I woke up today with the taste of blood in my mouth, from the places where his kisses had been demanding and had left bite marks when I had refused him entry. For some reason I couldn’t comprehend, he liked to kiss. It didn’t make sense to me, this was not love making, it was not even recreational s*x, if there was such a thing. There was no need to indulge in such things as kisses, soft or not. My fingers traveled to my lips, prodding gently. I lay on my back staring at the rather unremarkable ceiling, occasionally wincing when my wondering fingers found a tender spot. Many thoughts chased themselves around in my head.
It occurred to me as I laid supine that I had never once tried to escape, I had simply accepted my imprisonment without any meaningful resistance. In a way it seemed an a
