Power

I smiled the very same smile that she once fell in love with as I held her angelic face in mine and

gave a hefty punch. She didn't cry, move or even retaliate in the slightest. I could see a tear

slowly dripping down her cheek but her enchanting eyes seemed to suck in all the pain into a

dark abyss and her stunning body expressed her sexuality in a way that always turned me on. I

brushed my hands up and down her body, and gave her another punch on her stomach. Just

above her belly button and below her perfect breasts, the very same area I'd kiss all over later

that night and make it all better.

'Beautiful' I thought as I held her neck and sucked on her blood vessels protruding out of her

skin. I felt her soft skin and with one last thump on her chest, hard enough to make her pass out, I

threw her on my bed and muttered, 'I'm sorry' out loud and let out a tranquil whisper to myself

saying 'for not being able to please myself'.

Denial

'It's okay' was hard to mutter with my disfigured lips but I was able to say it, trying to obviate a

substantial pain that hurt my soul more than it did my body. What was the benefit of all this? Was

all the pain worth it? Was 'making love' every night after he 'aids' me really sensual? I asked all

these questions to myself, but somewhere deep down in my head, I believed that he still 'loved'

and 'cared' for me. That to me was all that really mattered. I was in love with James and he was

in love with me. I looked into his eyes, which was once filled with purity and joy. But all I could

see now was just a void of nothingness. I heard him mumbling an apology and saw him say

something under his breath. It was the same thing he used to do every night, yet those golden

words coming out of his seductive peach lips always made me believe that he has once again

become the man I first fell in love with. As I laid down on my bed, while the bruises sharpened,

and the pain aggrandized, I felt the urge to tell him that I still loved him, and I was proud of him

for trying to change. With tired eyes and marred lips, I slowly whispered 'I love you'...

Silence...

I felt the world darkening around me. After a minute of absolute lull, I heard him unzipping

something. He came closer to me and whispered 'hush' to my ears as he slowly unbuttoned my

dress and very soon intertwined his body around mine. I laid there motionless; feeling nothing

but just used to the feeling of being his 'item'.

I couldn't sleep that night. Even though I satisfied my partner, I felt a kind of emptiness in me.

What troubled me really was that I was unable to find the answers to the questions I ask myself

every night after he 'helps' me. At least that's how he has convinced me saying that everything he

ever did was because he 'loved' me and wanted what's best for me. But that's the thing about

him. He tells me he has trouble expressing himself, and everything he does hence is a way of

showing that he loves me. All the bruises and scars are love stains on my body from him.

Shouldn't I be happy then? Shouldn't I be able to have a goodnight's sleep and wake up the next

day feeling nothing but pure and divine love for myself and him? Shouldn't I not be wishing to

turn back things to how it first was and just accept my livelihood now?

Strange, but I did not know what or how to feel. I woke up from my bed in immense pain from all

the bruises he had given me. I walked towards his study to look for something I really hoped to

find. I let out a pray wishing he hadn't emptied the ammo from his pistol he had threatened so to

use on my child and I so many times.

Disgust

It was just like every other night. My little angel always laid helplessly still on the bed as I rubbed every ounce of my body vigorously around her. Breathtaking. She had maintained to

keep her curves as stunning as ever even after pregnancy. I focused on her contours, her

provocative legs and I let out a sigh as I was finished and pleased. My little baby laid there still,

motionless. Just the way I always liked it and I advised 'It could be better next time.' My tired

eyes slowly slid shut as I drowsed off to a goodnights sleep. A few hours into the night, I could

hear someone scrambling the drawers in my room. I thought it was my five-year-old daughter,

Daisy so I didn't make much of it. I decided to ignore the rattle and let my doll take care of her.

As I endeavored to sleep again I was startled by a loud sound coming right from my study. I

brushed my drowsy eyes and started towards my study.

Blood. So much blood. My baby laid there still, engulfed in a pool of her bright red blood. I was

baffled and taken aback by the sight of my angel blowing her brains out. Oh, my baby, why?

Weren't you as amused as I was when we played our little 'games'? Weren't you enjoying every

little bit of it just like I did?

I didn't feel the slightest amount of guilt but just disgust for her thinking how she had the valor

to end everything and deprive me from my pleasure after all I've done for her. I felt betrayed and

cheated on. I stood there as still as she did every night, wondering where it all went wrong.