Perfect Love

It all seemed like a nightmare. Surely it was, it had to be, what was befalling me couldn’t possibly have been happening. Perhaps this was a lucid dream which needed me to snap out of it, to reset everything and let it turn into a sweet dream again. Moments ago I was in paradise wearing the perfect smile and feeling passion flowing with the blood in my veins.

That was all gone now, all the smiles and the joy. All I felt was a turbulent flow of rage, fear and desperation. I wasn’t wearing my smile anymore. I wasn’t wearing the tight spandex pants or the loose floral dress which covered it. I wore nothing at all, my body naked and exposed to the harsh cold which pierced through my skin. Goosebumps turned my soft smooth skin into a scaly hide with cold and fear working hand in hand to tattoo my body.

I screamed as hard as I could, shrieking like a banshee hoping my loud wails would reach the ears of some passerby who could save me. The louder my screams were the more the hope dwindled away. None of my actions were of any help, not the forceful pushing and kicking away, not the screams which were reaching no one. A dark realisation of how powerless I was came into play.

Yet still, the perpetrator of all my transgression continued with agonizing me. Pushing at him was like pushing at a brick wall and my screams seemingly fell in deaf ears. He pressed on me with his rock solid body clasping my wrists with his big hands rendering my fight worthless. I could barely breathe with him putting all his weight all over him, and even more so I couldn’t fathom to understand why my own boyfriend was raping me.

Of all the people I trusted in the world my boyfriend came first. The first person I would wake up to text in the morning and tell him of my dreams and the last person I wished a goodnight to before I slept.

Our romance was a thing of beauty envied by all who would see us. “Perfect Couple” was the only description of us as we had the adventure of Bonnie and Clyde blended with the passion of Romeo and Juliet. Our perfect story began two years back when we met in our senior year prom. An instant connection followed by a cascade of ever growing desire to be with each other seeded a love that grew greater than Jack’s grand beanstalk.

On a personal level that love was the best thing that ever happened to me. Growing up in a dysfunctional family where we spent more hours enduring each other’s company than embracing it was a struggle. My parents were both alcoholics and had self destructive habits that often lead to me having to head the family at a young age and care for my younger siblings. There was an endless frustration I had as I aged which had eased ever since I met my boyfriend.

Safety, a very distant feeling before, was always in abundance when I was with my boyfriend Steve. Steve always had a way of making life feel like a breeze for me, he comforted me when all seemed overwhelming and picked me up when I stumbled. The secure and loved feeling I had with him gave me a renewed enthusiasm towards life.

We didn’t agree in everything of course, no couple does anyway. I preferred to spend my evening laying on my bed indulging in a wonderful Hawaiian Pizza and drinking hot chocolate while watching Game of Thrones or a chic flick. Steve was bored by that and would rather spend the night dancing at some shady basement while bingeing on beers all night until he passed out. The contrast never hurt us, even though he like yellow and I liked blue we would always try blend in into a mutually satisfying green.

The one thing we never seemed to find an easy compromise was how far we could go in our physical connection. Steve had already been with a lot of people and had a Lion’s lust while I was a virgin and valued my chastity beyond anything else. Celibacy was something my boyfriend hated especially when he had me whom he believed he was entitled to sleep with. Fights after fight came because of it and I even went as far as stating to him that I would rather lose him than my virginity. Eventually he yielded and stopped asking for it claiming that he would wait till we were married.

Tonight however the Steve I knew wasn’t the Steve I was with. Once again he had gotten terribly drunk at a club and his friends who were in a state not too far from his called me to board him home. Time with my boyfriend did nothing to make me get used to carrying his six foot six two hundred pound frame, obviously a mountain compared to a five foot two petite girl like me. He wasn’t completely passed out and demanded that I stay over and seeing his state the mother in me wanted to leave him tucked in bed. The boy refused to sleep and I don’t know if it was the alcohol alone but he began blathering his need for sex. Trying to ignore him and the pungent stench of the alcohol mixed with whatever cheesy foods he had, I covered him with his top blanket. Steve immediately lunged out from the blanket and began grabbing and groping me in a manner I felt very uncomfortable with.

Losing patience I slapped him and stormed out of the room but before I got to the door I was floored face first by a hefty tackle from behind. Suddenly a wave of shock and fear wiped away my sense of control. Steve flipped me around and what I saw when I looked in his eyes wasn’t my lovely boyfriend. The usual radiant smile which would melt me to the bone was nonexistent. Instead all I saw was a lustful beastly gaze, as if he had become an animal.

My screams and resistance did nothing to deter him. He had captured his prey and wasn’t willing to let go off the kill. The more I tried fighting the less it seemed that I would have a happy ending of this. I was stuck in hell with no way out. Emotions tumbled with thoughts of hurt and regret, and most of all, of being powerless.

I don’t remember much about when he was done besides him gasping as if he was surprised that he raped me. What I do remember was the rage I felt inside me, the desire for vengeance and uncontrollable anger. Prior to him releasing me I headed straight for the kitchen with a face dripping in tears.

A moment later I returned to the room and was meant by an apologetic sheepish look on Steve, begging for forgiveness. I edged closer to him and stared at his beautiful eyes and tears came out of me, this time not because of the pain he put me through but because of the memory of how much I loved him.

With all the little force my exhausted arms could muster I plunged a knife deep into his chest. Shock coloured Steve’s face as I plunged it again and again penetrating his body as much as he penetrated mine. He collapsed on to the floor shivering as blood gushed out of his wounds and air rushed into them. The suffering he was going through broke my heart yet it also appeased my mind. I saw the feelings I had felt before, the pain added to the shock mixed with despair and topped up by desperation. At that point I lost the mercy I had for him; alcohol had done to him what anger did to me. He knew what he was putting me through and still carried on with it.

An unforgettable memory exchanged with a final memory. Trauma repaid for with death and justice, or at least what I wanted it to be, was served. We looked at each other in the eye one last time, perfect for each other as always. We mirrored our emotions and our eyes told the same story. This was a suitable ending to our story, he had forced himself to be my first and I ensured he would be my last. A bit of joy got into me as I saw his expression, powerless as i was before.