Like a Curtain

[Suggested sexual abuse, suggested physical abuse and violence]

The sunlight washed gently over the curtains as they billowed in the wind. It almost looked as if they were alive, and with each breath of air they begged for attention. My eyes were fixated, watching each movement. However, I was not held in fascination; no, I knew this curtain’s movement to be something ordinary– I was no fool. But still, it was beautiful. Like how each year it snows but still somehow every time you look out at the sparkling, white, quiet… I feel astounded each time, left standing in awe at the beauty before me. 

It was like this, the curtains. They seemed so innocent and angelic; but how could I describe something without a soul in such a way? I pondered over this, questioning myself and my sanity. Until. Until I think of you. Soft, graceful. I pictured your hair blowing in the wind, tangling up in your earrings. You were frustrated at my obvious smile, myself enjoying each accidental brush of my hand against the side of your neck. Oh how warm and smooth your neck was. How wonderfully soft your hair was that day despite having swam in the undeserving lake for hours leading up to that moment. I remember not being able to take my eyes off of your face. But there is a difference between the way I looked at you and that curtain. I was, am, fascinated with you, perhaps even obsessed one could say. You inspire me. You inspired me to be a better person, I ached to be a better person for you. 

But the curtains, yes. The curtains now still and limp, hanging in the dead air, made no effort to entertain me anymore. I wanted to reach out and gather them in my fists and rip them from the wall. I would have. But I knew the sunlight would antagonize me, and so I left them alone. I left it. But I never can just leave things. Why couldn't I just leave it be? Why did I not just believe you? But then again, how could I? Women in my life have left me longing and desperate time and time again. I’ve pleaded with them relentlessly. You called me dramatic! You said you weren't like the others! And I wanted to believe you, I really did. If I did not behave this way, you would have hurt me. You must understand– I wanted to protect myself from heartbreak, betrayal. Years and years of getting fucked over by beautiful women. Women who have never paid for a drink. These are the women that never even say thank you when you love them. They question your dedication and so you are forced to prove yourself to them. And when they see what you’ve done, for them, mind you, they have this infamous look on their face. I can still see the fear and disgust. Like a knife in my heart, twisting and wrenching everything around until I cannot breathe. Memories like these taught me that I must begin to protect myself. By any means necessary. My love, can’t you understand that?

The dead weight of the curtains was irritating. The room seemed to be holding its breath; the air seeping in through the window was hot and thick, slowly suffocating me. Standing up from my seat, I reached out and slammed the damned window closed. I flinched at the loud sound and I cursed myself because I did not want to wake you. You looked like an angel when you were asleep: your porcelain skin was milky white, your eyes slightly open, mouth agape… The fucking curtains! I took them up in my hands and shook them vigorously; the sound of the cloth folding and snapping began to calm me. Like this I continued for quite some time– my upper lip began to perspire. When I did finally stop, sunlight was streaming in, but it wasn't celestial, as it should have been. Instead, it revealed to me all of the dust accompanying us, silent but chaotic. This angered me; I do not enjoy things out of my control, and so I let my eyes lower onto your figure, your heavenly figure, and I began to undress you with my eyes. If you were awake you would have slapped me for the look I held upon my face. Utter bliss that I could not even try to hide if I wanted to. Finally, I tore my gaze away, face hot, body trembling. I sat back down, lifting your rigid legs so that your feet were resting on my lap. My mind quickly cleared when I noticed the dark, green and yellow bruises on your right ankle. What happened there? I made a mental note to ask you in time. I stroked the edges of the bruise gently with my fingertips, tracing it all the way around. These bruises were something to admire. They sort of formed a beautiful anklet, commanding attention with the contrast between your ivory skin and its own vibrancy. How beautiful that coloring would be around your neck…

Even I was taken aback by my thoughts, but oh, wouldn’t it be so marvelous– the blood underneath your skin pooling and forming a beautiful mosaic, framing that face of yours in such a way that would make you impossibly beautiful. I closed my eyes and began to imagine you dancing in a white, silk dress. The image was glorious. It was flowing behind your every movement, softly draped over every curve and crevice, accentuating your slender frame. Your neck was bare, of course, except for the splash of color. But suddenly the symphony stopped in my head and you became angry, so very angry. You screamed and cried; your mascara was running down your face, revealing a madwoman. You were thrashing about on the floor and digging your nails into your arms so ferociously that blood was drawn. I wanted to call out and stop you, but you were completely wild. As if the sight of blood made you delirious, you smeared it across your face until you were chaotic streaks of red. All at once the walls in my head turned into mirrors and the bloody image of you was splayed about everywhere. You ran to the nearest reflection and began to laugh hysterically. Until you saw your neck. The blood on your face and arms did not disturb you, no, but the dark discoloration left you shaking. Your hands flew up instinctively to cover the markings as if you believed that that would make them disappear. I wanted to reach out to you and hold you, I wanted this terrifying image to cease in my mind, but something was keeping you tortured and prisoner there, and I watched in desperation. I began to cry.

When I finally opened my eyes again, I glared at your peaceful figure, still deep in slumber. I began to wipe my eyes as if the tears on my face were the only things attaching me to my own despair. Reality proved you to be much more calm than my own imagination did. Or perhaps it wasn’t just my imagination. The image of you in my head seemed so familiar and real– maybe I am remembering a similar occurrence? This recollection had to be from a dream; you wouldn’t have dared to keep something like this from me, a past of abuse. But then again, you were a deceiving woman. Might I even dare to say you deserve the pain you endured in my head for all of the lies that you told. A mouth as sweet as yours should not have been permitted to speak such falsehoods, and yet the web of lies you spun was shown before my eyes. Maybe if you were my first I would have been shy to approach your many contradictions, but you are hardly my first… Oh and you hate that. I hate your lies and you hate my past. This division almost got the best of you and I many times, but the love-making; that was what truly saved us. It was as if you hated how much you loved our sex– your eyes always filled with a child-like wonder when I removed my clothes. I could see how much you wanted me no matter how hard you pulled away, and I loved watching. But you wanted it all along, didn’t you. You’re a naughty girl; your mind is filled with images I desperately wish I could see. But you were always keeping things from me. You would always press your lips together tightly, as if you had to physically force yourself to keep the truth from me, to keep the things I want to know, I need to know, away from me. 

The curtains were hanging limp. Lifeless. Why didn’t they match my labored breathing and scowling face? I spat. I shoved your legs off of my lap as I stood up. You were sideways on the couch now, your bruised leg dangling off of the edge of the cushion, and I was once again admiring the bruise. I squatted next to you and stared. No. No, not again. My mind began to revert back to the image of you in the mirrored room. This time you were calm. You were staring directly into my eyes and pointing at me defiantly. What? Are you blaming me for this madness? Everything I have done has been in your best interest, our best interest. This torment is no longer bearable! I stood over your body, shaking with rage. Control was something I no longer possessed; I reached for your shoulders. Your skin was cold and your arms would not lift from your sides. Spit sprayed through my teeth as I began to shake you. Wake up, damnit! I heard a very distinct, violent crunching sound. In a single moment your neck was twisted and bulging out on the side. I screamed and jumped back. Dear God. No. What is this? I crept slowly back to you and studied your face. Your eyes were completely open now, but I could only see white. Why are they all white?! Oh no… no. I began moaning. I stepped back again, away from you, away from this body. I began pacing back and forth in front of the couch. How dare you do this to me? I do not know anything else! All I know anymore is you. Looking for the possibility of something else agonizes me; tearing away the only truth I have ever had. I took my head in my hands and ran my fingers through my hair as I continued pacing. What am I supposed to do? My fingers scoured my scalp, subconsciously searching for something to scratch at. An old scab. I tore it off and then rubbed the revived wound vigorously until it began to bleed. What am I doing? I sucked the blood from the tip of my finger and stood still. I must make a decision. 

I took my jacket off and laid it over you. You must be cold in that flimsy little dress. I nodded my head at my good deed. Maybe everything is going to work out in the end. Yes, you have made mistakes, but so have I, and I am willing to forgive you, to look past all of the pain that you have caused me. I made my decision. I will wait patiently, like a good boyfriend, for you to wake up. I walked over to the window, looked outside, and smiled. I reached up and drew the curtains closed.