Four letter words, among other things that make me squirm, are mostly empty promises. Love? That wasn’t love, unless love is supposed to hurt, make me feel dominated, make me feel small, or make me feel used. Maybe love is supposed to be one sided, like as long as the other is feeling the love, than the person giving all of themselves will be fine, they’ll get theirs later. Love might be an IOU, but I never owed him anything. I was locked away, for the days he’d want to play and then when he had all he could he was finished.
Now it might be a three letter word. Filling a void, there is no pain because everything is numb, so its a mutual agreement. If I can make them feel okay for just a little while, and he agrees to hold me when I don’t know what to say after everything is over, things won’t feel as disgusting as they should.
Love is the way his tongue felt on my inner thigh, slimy on impact. Or maybe that wasn’t love. Maybe love was the way his hands were not matching up with where his eyes were going. The way they didn’t need to sync up because everything was in a moment, and he was scared to make eye contact. Either way, soft and subtly spoken, its the closest I’ve ever felt to that four letter word that may never exist.
Something so familiar, his shoulders, his jaw line, so stiff, his everything and it hits me as hard as the tide that nothing should be familiar, because no one will ever be as harsh or painful as him again. Because eventually some higher power might decide that this little girl’s been hit too many times, and maybe just one more might break me.
Maybe now I’ll catch a break, or maybe now someone can try to put it all back together, because there are not as many pieces left to pick up anymore.