When he inflicted pain on her, he felt he lost her. His intimacy with her body meant nothing when confronted with her distance from him. Every lash, every cut, every jab, pushed her further away into herself. He could see it in her eyes, the way they stared past him. Initially, he attributed this look to pain endorphins removing her from the scene. But she confided in him, once, that the pain did not do this to her. That she was actuely aware and present during the entire session. So he knew that his efforts to mark her were useless. There was no way to mark her mind. He longed to do so though...to crawl into her and make her soley his. He wished to know her perfectly. Like a god. But she was too cold, too remote.
With each bit of pain, she became totally imersed in the sensation of pain. Each part of her body inflicted became fully known to her. She had no thoughts, no fantasies. There was a only this pleasure, this burning, this throbbing that brought her into herself. She, who hated her body, came to know it in minute detail. It was a kind of love. He ceased to exist during this time. She felt herself disconnected from him which scared her. She scorned him at those times. She laughed at his feeble attempts to control her, to own her. He did not understand that his infliction on her made her the stronger. When they made love, it changed. It brought her into her body. Back to a place that she hated. It disgusted her to feel him inside her. She would fake her orgams, hoping he'd come and leave her alone.
She always felt some relief when he left. She hid this though, sometimes even from herself. She pretended to hate that he was left to be with his wife. But when honest she admitted that his marriage suited her fine. It meant he always left. She could lay alone in her bed, feeling the briuses, reliving the feel of each one. Often she would cut herself, and let the pain bring it all back. She strived for that cold, distanct place, where she was fully alone.
5 comments:
Old song quote: To live outside the law you must be honest.
You're honest.
Do you know how proud I'd be if I'd written this???
Wow, thanks John. It's good to hear that because these pieces are very very hard to write.
John,
Good luck today. I hope things go well. I'm holding you in the light.
I thought a lot about your comment...writers are liars who tell the truth.
Ginger
A writer whose work I admire once said, "Sometimes you have to lie to tell the truth."
And sometimes, that's true!
That's a good quote. I'll have to remember that one.
This truth came out though in what I thought was a lie. I realized that I had thought this about Joseph often but this was the first time I articulated it. When H asked if I really felt this way last night, I said no. And then rereading it this morning made me realize that I did feel this way.
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