suffocation

A kiss pressed too your lips is all it takes to get you off of your barstool and into his car. It's been one of your many long, hard nights, and this is just the type of medication you prescribed yourself. He has a firm, almost painful grip on your wrist, and you're sensing that this is going to be exactly how you want it to be. You're pulled through a frantic mob of people as he drags you through the door, and from somewhere to your left you hear someone calling to you to wait, stop, think about what you're doing...You merely smile at whoever you'll be sleeping with tonight's backside and continue to lope on after him.

You're outside and the cool breeze is hell on your smoke-infested lungs. It's too clean, too pure. You hold your breath until he has pulled you into the passenger seat and lunged for his steering wheel. You don't breathe when his lips touch your neck as he pulls out of the crowded parking lot. You don't breathe when his hand dances up your leg and his fingers dip underneath the waistband of your jeans. You don't breathe until you can feel your brain starting to give up its fight for life, and even then you take only a small inhale. The feeling of suffocation rekindles the flame of satisfaction that had begun to snuff out when you left the bar, and you keep repeating your cycle of withholding respiration just to fill the gaping hole that you can feel everywhere in your body.

The minutes of travel have felt like hours to you, and when you see his blinker on and he pulls into the driveway of a quaint house, the satisfaction returns and you can breathe correctly again. Wordless, you follow him into the darkness that is his home and let him lead you to a small bedroom that is taken up mostly by a large bed. Without a syllable or gesture's warning, you go to him and press your cold, chapped lips against his. Any kind of pre-activity is out of the question. You need to get your fix, and you need to get it now. You pull off his clothes and then your own follow his onto the dank, dirty carpet. You push him onto the bed that takes up most of his room and you mold your body to his, smiling at no one in the darkness as he fumbles to roll you underneath him and take charge. Then, he is there. You're being pushed and pulled into six different directions as he thrusts in and out, in and out. He's squeezing and groaning with pleasure, and you're laying underneath him, wordless and silent, letting his fists and teeth leave marks on every inch of your skin. He screams at you as he pushes himself deeper inside, angry at your silence. He delivers a painful blow to your face that makes you moan, and makes the smile in his angry eyes gain a more malicious appearance.

Here it comes, what you've been waiting for.

He slaps you again, and your moan grows louder. He pulls out all of the stakes, pulling himself fully out of you and then slamming himself back in. Your moans grow to screams, and your insides feel as though they are bursting as each movement he makes becomes more and more painful. When he spasms inside of you, the crescendo you were about to reach falls flat, and you are left feeling empty again. You move to grab your clothes and leave.

He, however, has other plans.

You have just barely reached the edge of the bed when he grabs your waist with bruising force and pulls you onto your feet beside him. You don't have a chance to even look at him curiously before he has you up against the wall with your wrists locked above your head in a vice grip. His mouth is hot on your neck and collar bone as he bites into your flesh painfully. His mouth moves to your breast, and his free hand is touching every part of you, squeezing, pinching, pulling. The crescendo begins to build again, and you are in so much bliss that you can't make a sound. He's pulling your hair now, forcing your head back and biting your neck so forcefully that you think he's broken skin.

Heaven.

Then he's there inside you again. His thrusts are coming more forcefully and hitting you in better places. Your head is drawn back and your back is arched, and the second your hands are free they go to his back and are scratching down his back. The crescendo builds, and you can feel your body rolling in triumph as it gets closer and closer, until finally you reach it and can barely breathe again.

The feeling lasts for barely a moment. There is nothing for you to bask in anymore, and his thrusts are doing nothing to ease your inner pain. You let him finish, let his groans in your ear lull you into a sense of quiet being, and you are doing it again. You take a deep breath and don't exhale until you see the faint outlines of stars at the edges of your vision. He thrusts deeply one last time and he fills you with a groan. He removes himself from you, and you are once again keeping your breath. You step away, and then it hits you.

A sharp blow to the temple, one that brings you to your knees. The hole that fills so much of your being is gone again as the pain brings the only feeling that you can handle anymore. His blows continue to come, and you lay back on the floor and just let him hit you.

You're free now. Free from the pain of his fists, free from the pain of the past, free from the pain of the hole that is rapidly eating away at your heart.

Bliss.