Sleeping with the Enemy
I've gone numb. I can no longer feel his hands when he touches me--When he kisses me, my skin crawls, as if in an attempt to scurry away from the feel of his lips--the wriggle of his tongue. And when he makes love to me, my blood runs cold.
My love for him has died out. And, I cannot muster enough lust to continue the charade. I'm, tired--My body knows him well. My heart knows him not.
He is but a stranger who beds down with me at night. I prepare food for this thief, this crook who has stolen my years--my time--my unconditional affection.
Sparring partner, in love with the feel of my face against your open hand at the height of your frustration--lover who entices with the prospect of love and rebukes when I stumble forth with outstretched arms, why mock me?
I no longer fear being alone. I welcome it. I crave it. I yearn after it. I've but one issue--he won't grant me respite. He won't allow me to leave--
When he's away, I can scarcely taste the freedom. My blood boils over with the desire to escape--but I'm afraid.
Perhaps, I shall conspire to kill...
© Copyright 2016 Jennifer Brighton. All rights reserved.
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