eye heart internet

 You had eyes as clear and cold as ice. We laid on the trunk of my car, in the humid Austin night, the open sky teasing us, coaxing us to believe that we were different. You stroked my hair, told me again that you loved me. I said I didn’t know, hadn’t planned on this, even as your warmth folded into my solitude, convincing me. I felt you as if you were me.

I didn’t plan on being betrayed. I didn’t plan on having to explain to you why I changed when I discovered that you’d been with her - when you told me. I thought you were a god, incapable of such a low, animal act. You had spoken of things high and noble, I could not fit the pieces together. I was still a kid, gangly, loyal and awkward, how could I understand self destruction or appetite?

I stayed. I shouldn’t have, but I was too weak to go.

You saved me, then you condemned me. But I was not your victim. I was a stupid girl who made a stupid choice. And then another. I let you have me, and then I stayed.

I became numb, robotic, desperate. For a long time after I was ashamed of myself, my inability to break free during those three long years. (They seem so brief now, a glimpse.) At the time they were all I knew. Alone. With you.

You began to drink. You were mean. You said that I’d changed, that you fell in love with me because I was light and free, that I had changed, that you had been mistaken. I didn’t answer and this only angered you more - hot tears rolling down my trembling cheeks as I groped to find words that would appease you. They escaped me.

Please, I said, hanging on to what I wanted so desperately to believe, that you were good, that you were ready for sacrifice. You were only infuriated by my plea, became red, shouted, ordering me to fight.

I could only sit on my hands and stare into your pain.