I literally hated Jim’s Quid-Pro-Quo attitude. My timid “let’s be friends” crashed into his “I can’t be there for your without intimacy, it is not fair to me” . It was a bargain, the ongoing business project under the “get-more-give-nothing” slogan. One day I got tired of feeling angry, sad, and offended, since it was a mere waste of energy. He neither listened, nor understood. His “I want my lover back” was the only response to my attempts to explain why it will never happen.
I got quiet. He tried to get into my mind – I did not care. I am predictably pedestrian, but he never got that since he never listened.
– I want you, let’s start over again
– Leave me alone
– You are always busy for me
– Please leave me alone
– What do you want? Arrangement? How much? Talk to me….
I threw my head back and burst into laughter. Something happened. Something flipped the switch in his head, and he turned into a stranger. The stranger grabbed my wrist, dragged me into the bedroom, and threw me on the bed. Our eyes met as he was forcing my legs apart. Glassy look, he was numb and freezingly callous. His unresponsiveness to my repetitive fuck-you-fuck-you-fuck-you was scary. I felt the sharp pain in my fractured knee and tried to release the leg from his body weight. All in vain, he was way too heavy. The pushed to the side panties cut into my skin adding to the absurdity of the situation. My attempts to slap and bite were mixed with ongoing laughing and crying. I kept whispering I hate you, and I knew he did not care.
– You are a witch, – he finally let me go.
– Get out, – The stranger turned into the Jim I knew; warm confidence, persistent dominance, and the buy-low-sell-high philosophy. I was no longer scared, just tired from the overall insanity.
– Why? We were just playing.
– You are nuts, – I adjusted the skirt and reached out for the hair brush. Shaking hands, trembling lips, still sobbing.
– You told me you wanted it rough. I was trying to make you happy. You should have said the safe word. I would have stopped…
– Get out.
The next day Heather came to see me. She brought apples and Ibuprofen. Jim had pulled my hair too hard.
– I do not want to see him any more
– He is a nice guy, Vixen, – I started crying, she handed me a tissue, – he has common sense, you should stay with him
– No, – I was thinking about Greg, his talented introversion, firm dick, and quiet psychopathy. I missed him. I wanted him back into my life.
– Forget about Greg, eat.
I loved Heather, she was a good friend. The apples were sweet, Ibuprofen numbed the pain. I smiled, I felt better.