Two

(I wrote this, for him, many years go).

 Like I’ve said, it happened two times too many.

She laid the thoughts of the average man behind. Never again. Was the promise she told herself. Never again. Too close. Too much. She pained.

Her daily life resumed. Hours upon hours in silence. Words and the flat machine were her solace. Solo laughter. Amused thoughts. Much to learn. Forward she must go. Until one day. This one, took her by surprise.

It wouldn’t have happened, if her denial would just embrace, what was near her.
Accidental.
Babies.

He swooned her. INSTANTLY! His words were right. He knew what she lacked. He would make her—his.

She remembers. Once in a while, she will revisit him. In her thoughts. In her silence. In indelible words that will remain beyond them. What a fool she had been—to allow him. To let him. No. To give permission of her soul. He took her. This time it was hers to be consumed. To be consumed and allured by what would take her averageness away.

"Why me?" She thought.
"Sure there are others." She wondered.
"It must be true." She believed.

Risked. She risked. A lot.

Through the distance, he had control of her every action. In her mind, it was all real. All real, as long as she hid behind the thin veil of the false reality.

They touched. They kissed. They shared their bodies. His voice moved her, melted her, forced her to give in. His different'ness'—was something she had always looked for. He would be her salvation. Her salvation from herself. Her reality.

“What do you want me to do?” she whispered.
 She wanted. Yes. She wanted.
“Lay down. Close your eyes and imagine that I…,” was the familiar routine.

Experimentation. Seduction.

He watched.
She watched.

 He begged her.
“Go on.” Many times. Too many.

She begged. She screamed. He coaxed. She came.

Now and then, the almost forgotten average man would enter her mind.

Through half-open eyes, she would acknowledge the reality of her average life. It fell. It crumbled. It suffocated. No one could save her.

Manipulation. Intimidation.

“I love you. Forever. Everything is in the package. Everything. My love. You whore. You trawl. My girl.”

Confusion crept within every pore. It flowed through her. It pumped within her heart. His sweet words filled her. Poetic. No other. He must be—the one.

An addiction. Is what she had. He was her drug. Her being. Her life. Her mania. His hold was too strong. His words were right. She longed for him. Between her. She longed for his strength. His thrust. His promise of love.

She felt him. He touched her. Gently. He kissed her. Lightly. He made her. Do it all. Things she would never do. Just for him. It did not matter—as long as it was—for him.

He demanded. He yelled. He professed. He promised.

“Take me, if you’ll have me.”
“Of course my love. I’m yours, always.”
Pity her. What a fool.

All that she had known. All she risked. Was in the palm of his hand. In the swallow of his drink. In the inhalation of his smoke. In the rhyme of his words. In the promise of his love. He was different. He knew it. She was his.

His alone. He wanted to take her. Thrust her. Be in her. Smell her. He knew she would be sweet. If only he could taste her. Lick her. Bite her. Show her. Share her. The different man wanted to make her—his. He was lonely. He waited. His mundane life became bright again. She warmed him with her words. Her smile. Her whispers and wants. She made his manliness grow harder than any other—ever had. He could not wait—for the initial push. To thrust. To be. With her.

The parallel universe—pulled her in. She relented. Finally. Yes, finally. To him? To the different man with manipulated promises of love, life, and anger? No. To death. She welcomed it. She wanted it. She could no longer live a lie.

Comatose.
Far away.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Accidental.
Babies.
Good bye.

They talked. They whispered. They stared. And questioned. The same. Over and over again. Through sleep. In the cold room. Her thoughts blurred. Time slowed. Death. Huh! Escaped.

Two times too many. Never again.

This time. She found it. Within her. Near her. Next to her. Everywhere. All within the average life she so desperately wanted to escape. No more.

Sure. She knew. She finally knew—where she belonged.

So did he. He let her. He must make up for what he did. All that he could do—was slowly, slowly, slowly… move away. No regrets. No apologies.

To this day, she thinks. She revisits. She finds herself with him. Sometimes, he hears the ring, but doesn’t answer. It is best. For her. For me. For us. We were—in our false reality. We were.

Two times too many.

And never again.