The Wicked Words

"You know what? I quit."

The words clawed their way up and out, throwing themselves at my lover's feet before I could process their existence. For a moment I could only stare in horror as the wicked words slithered round her ankles and crept up her calves, growing thorns and teeth with every inch they covered. Flowers of rotten red bloomed on her tights where each barb landed, a trail of rose petals tracking their destruction.

"I don't...I mean how could you…how could you say that to me?”, she whispered.

Tearing my eyes away from the slow carnage of the wicked words, I finally lifted my head to meet her gaze. I braced myself for the drop into her nearly black eyes, the soul sucking pull and the divine release that always came when I let myself fall into her depths and be washed away.

But her eyes were not there, they weren't on me at all.

She was watching the words too, the words that came from me that weren't mine, examining them with a strange expression that rippled with something just barely concealed.

Something darker than her eyes.

Something I'd seen before.

I didn’t say that, really.

Those weren't my words.

I don't know where they came from.

I'm sorry.

I’m so sorry, I’m the worst.

Please forgive me.

I will do anything,

be anything,

to be worthy of your forgiveness.

The words, the pleading words that were always mine, began to take shape and float to my lips. Ready to come to my aid, to be my salvation, as they always had. I opened my mouth to let the soft, pliable, easy words go, to let them caress the wounds I'd unwittingly inflicted and stitch us together again.

That's when she reached gently down to swat at the hem of her skirt. A terrifying smirk sprawled across her stunning face as her wrist flicked again and again, carelessly batting the wicked words away. As though they were nothing,

as if they weren't ripping her apart

piece by piece.

I gasped, forcing air down my throat, bracing myself as I let it blow my fragile words away. I hadn’t meant to hurt her, the wicked words had worked of their own free will, but once they were out, I’d expected

screaming.

I’d expected tears streaking black down flushed cheeks, knees cracking on pavement when she crumbled, bottomless eyes begging me to take the words back, to take her back, to not quit on her, on us. I’d expected the words to burrow eagerly through her flesh and flood her bloodstream and set her on fire; to eat her from the inside out until she was empty and lonely and desperate and just like me.

Just like me,

every time she threated to leave.

Watching her now, I realized I’d been wrong. So very wrong. The wicked words had made their way up her corseted ribcage and over her lace trimmed bust, and still she sat swatting at them playfully, teasing them like they were lifelong friends. The dark thing within her, the violence and cruelty she kept hidden from everyone but me, was gone. What rippled under her gaze now was something else entirely, a perverse joy.

“How could you say that to me?” she asked again, a little louder this time. I could hear it now, the mocking lilt to her voice, the just suppressed giggle threatening to bubble up through her false sorrow.

She was toying with me, just as she toyed with the wicked words that could have been mine. They hadn’t hurt her at all. Where I saw razer edged teeth and blood spatter, she saw only pin pricks and paper cuts. Tiny superficial abrasions that could be washed away and forgotten about almost instantly. No, the only thing being torn apart here was me. And she was enjoying it, reveling in it. When she was done with her game, she would take those words and twist them into ropes of guilt and chains of submission to tie me up once again.

“I know things have been hard, but I never thought you”. The sentence died in the air between us. I’d been quiet for too long, stood frozen and gaping for too long. The wicked words that quite possibly could have been mine were twisting round and round her neck now, tightening until she was finally forced to look at me.

For the first time, I said nothing. I did nothing. I met her gaze and held it till my eyes watered, till my body shuddered under the effort, and still I stayed rooted in place, refusing to let myself be taken under her current. A moment passed, then another, again and again each moment I stood my ground I watched the pools in her eye freeze over. I hadn’t been washed away, but her smirk had.

“After everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve given you, you’re going to stand here and say you quit? Like, like I’m some kind of job. A hobby you can drop and walk away from just like that.”

The wicked words, words I now understood to be mine, were tangled in her hair. They curled over and over again, knotting themselves through every strand to form a crown above her.

“You don’t mean it. I know you; you don’t mean it. Just say you don’t mean it so we can move on. You were overreacting in the first place, so just fucking say you didn’t mean it you goddamn ungrateful bitch!” She really was screaming now, panic dripping from every word as the crown rose slowly into the air, pulling her hair taught and pining her in place.

And still I said nothing, choking back my practiced pleas as I watched my words hold her back. They weren’t striking her the way her wicked words struck me; no, they weren’t wicked at all.

They were strong.

They were brave.

They were kind.

The words were mine; they had always been mine. Somewhere within me they had grown, flourishing despite my inattention, despite everything she’d done to poison any bit of defiance that threated to take root. They had grown under the worst of conditions and now they were here, protecting me, showing me a way out.

My eyes still on hers, I thrust my hands up and grabbed hold of my words, my strength. With a quick pull and one freeing inhalation, I called my not so wicked words back to me. I savored their taste in my mouth for a moment as I watched her body relaxed. The depths of her eyes slowly thawing as she regained her footing, ready to hear my soft words once again.

They would not come. Not for her, not for anyone. I would not weaken myself to be palatable, I would not bear pain in exchange for love, and I would not seek forgiveness for the imagined wickedness the monsters of the world thrust on me.

I am strong.

I am brave.

I am kind.

“I quit.”