Something about him got to me and stuck like a permanent bruise which would only grow in size and deepen in colour for years to come.
You Had Me At Hello
Central London, November, 1994, 6:30 AM.
The weather outside was dreary and bleak. A heavy clouded sky had cast a deep shadow over everything it could reach, allowing very little light into my dank flat which caused the solemn corners and cavities in each room appear even darker. It seemed that I couldn't go anywhere in the minuscule apartment without a pungent smell of stale and damp to fill my nostrils, but it didn't bother me. Nothing bothered me, if the constant wave of depression hadn't existed I would have been quite content with my life. I had taught myself not to expect any better of anything or anyone, that way disappointment and pain could never occur, but unfortunately it did exist and it wouldn't leave, no matter how hard I tried to force it away.
I sat cross legged on my bed which creaked and threatened to collapse every time I even touched the rotting object. Between my pale lips sat a roached joint, the strong stench of marijuana invaded my senses, instantly numbing my frantic mind. I was stressed and had been deprived from sleep again which had become a reoccurring thing, especially over the past week. What made it worse was that even the thought of the up coming day made my head pound.
The storm clouds began to empty their contents over the early morning streets and alleyways of the city. I sunk further into the fur hood of my coat and sucked on the remains of a cigarette as I shuffled uncomfortably outside the Kerrang office, and it wasn't because of the freezing temperature. Today was possibly the most important, exciting and terrifying day of my life so far. I had been given the job to interview and review one of the worlds biggest rising controversial metal bands, Marilyn Manson. With their uniquely theatrical performances and shocking actions of sex, drugs and violence Marilyn Manson had formed a cult which had now spread itself from America across what seemed to be the entire universe. Feared by mothers, fathers, children and the religious but adored by the most misunderstood teenagers, the Florida based band were unquestionably making their mark almost everywhere, and it was my duty to spread them across the cover of Kerrang. I was over joyed that the job came around for me before I had to leave for my father, but I still couldn't help the bubbling sick feeling which sat in my stomach as I braced myself for what I was due to deal with. I wasn't usually shy or afraid but this was somehow different. Marilyn Manson were outrageous to put it simply and truth be told I was anxious. I had worked with much wider known bands before and I had always made it my absolute mission to suffocate my nerves because otherwise my life would undoubtedly be impossible, that was until I came face to face with the self proclaimed Antichrist himself. The moment I stepped into the small studio where I was set to meet the band I felt as if someone had shot me straight through the heart. The young man cocked his head toward me, his long raven hair fell across his sharp features as he silently studied me. He had my attention from the minute our irises met. I froze, only for a matter of seconds but to me it felt like a life time. It was like I could read into his heart, his entire mind. I could recognize what he was about even without a word spoken between us. I knew instantly that he wasn't all as cruel and corrupted as the world had made him out to be, neither was he the heartless and hard fronted self he had somehow created. He shocked me, but not in the way one would have expected. It was like a pleasant smack to the face, if possible. Something about him got to me and stuck like a permanent bruise which would only grow in size and deepen in colour for years to come.
"My name's Erica and I'm gonna' be interviewing you guys now if that's cool?" I smiled, trying to sound collected and confident when in fact I couldn't have felt more intimidated. "I'll also be at your show tonight for a short review." I said, barely able to cover the stutter in my voice. I hurried into the room and sat my self on a wooden stool, clutching a small note book in my shaking hands. I took the pen which had been tucked behind my right ear before finally raising my eyes to the five men in front of me who were sprawled out over an old leather sofa. Within my nineteen years of been alive I'd never seen anybody quite as interesting as these men. Of course I already knew what they looked like. As per usual I had researched into the band so I could prepare questions for their interview. Images of them were plastered almost everywhere in the office and I had seen many photos in the paper along with article headlines such as 'Marilyn Manson vow to destroy your children and your religion.' but the photographs I had seen couldn't compare to the reality. To me they looked amazing, weird, but amazing.
I felt my cheeks flush after I realized I had been staring which must have been a novelty to anyone who noticed because my skin was meant to be the colour of pure snow, not crimson red. I quickly diverted my eyes and ducked my head to open the note pad as my face continued to burn.
'Interview with Marilyn Manson, 27th November, 1994. Marilyn Manson, Twiggy Ramirez, Ginger Fish, Madonna Wayne Gacy, or Pogo, and Zim Zum.'
They were around their early twenty's, appeared as if they never ate and dressed in outlandish clothes, costumes and makeup which definitely added to their shocking enigma. Ginger Fish, who was the band's drummer, had short dreaded hair, half of which was dark and the other half blonde. He had deep set eyes and was slouched back into the crease of the sofa as if it were trying to devour him, but he didn't seem to mind. Madonna Wayne Gacy, or Pogo as he preferred to be called, was the keyboardist. He was bald with a goatee and had painted eyebrows and black rimmed eyes. He looked like one of the devil's disciples but seemed as innocent as a baby rabbit. Zim Zum who played guitar had a face alike to a shy school girl and held a vague expression. His straight hair was black and fell around his jawline, ending just above his narrow shoulders. The bassist, Twiggy, was like a small child, spare the waist length black dreadlocks, crazy makeup and the woman's dress and stockings. He perched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa with his hands clasped tight together, fidgeting impatiently and biting his lip as his eyes darted excitedly over the room. He paused on me every couple of minutes to flash a ridiculous grin before continuing to examine the studio. And then there was Marilyn. It sounds pathetic and dramatized, but strangely enough he reminded me of an angel. Everything about him was angelic to me. He was tall, at least six foot and had a perfect skeletal build which caused his leather pants to cling around his twig like legs. His straight midnight hair was thick and poured over his shoulders like silky velvet, ending below his chest. He had a long pointed face, I thought the only way it could exist in such beauty was that he had been sculpted by tiny, careful fingers. His lower lip was pierced with a silver ring and his eyes had been lined with coal black. He was untouchable and he made me feel incomparable, even more of an imperfection and it unnerved me because I shouldn't have cared, but I did. I had learnt to force myself to become so self sufficient and strong, but now even the very sight of the twenty four year old man caused my walls to crumble.
"I hate you." Louise's eyes were supposed to be green like mine, but now they were dark and filled with absolute loathe. She spat at me and shoved me to the wooden floor of my bedroom. "Mum and dad hate each other and it's your fault." It hurt but I had grown so used to this I excepted her statement as a fact. "No one will ever love you, look at you, look at what you've done." I curled into a fetal position to hide my face, I wouldn't let Louise see the tears pricking at my eyes. She threw something, a perfume bottle I think, before hissing that I was impossible to love, and then she left me alone in my room to sob freely. I cried and cried until I thought I could cry no more. I dug my nails into my skin and scratched hard enough to draw blood. I hated Louise, but not as much as I hated myself. I knew she was right and I think that's why I detested her to the brim. I was sharp, cold and withdrawn. Alone, spiteful and unwanted. Unlovable.
Louise was two years, four months and thirteen days older than me. We were both created by the same man and woman, raised by the same family in the same house in the same middle-of-nowhere-England yet somehow we were completely different from each other. Louise had always been the happy, bubbly, cheerful daddy's little girl. She was the academic one, the straight A student and the prom queen, the wet dream of every teenage boy. She had a full head of straight strawberry blonde hair and rosy cheeks with a to die for figure. I on the other hand had a messy mop of dark waves that fell around my deathly pale face which made me look permanently sick. I had an average body and a regular face, neither which could compare to my sister so naturally I felt like the ugly duckling, but then again anyone was deemed as ugly stood next to Louise.
As an infant I was unusually independent. At first it was praised upon but soon it was seen as the beginning of my rejection toward others, eventually leading to their neglect toward me in the future. I began to grow older and I then became the independent screw up who fell into the wrong crowd. The fifteen year old who came to class either drunk or high off her face, the seventeen year old who slept with almost anyone she came into contact with. I had a bad temper and a nasty bite, a tendency to push everyone with good intentions away and to keep the ones with bad reputations close. I wasn't dumb, I knew what I was doing to myself. I was intelligent yet too stubborn to put any of it to use. The only thing I ever learnt to like about myself was my ability to create. I had inherited my artistic talent from my mother. Art gave me something to express myself with, to finally release the anger held within my core, but I would never be the star child like Louise. I would never be able to make my father proud, not that I wanted to. He hated me and I detested him in return. There had always been a strong tension between me and my father which then led to the conflict between my parents. That's why Louise blamed me, but she nor anyone else would except the possibility that my father was the problem because of course, everything was my fault. I was the foul mouthed little bitch who ruined everything around me. Everyone believed it, my peers, my teachers and my family. When it came to Christmas time or birthday celebrations in which we would all have some pathetic get-to-gether I would be ignored. I was invisible. Everyone would be immediately drawn to Louise with her perfect attitude and her perfect achievements and her stupid perfect smile. Everyone apart from my mother.
It would just so happen that she, the one person who ever understood me, would inevitably leave me eventually, and when she did I truly gave up on everyone. I realized once and for all that I couldn't trust a single soul. In one way or another they'd always go and I would be alone, again, forever. After time my isolation became my pleasure, a privilege, and in that time I wouldn't have changed it for the world.
To my surprise the interview went smoothly for me, well, as smoothly as a Marilyn Manson interview could go. Even though all five members of the band were completely off their faces on either drugs or liquor and Twiggy's eyes kept rolling into the back of his head, they were easy to talk to, especially Manson, who had to be one of the most intelligent people I had ever met. I knew that he would be that way but speaking to him personally, within touching distance in the same room, struck me with some strange sense of adoration for the man I had only just met. It was horrible and it disgusted me how he managed to capture me with such ease, how he made me feel something truly positive for no reason, something almost human for the first time in a very long while.
-Kerrang; Erica interviews Marilyn Manson.-
'Black ink tattoos upon his ivory skin. Long, straight ebony hair spills over his narrow face and down his lean back. He, alike to the rest of Marilyn Manson, looks impossibly nocturnal, as if a bright light would make him recoil. Mr.Manson, Twiggy Ramirez, Madonna Wayne Gacy (Pogo), Ginger Fish and Zim Zum all share the same ghostly pale complexion with black lipstick or ash smeared eyes and various painted satanic symbols on top of their faces. They wear a strange combination of woman's clothing, tight pants and platform boots as they spread themselves out over a ratty old sofa in the Kerrang studios, the dimly lit room makes them seem even more phantom like and demonic than you would expect, however demonic is the last word which comes to mind once actually speaking to the men themselves. Considering the amount of alcohol and drugs in their system, they are laid back and almost down to earth, save from Twiggy who can't keep his concentration. Marilyn Manson, the creator of the band and 'Antichrist' himself is, dare I say it, very reserved. A complete transformation from the man I'm about to see perform tonight in Camden town who growls garish lyrics about sex and self-loathing and takes his clothes off on stage (something I am yet to see).
It's not so easy to be controversial nowadays, there's a lot of competition, especially when it comes to rock'n'roll, but Marilyn Manson are the most vulgar group on the scene at the moment. They're continuing to repulse parents and threaten the christian population of England, Wales and Ireland with an apocalypse on their first ever UK tour, and I have them all to myself for an hour so I can find out everything I can involving the Manson family.
Obviously none of the Manson crew go by their birth names. "We all have stage names I guess." Says Marilyn. "For Example, Twiggy, Madonna, Ginger and myself were created by combining the names of an iconic female sex symbol and a serial killer, like Marilyn Monroe and Charles Manson." He pauses before continuing "We've had other members in the past with the same name concept, Zim Zum is actually the first member not created by this concept. His name came from the Lurianic Kabbalah which is a Jewish text. The word 'Tzim-Tzum' is a Hebrew term meaning "contraction" or "constriction". It's the space where God supposedly contracted himself to make way for creation."
Twiggy, who seems to be away with the fairies suddenly perks his head up and says "We're kinda' like characters from a kids story book." Manson laughs and adds "A very bizarre, twisted kids book." So it's pretty clear where the concept of the members has come from, but what about the concept of the band and it's music? "I read the Satanic Bible." Manson states. "I do not believe in god, but I don't believe in the Devil either. The Satanic Bible teaches us to worship and believe in ourselves and I think that's what I try to put across whilst writing lyrics and performing." He expands with "I think some people are scared of us because we represent what they are scared of in themselves but don't want to admit it. We are taught from birth to believe in 'right and wrong' and we're raised to feel guilty, but in reality we don't know what is right or what is wrong. I think that we're just simply trying to show people a different point of view where you represent your own identity. Just because we write about demonic ideas doesn't mean we are a demonic band as such, people who see us as evil are kind of missing the point and those people are the idiots of the world." He cracks a grin and finishes with "I guess you could say we're a guilty pleasure." So Marilyn Manson are in fact about individuality and not about satanic rituals and scarification as they have been made out to be. After getting that covered I wanted to find out more about Marilyn Manson's beliefs. "None of us are religious." Ginger Fish tells me. "How could we be? Although Marilyn did go to Christian School." Manson nods. "Yes I did, that's why I turned out this way, I wanted to rebel." So Marilyn Manson when to Christian school, how ironic, so what does he think of the bible? "I like the bible as a book, I don't agree with what the bible is about though, I think it can produce very un-biblical actions. I don't agree with the way it preaches about love and forgiveness and such either, we're taught to love everyone, but when you're taught to love everyone, to love your enemies, then what value does that place on love?"
After spending a brief amount of time with Manson, one thing becomes more and more apparent: He radiates sincerity. He's not ashamed to embrace darkness as well as light. If you were to ask the soft-spoken, intelligent singer any question; he won't flinch. "I'm not really sure I'm fond of the person I've become." He confesses after being questioned about his life off stage. "I can't remember how to turn off Marilyn Manson, so I've just sort of turned into him. I dunno', when you see us perform you are seeing a theatrical show, I know for sure I don't behave like that off stage. I'm not always that guy who yells and swears at everyone, takes drugs, but I do need to learn to turn off sometimes." He says as he twists his mouth into a smirk. "That's if I want to turn off, I don't know if I want to."
So that just about sums up Marilyn Manson for you. Their album Portrait Of An American Family is out in stores now and I am lucky enough to be reviewing Marilyn Manson's gig tonight in Camden town, London and by the time this interview is released you can catch my review of the gig, make sure to check it out!'
-Erica Day, 27th November, 1994-
I thanked the band and left as quickly as I could. Usually I would have stuck around but I didn't want to make an idiot out of myself and I had done so well in keeping my cool so far, plus I was beginning to feel stupidly uncomfortable around Marilyn, I could barely look him in the eye and it didn't help that I knew I would have to talk to him again after the gig. "Thanks, I'll see you tonight." I quaked and pushed my lips into a small smile. As soon as I had exited the studio I fled the building and escaped into the late morning air. Letting myself fall back against the brick walling I sighed, exasperated and ran a sweaty palm through my hair. Hell I would never have expected that to happen. I didn't get nervous, I never did. That's why I applied for the damn job in the first place because I knew I'd do well due to my confidence and easy attitude, but then I had never expected to meet someone who had the ability to make me feel as anxious as Manson could without even meaning to. I had always thought someone like that was non existent. Non existent for me at least.
Camden was like a dope head's best friend. At night time it became their version of heaven. Alike the rest of London city Camden came alive when the sun set, it was even more wacky and drug consumed than it was during the day time. I pulled my Citroen Xantia up to the curb and parked it roughly, the neon lights of the town danced across the shiny black of my car as I did so. I stepped out and made my way across the pavement to KOKO where Marilyn Manson were set to play. Before me stood a mile long queue of Gothic warriors all ready to worship their leaders. Their white painted faces gleamed in the late evening dark as they chanted and jeered, hyping themselves up for that night's performance. I swiftly walked past the line of excited fans and flashed my Kerrang card to the guard who was waiting at the entrance, giving me fast and free access into the club. Inside it smelt like stingy alcohol and weed and I immediately felt at home, but I still couldn't calm the angst clawing at my insides and reminding me that I was going to see Marilyn again whether I wanted to or not.
"I am the god of fuck." Marilyn growled into the crowd. "I am the god of fuck."
I stood with the rest of the Kerrang crew at the side of the stage whilst they filmed Marilyn Mansons set where as I simply watched in astonishment. I stopped briefly to scribble down rambles and notes to use for the review but other than that I became transfixed. It was unlike anything I had ever seen or heard before in my life. Wonderful, deranged, possessed and eccentric were only a few words I could have used to describe them, the list would go on forever. They all behaved as if they were in some sort of trance with the music they portrayed. Twiggy swung himself across the small stage and spiraled his eye balls more than I thought was natural and Marilyn threw himself around like he was a rag doll, his entire frame convulsed as he sang the most obscene, poetic lyrics imaginable.
"I want you more when you're afraid of my disease, disease is draining me, anymore you're not so 'pretty please'. Disease, disease is draining me, I want you more when you're afraid of me." He snarled and commenced to remove his clothing. The man was dressed as an awry, ghoulish version of Willy Wonka from Roal Dahl's novel, Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory to begin with, but presently his black shirt, deep purple blazer and top hat were banished from sight and he was left in nothing but his leather pants and combat boots. By then my engrossment had been drawn completely to the creamy white of his bare chest
"I will break you inside out, you are mine, you are mine."
"Hello Kerrang viewers!" I beamed and took a deep breath as I tried to ignore the fact that he, the 'god of fuck' himself, Marilyn Manson was stood right next to me. He was more than intoxicated from booze, marijuana, cocaine, adrenaline and god knows what else but he was still there, his tall, slim and drunken frame stooped over me, his arm draped limp over my shoulders. "I am here backstage at KOKO in Camden with, as you can see, Mr.Marilyn Manson himself, and we're gonna' do a quick review of what went down tonight." I pushed out a cheesy grin for the camera as I babbled into the microphone clasped between my clammy palms. "Hey Kerrang!" He dropped his head and slurred into my microphone. "This is... Eriana, no, Erica. She's my new best friend." He continued to ramble and pulled me closer to his half naked body causing my skin to blush for what must have been the hundredth time that day. "Right, of course!" I giggled skittishly before promptly clearing my throat. "I have to say I have never seen quite a show like Marilyn Manson's. You had weird, spooky contraptions all over the stage, everyone was dressed up like they were from Willy Wonka, but you had taken half of your costume off by the end of the gig Marilyn." I said, peeking at his built torso from the corner of my eye. "How do you think it went?" I pushed the microphone to his face and he began to mumble something about hurting his hand and losing most of his clothes. "I see." I said, pretending to have a clue what he was talking about. "Well your performances are definitely unique, and you're very different in comparison to how you behaved when I met you earlier. As you said you like to put on a theatrical show, do you think your performance was theatrical enough tonight?"
"Well I'm very drunk and high." He replied simply. "I think that helps when I'm on stage, I'm actually quite a shy person."
"Well I find that hard to believe." I teased to the film lens, still unable to address the man fully. "No really I am." He insisted and suddenly shoved his face into the corner of my neck in an attempt to 'hide'. "See? I don't like your Kerrang friends because they scare me." His Ohioan accent dripped cool and enticingly over the hot of my flesh and I had to cease myself from gasping. Lulling his head further into my neck I felt his inebriated structure relax against my own as he held me even closer with long, tattooed arms. "You're short, like, really short." He muttered breathlessly across my neck and for the first time that night my body began to disintegrate. There wasn't a thing I could do to prevent it.
~He wanted her the second she stepped foot in front of him. Her large emerald eyes shone like jewels in the ill lighted room, her milky skin shimmered just as bright, her lips were rose buds and her hands were dainty like a child's. She must have been only nineteen or twenty because she was small, so small, small enough to be broken by his very touch. Black denim stretched across her legs and an over sized sweater hung from her minute build making her appear even more fragile. A ring sat through the side of her petite nose, a small horse-shoe lay in-between her septum and each ear held various piercings and spacers in her lobes. Her satin hair was dark but had been bleached at the ends where it descended over her shoulders. For someone who was so appealing, to him anyway, there was an uncertainty about her. He was an observant man and he was able to read her more easily than anyone he had ever met. Every hidden detail became knowledgeable. Behind her tough and rigid nature hid a coy little girl who possibly even she had forgotten about. He wanted to shake her, snap her out of her dense and bitter shell because he knew it wasn't true, but then he recognized that part of himself lay within her. That he as well had forgotten how to be compassionate. The action would have only been hypocritical.
Even in his drunken state his intentions were set on her only, just as they had been for the better amount of the day, and what he wanted he most often got without a hassle.
He didn't remember much from that night. What he did remember was that Twiggy and the rest of the band disappeared sometime after the show, most probably back to the hotel. He remembered not wanting to leave with them but wanting to stay at the club with her. He knew she was called Erica, or something like that, and he also knew that she was pretty and she smelt like cigarettes and tea. Erica was apprehensive at first. She swerved and tried to avoid him as he stumbled after her through the club and then into the midnight waft outside. He stood barely clothed in the pre winter atmosphere before her, shivering slightly as the rainy cold air hit his warm body. He hiccuped, snickered at himself and tripped closer toward her. Even to his wasted surprise her features finally softened as he frolicked and she placed her soft hands against his forearms to steady him. "What am I gonna' do with you?" She hushed and opened the back door to her car. "Come back with me before you hurt yourself."~
The words fell from my mouth before I could trap them. "Come back with me." What was I doing? Why couldn't I have just offered to drive him to a hotel rather than back to my flat? What exactly did I think was going to happen? What on earth did I think I was going to do with the Marilyn Manson? The same questions ran circles through and through my head repetitively. It would have been so easy to change course and drop him at a hotel instead, but I couldn't stop myself. I truly had no idea what I was doing, but for some reason I kept on going as if I wasn't in control of my own actions. I mentally slapped myself a dozen times but continued to drive, every now and then I glanced back at Marilyn who was slumped across all three of the back seats, passed out. Still in my frenzy I couldn't help but relish in how beautifully peaceful he looked. His piked ribs rose and fell in time with his breath and his chapped, black lipstick stained lips lay open slightly as he slept.
Upon arriving at the flat I ushered Marilyn into the elevator. I would have taken the stairs because elevators made me feel nauseous, but dragging Marilyn up four flights of steps in the position he was in would have been inconceivable. He groaned and slouched against the elevator wall as it hurtled upwards taking us to the fourth floor of the building. I lead him out and through the corridor until we reached my number. After I opened the door he staggered in and instantaneously found my bathroom where he collapsed to his knees and spewed his guts out into the toilet. I stood awkwardly behind him and watched his body wretch. "Are you okay?" I asked gingerly, but of course I gained no response as he persisted to empty the contents of his stomach. I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity and kicked my shoes off, crept across the small bathroom and knelt down beside him on the mildew covered tiles. I felt like I was fifteen again, but this time I was playing the role of my mother as she held my hair back to stop it from dirtying when I came home paralytic and ready to puke. I followed my mother's suite and gathered the black veil of his hair into my fist, gently caressing the exposure of his back to give him comfort though he probably didn't even notice. Now covered in his own vomit he buried his head in his arms and choked out some form of an apology. I skimmed over it and stood. "Whatever, I'll help you get cleaned up." I said and began running the rusty bath full of steaming water to help him sober. I undid the laces of his shoes and pulled them off, he then pealed the leather from his bony limbs and raised himself up. I tried to alter my line of vision but it was difficult when I was so embarrassingly fascinated with what stood in front of me. It was odd to see him utterly uncovered. He was tall and girlish, almost childlike apart from the phenomenon hanging between his legs. I watched as he slowly slipped himself into the tub and relaxed into the hot liquid, seeming to be completely unfazed by the fact I was still there and had just seen him naked. "I'll, er, be out there." I stammered and pointed toward the open bathroom door. I turned to leave him in peace but he called back to me and I was wondered by how chaste his voice was. "Wait, stay?"
"Okay." I shrugged and crouched down aside the bath tub and peered up at him. His make up was smeared practically everywhere, black streams traveled down his face from his eyes and his lipstick leaked from the corners of his mouth along with the remains of his sick. I winced and feeling sympathized I reached for the flannel and held it underneath the water. Once it was soaked I lifted it and started to clean his face. He laughed slightly and I looked at him as if to ask what was so amusing. "Sorry doll, I just didn't think you'd be the mothering type." I blinked. "I'm not." I told him. "I don't know why I'm doing this."
"Well, thanks anyway."
"It's not a problem." I stopped and moved my mouth into a small smile. "There, all done." He moved his now blank, tiny lips to return the smile and as he did he cupped my jawline with his svelte, delicate hand. "What are you doing?" I whispered, my voice coming more hushed than I intended it to as he studied me intensely for what seemed like an eternity. "There's something you're hiding." He said at last. "You're not as strong as you make yourself out to be." I scowled at him and removed myself from his hold. "And who are you to say that?" I demanded. Who did he think he was, he had no idea about me and my life. He didn't know how I felt, if he did then he would know that I was strong. I wasn't weak and feeble and I hadn't been for a very long while. Maybe sometimes I lost track and I slipped, occasionally falling back to the unassertive and timorous girl I had been. Once in a while I became the girl who was abused by her father when she was just twelve. Behind closed doors and only in my darkest moments I was the girl who believed she was worthy of nothing but her own pain, the one who cut and bruised herself. The eighteen year old who attempted an overdose in a vain hope to die. Other times, when I tried hard enough, I remembered who I was. Deep down I was sensitive, smart and often even funny, but my personality always got lost and I found myself being what I had to be, the callus, bitter and enclosed person I grew so familiar with being, probably too familiar.
I slowly felt myself growing weaker in both body and mind and I knew he could tell. He told me he understood, but how could he? He didn't know my past, he didn't know what happened to me and it wasn't his place to know.
Uncaringly I curled my body into a ball and cried. I hadn't cried in front of someone for such a very long time, but I couldn't have cared less. Above my sobs I heard him step from the tub and then he knelt down next to me, wrapping his arms around my shaking frame he pulled me to him, his body was still wet from the bath and it soaked my clothes, but I couldn't care for that either. He said nothing, he just held me and let me weep, then without a warning he pushed his lips against my own and silenced me. I pulled back, shocked at what he had done. I wasn't sure whether to be angry or scared, but as I looked into his hazels I felt something strangely warm in the pit of my abdomen. The feeling quickly flew up into my chest and then to my head. Before accepting fully what I was about to do I leant forward and kissed him back. I angled myself further to his warmth as he moved his mouth with mine, showing such tenderness I think he even surprised himself. I had shared intimacy before but never had I been made to feel such bliss as he was able to show me. I told him everything as we kissed. I told him things no one had ever been told before, things even I had forgotten about, the secrets which had been pushed to the back of my mind. He listened in silence and he didn't judge me, he didn't even frown or attempt to question the stories I muttered to him between our kisses. He said he understood again, he told me it was okay, that he was there and no one could hurt me, and for once, even though I had tried so hard not to let him in, I felt safe.
Soon our embrace moved from the bathroom floor to my bed. He lay me back against the mattress and removed my clothing, kissing every inch of skin as he did so. Our bodies pressed together and I felt his hardened shaft rub against the inner of my thigh. "Marilyn." I inhaled sharply when his fingers brushed against the most sensitive area between my legs. "Erica, my name's Brian. Call me that." I grinned through my still running tears, simply because Brian was such a normal name for someone as remarkably abnormal like himself. "Fine, Brian." I breathed. "Touch me." I raked my finger tips through his silken hair as he obeyed and made me wither in pleasure, and for the rest of that night I felt complete.