Frikey "Too late, I'm already Torn"
A stinging blow to my left cheek brought tears to my eyes, the clear liquid of pain and joy, sadness and grief pooling in the cradle of my lower lids. But before one crystalline droplet could brim the edge and fall silent from my weary eyes, the pain of another radiated across the right side of my face. The tears fel like rain, zigzagging dow my swollen, scarlet cheeks. It frustrated me. I didn't want him to know it still destroyed me. That every harsh word, forceful slap, and stabbing glare broke my heart. And over time, broke me.
I didn't even fight it. My efforts would be futile. So what would be the point? I closed my eyes and imagined the man he once was, the man that I once loved, and the man that I wanted, hoped, he'd be again instead of the demon he'd become. And the reason for the change still escaped me. But I figured it boiled down to one thing. Control. And I was probably the one thing he could control 24/7. Plus, I loved him. I was the obvoius target for his control issues. His need to dominate and demand.
My eyes opened when I pitched forward, my face landing on the fluffy white softness beneath me. Roughly, my hips were yanked up, bearing my ass to him. Agentle touch breezed over the satiny, porcelain skin. A loving hand with a fond caress. Something I hadn't felt in quite a while. I lost myself under the soothing glide up my spine, strong fingers dancing across my shoulders. I let my guard down. My mistake.
I wasn't prepared. I wasn't ready for him to thrust himself into me. A strangled cry of intense pain erupted from my throat as he ripped me apart. Stabbed me with his manhood in long, deep, penetrating strokes. I waited. Waited for the pleasure to conquer the pain. But it didn't. Pain, agony, and misery rooted themselves into every nerve until the only sensation traveling through my body was hurt.
The tears dripped down my face uncontrollably. Sobs and yelps wrenched from my throat with every dagger-like assault on my ass. I'd lost. Caved. My strength and willpower disenegrated. I'd lost. He won. Again.
His hand raked through my hair, clutching at the soft strands and raking my head towards him. Perhaps in an attempt to silence my vocal frustrations.
"Shut up!" he growled before releasing his grip with a hard shove towards the mattress, never once slowing his frenzied pace. Never once a faltering thrust.
I muffled my cries with the pillow and blacked out my mind. Faded in the deepest realms of my imagination to the safe haven I'd created. The ocean. Waves lapping at the shore under a blanket of stars. My boat rocking with the moving waters. The cool, salty night air kissing my sun-flushed cheeks. Brushing feather-like fingers through my dark hair. And he was there. The old him. The one who held me in strong arms close to his chest so I could feel the rythmic beat of his heart through my back. His chin resting in the crook of my neck so we stood cheek-to-cheek, staring out over the black watera enveloped in night's embrace. A warbled whisper of 'I love you'. A warm kiss on my jaw.
But I was torn from my thoguhts as with an animalistic growl, he came. Spurting his hor semen into my sensitive depths. I could feel a trickle of warm liquid caressing a path down my inner thighs as he pulled himself from my body. He let my hips fall to the bed where I remained still, emotionally and physically exhausted. Even the effort to breather became painful.
A shadow crossed my face before his came into view.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his tone gentle and sincere. How I wanted him to be all the time.
I managed a weak smile. "I'd like to clean up," I whispered.
He offered me his hand saying, "l'll help you." Slowly, I rolled over, wincing at the bolt of intense pain that shot up my backside. Taking his hand, I got myself to my feet, shocked by the hurt coming from his eyes. He brought his hand up and I flinched, visibly. But he did not strike me. He stroked my puffy, bruising cheek with his thumb. Back and forth. Sweetly and softly. "I'm so sorry. God! I am sorry," he murmured, tears glistening in his beautiful eyes. He leaned forward and kissed my cheekbone, right near my eye. I could feel his long lashes brush across my brow and I couldn't resist leaning into him slightly. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said as he pulled away, grabbing my trembling hand in his.
He led me to the bathroom and closed the door behind us. I studied him as he moistened the washrag undr the warm water, rubbing a mild soap onto the textured fabric. He was still beautiful. Strong and confident. Broad shoulders and lean waist. I stared at his face in the mirror. Scruitinizing his features. His perfect facial lines from the absolute straightness of his nose to the angled squareness of his jaw. He lifted his face to meet my gaze with his reflection. His eyes. Words could not describe them. The ivy-hued spheres that twinkled with laughter when he smiled, shined with love when we were together. But lately they flamed with anger. A look that resembled hatred. Blazed with dominant control. But now they showed remorse. Humiliation. Sparkling with tears.
He turned and cupped my chin in his assured palm while he cleansed my wounds with small, gentle, methodical circles. He went around to clean the trickle of liquid that had dried in a snaky pattern on my thigh. And when he rinsed the cloth in the sink, the water turned pink with blood. It wasn't the first time he made me bleed. And if I didn't get out of this, it wouldn't be the last.
"I didn't mean for it to happen Mikey. You have to believe me," he whispered, gently touching my face.
"You never mean for it to happen, Frankie. But it does. If it only happened once I could believe you. Twice, mayybe. But not when it keeps happening again and again," I replied, backing away from his touch.
He crumpled to his knees, breaking down into a wash of salty tears. "I need help," he whimpered, burying his face in the palm of his hands. "I can't control myself Mikey! And I hate it! I hate myself!" he cried.
As hard as I tried to fight it, I couldnt . In spite of everything, I still loved him. And I wanted him back. The real him. I knelt before him and pulled him to my chest, stroking his ebony hair and the silky flesh on the back of his neck. "It's okay, Frank. We'll get you help. We can work through this," I assured him as we gently swayed.
I lifted his face to mine and tenderly kissed his lips, wiping the clinging tears from his cheeks with my thumbs.
"You are an amazing person, Mikey."
I took his hand in mine and helped him to his feet.. Together we crawled into the rumpled bed where Frank pulled me close to his chest. I smiled. I could once again feel the 'thump-thump' of his heart through my back. When I fell asleep it was peaceful. A sense of calm blanketing me in comfort. We could get through this. He finally admitted he had a problem. I could finally have him back. The him from my dreams.
But every dream has to come to an end. Eventually you wake up and find yourself living in the same evil nightmare.
Therapy appeared to be helping. Frankie never struck me. Barely every raised his voice. He was slowly becoming the man I first fell in love with. We laughed more. Kissed more often. And made love. Pleasure not pain.
It was the worst it had ever been. A rage beyond my comprehension. I don't even remember how or why it started. What it was I had said or done to push him over the edge. But somehow we went from talking about work one second to my face being planted squarely in the livingroom wall the next.
I reemember the blood gushing from my nose, the liquid filling up my mouth until I sputtered and choked. Crimson bubbles breaking at my lips with every coughing breath.
As I knelt on the carpet spitting up my life source and trying to regain my breath, he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me to my feet. I don't remember his words. Just the piercing glare of his eyes. The glint of evil. His fist connected with my jaw, jerking my head sideways, at the same time he knocked me back against the wall my face had just smashed into. I heard a crack. But I refused to let the pain get to me. I adamantly refused to let him see my tears one more time.
A knee to the stomach. A fist to the back. And a kick to the face. And when it was over, I couldn't see anything but red. Couldn't taste anything but the metallic zing of my own blood. I vaguely heard the door slam shut as he stormed from the house. But none of it seemed important to me. Not the beating. His anger. Him leaving. None of it. Because for once, I had won. I hadn't given in.
I pulled myself to my knees, my arms barely able to support the weight of my upper boy. And with the aide of the end table, I was able to stand. Weakly. But I could. I shuffled my way to the bathroom blindly, my hands scanning the wall for direction, and when I finally managed to make it there, I cleaned myself of the blood that had begun to dry and crack on my face.
I was shocked at what I saw underneath the crimson mask. My left eye was so swollen I couldn't even open it. Only a thin black line splitting a raspberry-colored sphere. A crack across the bridge of my nose leading to dark circles already beginning to form under my eyes. A split lip. A chipped tooth. A gash across my cheek. I didn't even recognize myself. But inside I glowed because for once he didn't defeat me.
Freshly changed into new clothes, I sat on the sofa with a stiff drink and gazed out at the active city life below. No one had a clue what had just happened in this loft. No one even cared. No one ever would. I had thought about it many times before.. To just end this misery by ending my life. I even came came so close as to draw blood with a razor's edge. But I couldn't go through with it. He would just float into my mind and I would surrender. Think that maybe, just maybe, he would change. That things could, would be different this time. Like he always promised they would.
I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't believe another one of his lies. Another log of deciet thrown into the roaring fire of dishonesty. This was my chance. My chance out of this hell. To leave before Frank ever got back. Be so far away that it would be impossible to trace me. To seek me out. To ever find me again.
With renewed energy and hope, I leaped from the sofa and hurridly packed a few things into a bag. I didn't need much. A change of clothes. Money. But my hopes of getting out were dashed when I heard the front door open and heavy footsteps ascend the stairs. "Remain strong, Mikey. You can do this," I told myself.
"Mikey?" I turned toward him, a folded t-shirt still clutched in my sweaty hands. "What are you doing?" he questioned, puzzlement mixing with fear.
"I'm leaving, Frank. I can't live like this anymore. I can't walk on eggshells in my own home so I don't piss you off and cause you to erupt like you did tonight," I answered, stuffing the shirt into my dufflebag.
"Mikey, you can't go. I love you. I need you. I didn't mean for it to happend. You have --"
"Have to what, Frank? I have to believe you? I can't do that anymore!" I snapped, cutting off what I'd heard him say a thousand times before.
"I love loved you. I really did. Before. I can't love this...monster you've become. He controls you. You don't control yourself."
"No, Frank! I will not believe you! I wasted too much time 'helping' you get better only to have you get worse! Worse than before!" I paused to take a breath. "If there is one thing I've learned from being with you it's that illusions never change into something real. I can't dream of a ahppy life with you any longer. You've killed the dream. And the illusion." I zipped my bag closed and tossed it over my shoulder.
But as I tried to pass Frank, he placed his heavy, strong hand on my shoulder. "Mikey, I know you shouldn't forgive me. I know that I don't deserve it. But I want yu to give me another chance." I sighed. "Hear me out!" he growled. I glared at him and his tone softened. "I've broken you. I see that now. You became weak and unsure of yourself. But you always knew I loved you.I still love you, Mikey. Let me fix you. Let me fix us," he begged.
I shrugged off his hand and climbed down the stairs, each step torture. But I made sure Frank didn't see me wince. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I looked back at Frank. He stood with his hands on the railing, staring at me expectantly, waiting for my answer. Opening the door I said, "Your a little late, Frank. I'm already torn."