We lay together in your cold, pristine room with the street light outside shining on my face like an interrogation lamp. You always needed to know what was going on inside; my thoughts, my feelings and the fears which caused my nightmares. How was I to know this information was only desired for ammunition? The bayonet was hung up for now and you were still learning how to use it properly. How to slice into me where it would never heal. Your sheets were crisp and the bed hard, reminding me of an operating table. Soft lips pressed down hard on mine, forcing me to open up. How personal it is, to kiss. I stroked your limp hair away from your face and ran fingers down your neck. My baby.

Harsh bristles chafed against the smoothness of my skin. You lifted your head up, and although the light from outside caused shadows on your face in the darkness I could feel your almond eyes on me. “I love you.” you said in the brittle voice that always seemed to be trapped inside your somewhere, like you were talking into yourself. The silence hung there like a man on the gallows waiting for the end. All I could think about was how irritating the light was in my eyes because when I looked away from it I was blind. I shifted about as I looked down and cleared my throat. Your hard, slim body tensed against mine as you lifted your arms and broke the embrace that had held us together. “Don’t you love me?”

I shook my head remembering the first night we had met. How disinterested I had been and how you had pursued. Like a spoilt child eternally determined to get what you want you had told me I was stunning and had taken your breath away. Although I knew the chat up line was older than my Grandad I realised I had been single too long from being too fussy and decided it was time to have some fun. The good times didn’t last long though and I soon saw the mood swings and the vindictiveness. Your venomous tongue could spit out poison and have me doubled over on my knees in minutes. Like a sculptor you would carve into me and transform me into what you wanted. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know what you want from me.” I said. My voice was small and my lips curled into a grimace. I did love you. I just didn’t know if it was enough. Your body sent an electric shock to mine as you jolted from my words.

All you ever wanted was the unconditional love that you couldn’t get from your family. A Father in the army who came into your room at night when he returned on leave and a Mother who turned a blind eye to it, pretended to still be asleep as her husband swapped one bed for another. It was too much for me. I was too small a crutch for your pain. You climbed off the operating table that had ripped us apart and put us back together again with plasters of apologies and bandages of poorly thought out clichĂ© gestures. We were each others novice surgeon and didn’t have a clue how to make these scars heal. You looked down on me as I lay there wounded; your face denied of any emotion. I raised my hand to yours and when it was in my grasp you shook me off, sneered, and walked away.


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