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The heart beat upstairs.

3 years ago I escaped an abusive situation. This person mentally, emotionally, spiritually abused and sexually violated me. I ran for my life and put myself back together through shedding what made me stay with her. I can not ignore her grief, I can not ignore mine. Hurt people hurt people and what she made me feel and what she did to me was convince me that her hurt and pain belonged to me. I have been trying to write a story that captures the messy, complicated and thoughtless way so many of us treat each other. This is the beginning of a very long idea.
They took the picture you see.

This is a conversation from the perspective of an abuser. 

At the point of time in which you are reading this story, the survivor has been invisibilized and thus we will call them what they are, a heartbeat. 

Heartbeat: (in a slow sultry voice) What do you want from me? 

I want your body, I want your heart. 

Heartbeat: Is that all? 

She laid herself down on the table. She had cleared the plates from our small banquet, we had just finished devouring a meal, I had with care and she had eaten it with delight. She licked her finger, once, then twice and then dislocated her jaw until it was wide enough to take her upper arm, with precision and a gentle ease, she pulled out her heart.  

She showed it with pride, I could feel the hunger in my eyes, her skin had a soft sheen, glistening with sweat and I wanted to taste her, take her. Have her. 

She tied her arteries and counted the chambers of her heart with delicate hands and longing. 

Heartbeat: Is this what you wanted? 

I stared at her, shocked, she did it for me, she gave me what I wanted and I wanted more and she would give it to me. 

Heartbeat: I told you I had four hearts, when we met. This one is broken, you have taken much of its spark and drained the blood from it with your use of my body like a tool. It is your treasure. 

I walked over to her, slowly. She was beautiful, how the blood glistened her chest and teeth, I wanted to see what else she would do for me. I traced my finger along her back, my fingers digging softly into her flesh. She made me feel red. She made me feel hot, there was no one else like her and she was mine, she could not deny the feeling that existed between us, she kissed me back. Her heart was my treasure. Was this love? 

I took her body, slowly. With each thrust of my finger, she whispered, “this is it”. I fell asleep in her arms and when I awoke- I was holding her skin, she had shed it for me, she had given me her body but not her bones. 

2 replies on “The heart beat upstairs.”

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