“What’s behind that cold mask of yours?” He pulls my chin closer with his index finger and leans in, whispering, “I want to know you, everything about you, all of you.”
I’ve seen this in cheesy movies and my brain tells me it’s a cheap move. But I can not suppress this thrill I am feeling. This would be the moment my pupils dilate and my heart beat faster, as any old cliche would go. It was everything I wanted to hear. I fight the urge, I fight so hard. How could one line like that just tear down my walls?
Against all will, all intention, I look up at him with wide, hungry eyes: I am air — cheap, free. Inhale me. All of me.
And I began to fall. My walls dissipated. My deepest, darkest was let loose. It was hope. I allowed myself to feel hope…
But all that seemed like a forever ago. Now, I can’t even feel anything anymore. I want to laugh because it all sounds so ridiculously funny. Hope, what a silly word.
“I know you’re scared, but I won’t hurt you.”
“You are so broken, let me in. Let me fix you.”
His words would not stop replaying in my mind. What I once drank in hungrily and greedily is now a blade on my skin. “I won’t hurt you.” Slice. Blood. Pain.
Why, why do I let this happen to myself over and over?
I feel dirty. I feel used. I feel stupid, worthless, ugly. All the disgust I had for myself which I had naively and desperately wished he could take away came crashing back ten folds stronger. I had longingly desired him, like a whimpering dog waiting for someone to rescue.
No, I didn’t desire him, I desired to be desired. The reflection in his eyes was not of me, but an illusion of everything I desperately wanted to be. An illusion of myself - pretty, loveable, desired.
But that’s all that it was, an illusion.
The cold bathroom tiles feel hard against my body. The pain radiates through my veins as I watch the thick blood drip. This, is real. This, is me — undeserving, unlovable, worthless, disgusting, dirty, nothing.
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