Sex
Sex
Sex is the strangest, cruelest thing God ever made.
Some people crave it like air. Some sip it once a week.Some never touch it again.I drown everyone who gets close, then try to drown myself. Since I was nine the darkness has lived in me. Depression wrapped its hands around my throat while porn lit a fire in my small body trembling hands stroking raw in the dark, chasing something I couldn’t finish, just burning and burning. I stood on the edge of a bridge,
wind whipping my face, hoping I would lose my balance and finally fall. I pressed knives against my skin, felt the cold edge, too scared to cut,
Too scared to live.
At ten they dragged me behind the wall.
A girl forced my dick into her mouth.I cried silently while my body learned it could be used.
At thirteen I had sex. She was warm and alive around me. That same night she killed herself. I carried her silence like another blade against my wrist.
Two years ago a man locked my girlfriend in the bathroom.
He groped her, forced his dick into her mouth.
She told me everything. I held her while she shook. I swore I would never be that man.
Tonight she looked at me with the trust she was still trying to rebuild. She whispered stop. Soft. Scared. Breaking.I heard her. I felt her body freeze the same way it froze in that bathroom.
And for ten unforgivable seconds
I kept going...moving inside her, chasing the same old fire, raping the one person who still loved me after everything she had already survived. When she shoved me off, the room died.
I collapsed and cried like something being torn apart from the inside. Great heaving sobs that ripped my chest open until I vomited everything
hot, sour, choking, kneeling in my own mess, shaking like that nine-year-old boy again.
The same boy who stood on bridges.
The same boy who held knives to his skin.
The same hands that just became the monster I swore I would never be.
I looked at her face
the fear, the betrayal, the love I murdered
and my heart finally broke the way it should have broken every single time I wanted to die. I don’t know how I could do this to her. After everything she survived, I became the next man who hurt her. I am the monster I feared I would become. The depression never left. The suicidal thoughts never left. They just waited for me to prove that I really don’t deserve to be here.
I don’t want forgiveness.
I don’t want tomorrow.
I just want the courage
to finally let go of the bridge railing
or press the knife hard enough this time.
Because I hurt the only person
who made me want to stay alive.