Terrible Things

I thought I’d never find him again after so many years.  Our first encounter may have been brief, but I never forgot him.  None of what I’ve experienced since then could make me forget---and there have been many terrible things.  Being treated cruelly, thrown in and out of hospitals. The one thing I clung to was the memory of that night I spent with him when we were younger.  He was my first. My only. It was the one thing that gave me hope, a reason to continue.
My joy was immense when I found him at last, but what I’ve seen has made my heart sink.  My stomach churns.
I have seen terrible things.  They have him, trapped. It looks as though he can’t escape.  Perhaps he doesn’t even think he can. The thought pains me. For such a strong and beautiful man to have lost all hope… it’s a crime.
I can’t let him know I’m here.  I can’t let him know I watch. Not yet.  I must wait until the time is right to move.  I cannot risk his safety. His captors may do what they like to me, but if they should harm him more for my interference, I should never forgive myself.
Watching is difficult, however.  It takes everything I have to restrain myself.  Each time they attack him, punish him, pull at him, shout at him, my blood boils.
It looks like there are two of them.  Females. Each is a savage in her own way.  There is one that will not let him sleep. She insists on occupying his space, sticking close by.  Why? To monitor him? To look for chances to torment him? She finds them easily enough.  
When night falls, the assault begins.  She climbs on top of him, grinding and crushing his hip bones beneath her weight.  He moans and whimpers and struggles. Such noises make me ache for him. The pain he must be feeling ripples through my own body.  The fact that he can walk at all afterwards is miraculous. I can only hope the damage to his frame has been minimal.
But that is not all.  While she crushes my love beneath her, she leans over and presses her mouth to his.  She is stealing the very breath from his lungs. I know it. The sounds of pain and protest say it all.
I cannot watch for too long.  The tears fill my eyes and I must retreat.  My poor, sweet love.
The smaller one torments him differently.  This one seems to specialize in tactile and sound torture.  All manner of strange substances become caked onto her skin, and then she transfers them to him.  Many times a day, I have seen him scrub himself raw, sometimes with only moderate success.  
He barely has enough time to try because, as soon as he leaves the small one’s presence, the wailing starts.  A siren-like shriek of unbearable volume rips out in all directions. I’ve had no choice but to plug my ears. My love never does.  He never gets to. I watch him struggle in vain for hours to silence the beast. His head must want to explode.
All of this I have seen from the outside, but tonight I make my move.  I have figured out how to open one of the windows in the smallest tormentor’s chamber.  It now stands rigged, all ready for when darkness falls and I can take the lair by storm.
The small one should be easy to dispatch as long as I silence her first.  Aiming for the throat with my first strike should do it. Then, with their live-in alarm system effectively disabled, I can make my way further inside.
I want him to watch me destroy the one who crushes him at night.  I want him to see me crack her open with my hammer, spill her brains all over the floor.  I want to see the relief on his face when he realizes he’s free, and that it was I who came to rescue him.
And then, with silence and peace surrounding us at last, we will make love.  Just as we did that night, all those years ago.
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Jdeschene