there's no hope for women, there's no hope for women
I felt it in my quickened pulse and the clarity exploding in my brain: the last high of a creature before it becomes prey. To struggle or surrender, which was more true?
I stood. I crossed the room to the man and took the bottle out of his hands. He watched me as I tipped it back. I felt some wine leak down my chin and onto my neck and held his gaze as I wiped it off my jugular.
Maybe you should go, he said steadily.
Absolutely I should.
But what about these habits? I wanted to explain myself. I’ve got this wound, you see. I’ve got this wound and I want to be eaten. My tiny rabbit heart has beaten three hundred and twenty-five times in the last minute and I want it out of this chest. I was born naked and blind and deaf and it was the best ten days of my life. I want to shut off all my instincts. I can’t stand the threat. I want to walk into your trap deaf and dumb and blindfolded. I want to walk into your trap naked.
There was a small aquarium on the dresser by his bed, and while he was fucking me, I counted fish. I thought there were six but my left cheek was buried in the pillow, causing me to squint and see things in doubles. Sometimes the image would resolve and two golden fish were sucked into one.
When he flipped me on my back, the imprint of the aquarium’s glow on my lids left me blinking Jesus Christ onto the ceiling. I closed my eyes to better see the face of God. He was not love.