He was still breathing heavily when I caught up with myself. Then I was already on top of him, knees on his arms. I felt sick, bile rolling around my throat, and my skin goosebumpy. The bugs were crawling so loudly in the back of my head and I could hear their feet individually rat-a-tat-tat. I had to know…i wanted to make him explain these lies…all the lies. I had to find out what he knew.
“Tell me!” I panted, “Tell me what I did!” He laid there, still, out cold, “Tell me why you’ve been lying to me. Why everyone’s been lying to me.”
Putting my hands around his neck were like putting on a glove. Tight grip, cutting of the windpipe with the thumbs, tons of pressure, blood rushing down my arms to my fingertips, his heartbeat in my palms. And this wave of cold washed over my skin making me convulse. But the warmth of my body and his together made me feel good. I felt at home. I convulsed again.
“Tell me!” I squeezed until his eyes shot open, bloody veins burst inside.
He tried to get up, but I had him pinned down. He glared at me coughing and straining under me. I should take my hands off his throat, but I just wanted to squeeze a little bit more. The feeling of vomit and the bug fighting for my attention. His face was turning all red and the wound from his head was still leaking out.
“Every time you lie to me you’re going to lose 10 seconds of air. If I get tired of your games I won’t let you breathe again. I know you know I will.” And I loosened up on his neck. He nodded, “Why is everyone lying to me?”
He coughed and shook his head, “No one is–” Lie.
I strangled his neck, watching his eyes roll back, his face going from red red red to kinda of paler and paler
“10!” And I counted down to one, before asking again, “Why is everyone lying to me!” It took 3 tries before he actually answered me, tears rolling out of his eyes. I didn’t know if it was because he was afraid to die or the pressure got too much and his eyes watered on their own. It didn’t matter, really.
“We’re lying because we were forced by law to!” He yelled, coughing and slobbering all over.
“Why!” I threatened with a little squeezed
“Because you couldn’t live proper–” he wheezed
“Cut the shit and get to the point. What is it that is being kept from me?!”
Then he looked genuinely frozen, like he couldn’t say anything anymore. He looked really pale and tired, but I wasn’t going to let him keep me from knowing. I squeezed his neck and it didn’t seem to bother him anymore. He didn’t struggle, he just laid there.
Thoughts rushed through my head all at once, all the words muddling together…Rape. Tv. Boy. Danielle. Man. Doctor. Dead. Me. Murder. Curtains. An image of my face as the rapist’s surfaced…then the image of the victim was my doctor’s face. Then like the throw up would be coming any second now and…and I felt giddy.
I climbed off of him and he just laid there. When I pulled off his pants he struggled, but weakly. Then I pulled off his briefs. And he was all skin and body and holes. I dropped my own briefs. He tried to kick his legs but I grabbed them under my arms. I rubbed my crotch against his ass cheeks and suddenly I was vomiting bile, my throat burning and the acid landing on my clothes and chest. I should have stopped but I just couldn’t. I thrust against him even harder until I was fully erect.
I spread his legs and he groaned, sadly. His sadness made me feel right. I pressed hard into his ass and he cried out. I loved the sound and the bile burned it’s yellow glob up my throat. I went at it again and again until I was tired and sweaty and bloody and curled over his silent body, looking to his eyes, still. I’d even forgotten to even threaten him. I’d forgotten i’d done this to him for a reason.
The door rattled, but I didn’t feel afraid. I grabbed hold of the lamp off of the table and paced over to the door, stark naked, as it opened. My heart started beating fast now. I was really starting to feel right.