"You Are My Wicked Life"

Come to me
Run to me
Do and be done with me
Don't I exist for you?
Don't I still live for you?
Everything I possess
Given with tenderness
Wrapped in a ribbon of glass
Time it may take us but God only knows
How I've paid for those things in the past
“Cold”, Annie Lennox

I smoke your brand of cigarettes
And pray that you might give me a call
I lie around in bed all day just staring at the walls
Hanging round bars all night
Wishing I had never been born
And give myself to anyone who wants to take me home
“Cup of Coffee”, Garbage

I want to be the girl with the most cake
I love him so much, it just turns to hate
I fake it so real I am beyond fake
And someday you will ache
Like I ache
“Doll Parts”, Hole

Beatriz wakes up in a soft bed, warm and safe in the embrace of her lover’s arms under linens and blankets. David holds her close to her in his slumber and she admires him in the pale moonlight.

He looks like a little boy with his mouth gaped open, so vulnerable.
Almost like he needs protecting.
From who? Her or himself?
Maybe both of them.

She feels so ashamed of how she acted and what she attempted to do and even more sorry for slashing him across the back. That whole altercation could have turned violent pretty quick, but luckily went (much, much) better.

She walked around the apartment all day conflicted, her thoughts heavy and muddled.

Why did he come to see her now, after all this time?

What did he want from her?

Did he want to apologize (because in his own way he did), or was he was just trying to score some pussy?

Surely he could have gotten that from any twat, he was handsome and charming, he could have anyone he wanted to use, why her?

Magdalene wasn’t the best person to discuss this matter with. She was the worst.

“Who dis con t’ink he be? He come up in yo’ home like some thief ‘n da night wit’ his dick rett ta run up in ya, gropin’ and molestin’ ya like some cheap lil’ ‘ho. Ya shoulda let me beat his ass, t’inking he be uh big man. (snort) Big Man don’t spook me!”

She rambled on angrily while Beatriz sighed wearily, trying to play moderator to the battle between the two women inside her that continued to bicker.

The jaded woman and the slightly naďve little woman who desires wanting to be desired.

So, she did what we all do when we are emotionally distressed and need to clear our heads; she drank.

And drank, and drank, and drank, and drank.

She drank herself angry and violently happy instead of mellow.

An almost black rage consumed her and her thoughts turned to vengeance.

Yeah! Who does this asshole think he is?! He welcomed himself into my goddamn house, uninvited, acting like I should be some misty-eyed bitch just because I ain’t had his dick in a while! Feeling me up, getting his kicks like some horny teenager in the backseat on prom night! And what, I’m suppose to miss you and spread for you eagerly, you cocksucker, after the anguish and heartbreak you caused me?! Never again, never again, never again! I’LL KILL YOU BEFORE YOU TOUCH ME AGAIN!! Don’t need you; don’t need your dick to have a happy life! Fuck you! Fuck you…you raggedy…DICKLICKER!!

She rummaged through her closet, all the way to the back and got her “Doll Faced Devil” garb: that pretty pink dress with the petticoat skirts and the nylons and the stilettos and “dolled” herself up and set out to find David with Magdalene’s switchblade.

To kill him?

No, honey, death is easy. I want to maim up that beautiful, sculptured body of his with scars so with every little stitch you remember me, BABE! And make YOU wait? Oh baby I would never.

Somehow she made it to the hotel and lifted a key from the front desk, flew up on the elevator, slinked down the hallway and found his room.

She stood outside for minutes in a macabre stupor, just staring at the door, images in her mind of red, red blood. She ran the key through and burst in, adrenaline rampant and held the knife, still closed, ready to attack, only to become disappointed when he was out of sight.

She mumbled bitter curses and poured a sugary drink at the bar in the bedroom. It mollified her slightly. She sat in the moonlit room on the bed with her shoes off against pillows, unconscious of her perverse smiling, instead thinking of where she would place every gash and every wound.

She was about to doze off when there was finally a noise in the other room and she became alert. Her heart beat twice in a second when he flicked the light and walked in, rubbing his face.

She thought about how he looked almost innocent and then heard the jaded woman laugh loudly, cruelly.

She looks at his content face and wants to kiss his stubbled jaw; he’s so cute she can’t stand it. She listens to his heart and it beats in his breast peacefully. She could have stayed like this forever, and she wanted to, but she knows she can’t and reluctantly begins to dismantle the loose hold he has on her and folds back the covers to slip out of the warmth.

Cold bites into her flesh. She gathers her clothes that have been discarded and heaped in a chair and walks softly toward the bathroom.

“Babe?”

She jumps and the bundle falls to the carpeted floor. Her yelp is swallowed by the rustling sheets.

“Yeah?” barely a whisper, she feels hot all over.

“Ya leavin’ me?” his voice is even gravellier with sleep.

I should, but I can’t.

“No…just going to the bathroom.”

“Oh, ok.”

She feels his eyes burning into her silhouette, flicks the light on without closing the door.

She didn’t get a good look at the bathroom the first time she was in there. She was still hazy in orgasm when she and David shared the bathtub.

It was a nice bathroom, the kind you would expect from an expensive hotel. Maybe a little too much space, though. She stares at the large mirror over the sink. She can see herself from the thighs up and gets lost in her reflection.

Was that relief in his voice? What does he have to be relieved about? Does he want me to stay or does he just want me to beat him to the punch? What does he care if I leave? He doesn’t seem to have a problem with leaving me.

But were you really going to leave?

No, maybe not, but why not? Why should I stay? He’s unstable and sadistic. He’ll just hurt me again and I’m already a fool for playing into him.

But he’s also passionate, a considerate lover, he cares about you and he loves you, adores you.

But...

But…?

He’s manipulative and possessive and obsessive…

And don’t you love it? He makes you happy, right?

Yeah, but I was young and stupid and blind. He’s no good for me.

You missed him. His hands all over you, that grin he does, the way he holds you. You two belong together.

You love him.

I love him.

“I really do.”

This realization hits her like a punch in the face but why? She’s known it all along. He’s all she could think about after he disappeared and she took her a long time to stop crying whenever she thought about him. To stop waiting for him and try to forget. She’s just been denying it and suppressing.

She notices for the first time the round, bluish purple marks on the insides of her wrists and even some on her thighs, surprised she doesn’t wince when her fingertips brush them.

At least I’ll have these to remember him by…

“Babe?”

She jumps again for the second time and turns around to see David leaning in the doorway, beautifully naked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Coming back to bed?”

She nods.

“Well come on.”

He turns away, starting for bed, and she sees the wound not yet scabbed on his back.

“David?”

“Yes, Pussyfoot?” he turns back around.

“I…”

…love you?

“I’m sorry.”

Grin. Do you know what that grin does to me? Do you know what you do to me?

“I know that, babe, just come back to bed.”

I’m more than happy to comply.