Breaking is sometimes just the beginning.


‘Please don’t…’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I know it’s going to hurt…’

‘It’s not going to. I promise.’

‘You promised it wouldn’t hurt last time, but it did. It hurt me, alot.’

‘Shh…come here, come closer…closer. That’s right. It won’t hurt this time. I promise.’

I walked towards him. I sat down, and i opened my body. He was right. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t sting. My body didn’t recoil underneath me. I just laid there till it was over, and it didn’t hurt.

‘Did it hurt?’

‘No. No it didn’t.’

 I fondled the pendant my mother gave me. She told me Jesus would always be with me as long as I let him. My heart tore exactly three times a week. He would come to three times a week, usually at night, when his mind was too tired to hear a conscience. He would sit in his chair and talk to me so sweetly, i tasted angels in my mouth. Every time he came to me, I wouldn’t let Jesus in. I’d hold my pendant tight, till the copper corners bit into my palms as if Jesus were fighting me. But i fought back, I couldn’t let him see me this way, underneath somebody, ruptured, dirty.

‘I told you it wouldn’t. I promised you, didn’t i?’

‘Yes you did. You kept your promise.’

‘That’s right. (pause) You’re a beautiful girl. Do you know that?’

My mother was beautiful. She was strong, driven, tempered at the edges. I was weak, confused, disintegrating at the edges.

‘I do.’ I lied.

‘Do you love me?’

I looked up at him, the wrinkles on his face created a sort of a lattice over his skin, his sunken eyes, his naked scalp…he looked ugly.

‘No, i don’t. I don’t love you.’

His eyelids fluttered. His lips were the shape of petals, not the real kind, the kind you’d draw on paper, the artificial, dead kind. I hadn’t noticed how small his body really was. Without his clothes on he looked a little powerless, a little defenseless…he looked somewhat like me.

‘Of course you love me. I told you it wouldn’t hurt, and it didn’t. I kept my promise.’

‘You kept your promise, but you broke me. Look…’

I stood up and pointed at the stain on the back of my dress, and then pointed at the growing dots of crimson on the floor. I clutched Jesus in my palm…I didn’t want him to see me broken.

‘Come here.’

I moved closer towards him. He lifted my dress once again, I let him and I sighed.

I felt the walls around around me collapse, one by one, slowly, elegantly, falling to the ground like dust. I watched all the fairies around us shut their eyes, I watched them cluster together and mourn. I saw angels dwindle to the floor harmonizing in agony at the sight before them. And then i watched my own body; thrust and shake and move and die, and i just lay there. I lay there, holding Jesus, shielding his eyes, saving him from my horror.

I thought that after he broke me, he couldn’t do anything again, but he did. He did it again and again and again.

It was then that i realized, even if you break once, it doesn’t mean you can’t be broken again. You just continue crumbling, till you’re so broken that there’s nothing more left to break; you’re just empty and hollow and your insides are dead, and it doesn’t hurt anymore because your body is numb and cold. So I let him destroy me, every part of me, every nook and corner and finally when he was done, like every other time, I opened my palm and let Jesus in. I let Jesus see me again…


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