(In order to understand this piece, you should first read this explanation. Otherwise it’d be hard to comprehend the meaning behind it. )
Darkness used to terrify me; now I’m drawn to it like a shark to fresh blood.
The petrifying serenity of it calms me. I’ll never be able to articulately describe the moment I first felt joy at the absence of light – the moment I felt the fear climbing up to the surface of my skin. It shot out like the screams of a woman in labor, only to give birth to the quiet fearlessness that was budding out and taking its place from within me. I cradled it against my chest and fed it my own skin; stayed up long nights to keep it calm and content. I watched it grow out of its bibs and pacifiers and into tall glasses and cheap shots. I watched it grow out of its onesies and slip into skin-tight dresses and expensive garters.
The unforeseen. The inexplicable. The extraordinary. The inhuman; the way-too-human. I loved it so. I loved its unpredictability. I loved the Godly power it brought with it; I loved the tender feel of the life beneath my fingers. I adored the fleeting sense of ecstasy, I adored the control; the shamelessness. I cherished those sleepless nights and the mess I was almost always left to clean alone.
I fell in love with the solidarity, the independence. The nonchalance.
I never cared about anything or anyone else. I never needed anything else to keep me sane. And I know what they all think of me; I know they think I’m a slut with legs so far apart; the sun never sees both at the same time. Well, that’s for me to know and for them to pretend they do with their empty heads held high above their shoulders. They look at me, eyes full of judgment and pity. They search for answers in my eyes, look for solutions in their tiny minds. They think they’ve got me all figured out;
“Oh, that poor little girl with no one to save her.”
But there’s always a little more to everyone than people would first presume.
There’s a lot more to me than he thinks.
He with his eyes full of fire and his hands full of recklessness. He with his silencing lips and hungry fingers. They sear into my skin and leave traces of the sin I’ve gladly called my life sentence. He calls me beautiful – he says so without looking at my face. His greedy tongue looks for comfort in the salt of my body, my limbs are his lullaby – my body; his prize. But is a prize really a prize when you’re paying to get it? His thinking never really reaches that far. I’ve always been thankful for the disgustingly limited thinking process of men.
It’s served me well.
I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than the sight of his bare body being hugged by moonlight. His features melting away with the furniture; the only things sharp and vivid are his eyes. His dilated pupils are glowing with sincerity, yet his intentions are anything but sincere. He stares at me full of want. His hands and feet are cuffed to the bedposts – he smiles wickedly; makes sure to let me know he approves.
It used to mortify me. I’d always look for ways to make it go; I’d always find a light to scare it away with. I’d always figure out a way to make it slither away from my body like a snake and leave me unpoisoned.
But oh, how I cherish its venom now. It swims through my veins and takes over my blood; runs through my lungs and leaves me gasping.
The kind from within. The kind unaffected by the sun. The kind that blots out all logic and leaves me free as an eagle.
It’s beautifully dangerous, this kind of desire. It’s endless, unsatisfied; always wanting, never settling. It’s greedy and stubborn, it’s illogical and it leaves no room for negotiation.
We’re in the drowning darkness. His breath is singing along with the wind, his body counting on my mercy. My hands find their way to his trachea. He’s excited, tilts his neck towards me; gives it away like toys to a child. The familiar tenderness thrills me.
“You’re mine.” I hiss into his ear. I feel the hairs all over his body responding to the friction of my lips.
He has no idea. He’s bound to me for the rest of his sorry life. He doesn’t know he’s going to spend it all under my perfect body trying to grab onto my flawless skin.
I give a tantalizing squeeze to his neck. “Oh, God”, he whispers. I’ve been dubbed God before, but its truth only strikes me in the split second it takes for their faces to change from red to blue. The moment their demanding eyes change from lustful to terrified. The moment I know they know I’m the one in control. The moment they realize they’ve handed their lives to me without thinking twice.
The moment he realizes I’ve got his last breath in the palm of my hand.
17 seconds is all it takes. His tainted light creeps out of his wasted body and leaks into my superior soul. I hang on to his neck for a little more than that. The state I’m in can only be described as euphoric – his limp body is the cloud I choose to rest on.
I touch his lifeless face. Despite the struggle he just put on, it looks calm – expressionless.
He’s given in to his fate – the one I set for him.
Any whore with ovaries could give a life.
It takes a Goddess to take one away.
Holy is in the eye of the beholder.
© Copyright 7ala Abdullah