I never wanted this. Not again. After all these years. Pieces maybe… definitely, but not this in all its entirety. I was adamant, loud and stubborn about it.
Not.
This.
Ever.
I wanted freedom and independence. I needed to fly. I wanted only to be his toy, her dirty little secret, his pet, her dress-up doll, a weekend escape at his whim. Never a primary. Never this responsibility.
Too many years I spent hoarded in his cupboard like the good china, taken out only for show, or stuffed in her closet like a set of stained sheets. I needed out, I encumbered, independent, whole. I needed to remember – remember who I was meant to be. I vowed never to go back.
I never wanted this.
And then there was you.
And this is who you are.
Those things, those dark and depraved things I’ve never uttered – the ones I’ve never – haven’t for decades – given breath of life. But here in the dark with his hand on my throat and growls against my ear I am safe. I clench my eyes shut and search for the words – the words that slip the clasp on Pandora’s box. He whispers to me while he claims not just my body and he coaxes the demons from their depths. His hands are strong and pin me and pain me each thrust and terror slipping me further.
Tears slide from the corners of my eyes to run and flood my ears. I see the white of his grin in the dim light and feel his freedom. For he has secrets too. And this is one. An oh so painful gift yet I have it in my arms. I remember the day he first shared it, gathering the bravery he showed me. And the lid on my box came ajar. My slick skin, sweat sticky like ink onto parchment, the words appeared. Every sick and twisted piece of my past that tumbled topsy turvy off my tongue landed softly in his embrace. No judgement, no pity, no envy, anger or disdain. Only acceptance. Interest. And surprisingly, pride. Oh and a little bit of ‘Would you like to do that again?’
With each visit to his confessional the bricks fell away one by one. My cold dead heart inside an igloo. Someone lit a candle. The ground once again summoned my knees and my fingers bore wine. The sweet memories swept over me and became my reality once more.
I never wanted this.
The time will come, I tell myself, when one secret is the wedge that comes between us. One day the zoo of stuffies on my pillow will be flung to the floor in exasperation. My need for pain will become tiresome. I will be too demanding, needy, too independent, too confusing.
Yet still he embraces me.
He writes his name in the dusting of glitter that floats in my wake and he smiles. Bruises and bite marks dot my thighs. I feel him stuff my bunny safely in my arms after I’ve drifted off to sleep-a Disney movie droning in the background. Black marker humiliation is scrawled over my pale skin. Rope marks, princess socks, welts from wax, dots and trickles of blood, ribbons and bows. His heels rest upon the small of my back as I balance a dish of ice cream for him. He holds my hand, and my hair, my
lollipop, the ropes that bind me, my leash, my bouncy ball, and my marionette strings. He holds my heart.
I belong here and to him. All of me. In every way. Every bit of me who never wanted this.
Little Red Lamb 