The knife slides its way down treacherous body, slowly tracing lines like marks in the sand to be washed away by the glory of insatiable waves.
"You know you need it" he whispers as he leans over me.
I shake my head in disagreement fighting to hold on to what little shreds of sanity I have left. Even as my traitorous body betrays me, arching towards the sharp.
Why is it always the sharpest edges which have the greatest pull, the darkest ideas that shine the brightest in the shadows of night, the most dangerous distractions which call the loudest?
As the tears trickle down my face, in unwanted release, he tells me that I need it, and that "Some of us just need to be needed". And I realized something obvious, something basic, something which has been written in neon ink for ages--he needs my need. That's what he gets out of this whole arrangement. Beyond the obvious perks of service, and getting his way when he wants it.
My need feeds his being in some way. It fans the flames of who he is and solidifies the role he sees himself playing in this game of life. Who knew?
His hands, so large for their delicate touch, trace the tears across my cheeks as I finally admit to the lonely--I don't want to be needy and lonely!
"Oh baby, did you really think you wouldn't miss it? You've lived there your whole life. Of course you were going to miss it.
This. Being mine. Being owned by me. You need it. And I need your need."