup, the just-in-case. I am not worth loving.
He’s holding me against the wall by my throat. My feet aren’t touching the floor. I can feel my face turning red and tears leaking out of my eyes. I can’t breathe. I am not worth loving.
He’s forcing his fingers in and out of my vagina. I have no idea how many fingers are on his alien hand, but they are thick and rough, and he seems to be using all of them at once. While he does this, he’s biting whatever parts of me he can reach, hard and constantly. I do not try to tell him how he’s ripping and tearing at the most intimate, unfamiliar part of me. I don’t want to be slapped across the face again. I am not worth loving.
Today, it is:
Seeing him in the grocery store where I work. He goes through the express line, the register right in front of mine. He’s grown a beard and gained some weight. I don’t look at him closely enough to discern if it’s muscle or fat. He is wearing the uniform of the store right next to mine.
No space is holy.
Certainly not mine.
I am not holy.
Certainly not me.
I haven’t eaten in almost ten hours. Is that a lot? Is that too much? Not enough? Am I shaking because I’m just hungry? Or because I took too much Vivarin before work? (I couldn’t help it. I was tired and needed… something.) Or is it because the foundation of my home is shaking?
Either way, I’ve had enough Vivarin for the day. Xanax will get me through the rest of my shift.