Stranger's fiction

you stripped off my coat, and it dropped to the floor, forgotten, the only sound between us in the humid summer night.

the wet air crushed us together, made the very idea of walking here wearing the coat ridiculous. it was not as dark here as i'd've liked, but you refused to turn off the light just yet. instead you shuffled away, quiet, dangerously quiet. picked up the mirror. look at this, you said. i want you to look. voice hissing, and i snarled, shoving you away, not trusting you. knowing full well what happens when voices hurt. getting ready to walk. to leave. the end. you pulled me close, pulled my shirt down. i fought you; your fingers left bruises and scratches on my skin.

i want you to see, you said. this is what i'm afraid of, this is what i hate, because... and your voices faded away, and i heard the words anyway, and didn't want to, didn't need to. knew already. understood all you thought i didn't know.

i howled. closed my eyes. pretend the world wasn't falling apart. but it was, it always did. look, you said again, LOOK. and i did, and you snarled at me, and the mirror found the floor with an angry shriek of breaking glass. there were shards against my bare feet. matched the cuts upon my thighs, my arms, my chest, testament to another failed round with my subconscious.

this is not what i wanted.

all the blood in the world, and this is not what i wanted.