Upon sight of my worn frame, you scream, but I do not know why. I am older, but not so much to cause such a visceral reaction as this, I feel. Perhaps it is that my body seems much older than my face. You must not have been expecting this when you agreed to come here. I tried to calm you, but the qualm was too powerful.
I put my clothes back on and sat as far in the room as I could. Attempting to assure you I meant no harm. We talked for what seemed like hours. You said I was a nice person, and I said that you were too. I will not push this, I told you. I just want to know you, I said. You smiled. You said two words I was not expecting.
We sit in my family room, though I have no family. It has been 3 months now, since that day, and we still have not made love. I love you, but I don't know if you love me.. You just aren't ready yet, and that's okay. I see the way you look at me, smiling, and it halfway disappears when you look from my face to the rest of me. I do not appear nude in front of you. I do not show skin in public below my neck. I am not ashamed, but you are. You'll come around, though. I believe in you, and I believe in us.
You ask me how this happened. I hesitate. I don't want you to know. I know this will persist, though. I tell you that when I was younger, I got into an argument with my parents. They didn't mean to, but there was a large pot of near-boiling water that got knocked onto me. They rushed me to the hospital. I was badly burnt, and required grafts. It left my body scarred. As I grew, it just made my body look old. Now you're crying, like you pity me. I'm so sorry, you sob. I tell you I don't need someone to be sorry for me, and leave the room.
You chase after me, begging. I tell you that I have forgiven my parents, and that I am not ashamed of my body. I tell you that you should not be either, and that it feels like you don't love me like I love you. You stop crying immediately and your face is overcome with shock. You look me in the eyes and yell how dare you! How dare you fucking question my love! I say I question it because if you loved me, truly, then you would not be so scared of me, you would not be so mortified. You're crying again. You know I'm right, I proudly declare. For once the truth comes out.
You grab me by the hand. I am being pulled to the bedroom. You push me on to the bed, and you take my clothes off. Looking at my body lasciviously, you begin to kiss it. I hold your head in my hands and kiss you, and we make love for the first time.
Don't think for a second that this erases the way you made me feel, I say sternly. You bring your head up from my chest to look at me. I whisper, you have to really prove yourself. Forcing yourself to do things doesn't prove anything. You give me a disgusted look and put your clothes back on. I stay in the bed but you leave the room. I quickly fall asleep.
I awake to you staring at me, standing over the bed. You look angry. You ruined something beautiful, you tell me. I tell you that I did not ruin anything. I just called you out, and you're just angry because I'm right. You smile lightly, and there is a glisten in the dark room. You quickly swing your arm up and slam it down, and I feel the pain shoot through my body. You have stabbed me. Do I deserve this? I just wanted to live a happy life with you. This isn't my fault. You leave the blade in and run away. I reach for the phone beside the bed and in 10 minutes or less the ambulance will be here. You should have aimed better, I'm not going to die today.
But I do go unconscious. I wake up again in the hospital. The doctor tells me I almost died. You almost killed me, I say to myself, smiling.
But you didn't.
I'm going to find you, dear. I will not stop searching. I will find your family, and all of your friends. I know where you work. You will show up eventually.
I'm going to tie you down. I'm going to slowly pour boiling water on you. I will torture you, and then I will stab you. There is one difference, though.
You will not survive.
Created: Apr 16, 2012AuditionMD Document Media