Everything About You

Love is pain. How many times have I told myself that? How many times have I had it whispered in my ears, your hot breath tickling my skin. If someone were to ask me why I stay with you, I would repeat those words with a slow and calm assurance. Even as their eyes narrowed and their lips curved down in concern, I would feel nothing but the simple knowledge that what I say is true.

Everytime we lie awake

After every hit we take

The bruises get darker every day. Bursts of vivid blues and purples and yellows, standing in stark contrast to my pale skin. I run my fingers along them, wincing slightly as I press against tender flesh.

On my arms, my legs, my chest, my stomach, my back. Never where it shows. Never where anyone might notice. But even as the wounds throb and ache, as dry sobs escape my lips and my eyes burn with unshed tears, I smile.

Every feeling that I get

But I haven’t missed you yet

You love the dagger your father gives you for your birthday. You run your finger along the edge of the blade, an almost maniacal gleam in your eyes. And then the blade is pushed against my skin. A sharp sting, and then the warm flow of blood. I look at the wound with a sort of morbid curiosity. My brown eyes take in the dark blood against my skin. Red on white is so very attractive.

Every roommate kept awake

By every sigh and scream we make

You buy me my own, placing it in my hands with a smile and a kiss. You watch with sick fascination as I draw the blade across my own skin. Pressing down harder until the blood spills. A few drops splatter against the stone floor. I move to the other arm. Make them identical. I stare down at them for a moment before glancing up to meet your eyes. You kneel beside me and pull me into a deep kiss. I know then that I have pleased you.

All the feelings that I get

But I still don’t miss you yet

There are more. Running across my wrists in perfect diagonal lines. Every night, you kiss them gently, then move your lips to my own. The bruises are fading, their brilliant colors no longer visible against my skin. Now it is only red and white.

Only when I stop to think about it...

I open my eyes, taking in the still darkness around me. My right hand is itching, my fingers flexing compulsively. Images from my dream are flashing through my mind. I can almost see the faint traces of blood on my palm. My heart is pounding hard against my rib cage. My breath is ragged. A chill sweeps through my body. My hands find the surface of my bedside table, feeling blindly until cold steel touches my flesh.

I hate everything about you

Why do I love you?

The dream returns to me every night. It flashes behind my eyes in bursts of crimson and silver and ivory. It will not desist. I think of it every time I look down at the dagger in my hand. Every time your lips touch my blood stained skin. Every twisted smile and fierce kiss and hollow laugh brings it crashing down on me with renewed intensity.

Only when I stop to think about you, I know

Your touch makes me shiver. Your fingers are like ice. I wonder how I never noticed it before. Or whether I ever cared.

Only when you stop to think about me do you know

The sting of the blade brings sharp tears to my eyes. For the first time in several weeks, it is you holding the dagger. That same sick smile on your face, the hungry gleam in your eyes. I bite my lip to keep from sobbing as the blood spills over my flesh. Your eyes narrow. Harsh laughter falls upon my ears. You are taunting me. How can I ever expect you to be with me if I am going to act like a child? I shake my head and plead for you to stop. The laughter is louder. I can’t take it anymore. I rise to my feet and run out of the room, your voice fading behind me.

I hate everything about you

Why do I love you?

I look into the mirror and what I see makes me want to retch. A shadow of a human being. Bearing the marks of my own twisted love story. I sink to my knees on the floor. Tears spring to my eyes. Fall onto my cheeks. What started as a splinter is now spider webbing, and soon it will be shattered.

You hate everything about me

Why do you love me?

I spend what seems like forever on the floor, my small frame shaking with sobs, before the idea forms in my head. At first, I shove it away, shocked at my own thoughts. But it finds its way back into my conscious mind, and brings with it a deadly sort of calm. I push myself up off the ground, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand.

I hate

You hate

Finding your room is easy enough. Though I have never been here before, I can sense your presence behind the closed door. My own special talent. Though you never knew that, did you? I open the door as quietly as I can, slipping in and closing it behind me. I hadn’t realized how late it is. You are soundly asleep. Moonlight is falling over your relaxed features and pale hair. You actually look quite angelic. How ironic.

I hate

You love me

My hands are shaking, but my will is strong. The moment the blade touches your skin, your eyes fly open. I freeze. You look around, and when your gaze falls on me your face twists into the arrogant smirk I know so well. You don’t notice that I have your beloved dagger gripped in my hand. The softness is gone from your face. You sit up and place your hands on either side of my waist. Your eyes narrow slightly. My grip on the dagger tightens. You ask me what I am doing with your property. Before you can say another word, I pull your arms away from me and slash the blade across your skin.

I hat everything about you

Why do I love you?

You have fallen off the bed, onto the soft carpeting. You lay on your back, eyes open, but seeing nothing. I am stretched out beside you, struggling to keep breathing. Our blood is pooling together, dark brown against the emerald green floor. An image straight from the dream that has haunted me so long. Your dagger lies forgotten, dropped a few feet from where I am. I close my eyes, colors flashing through the darkness. They are fading, along with my life.

This is what it has all led up to. I do not know why I am crying. What will they say when they find us? Will they ask themselves why? I wish I could tell them that it is ok.

After all, love is pain. And I was very much in love.