The Start

Wed, 04/30/2014 - 20:04 -- MizKiz


“Oh, hey.”
“No, really, it’s okay.”
“You can stop moving, I’m comfortable.”
“Yes, really I’m fine.”
The dirt under my fingernails teases my eyes,
The little crescent moons wink and flash their grimy smiles to me
Turning my head gives a view to an even grimier smile
His lips curl, revealing two rows of yellowing bone
My eyes narrow and I notice a sprig of a lofty green is wedged between two of the pale slabs in his mouth. 
What is that?
“You’re an open book, I can tell by just your face that you want my lips,” he laughs
With the laugh comes a wave—a tsunami of bitter, fowl air that wafts into my nostrils, irritating each hair and pore in my nose as it navigates into my lung cavities
I’m suffocating.
I’m drowning.
I think I need to pee.
I need to leave.
Is it getting warm in here?
No, it’s getting hot.
I need to escape. 
The enclosed atmosphere grows heavier, I feel it compress around me and suffocate me like a pillow over the mouth of an innocent victim,
The walls of the jeep press closer as he inches himself closer to me in the backseat
The sound of “I had such a nice time tonight” snakes into my ear
I didn’t, I think 
“I did too,” I say
His hands grope for my face the way a shaded plant bends obscurely to obtain the refreshing and essential sunlight
Twisting and turning
Bending and growing
Twirling and curling
To reach that magical spot
“What a great way to end a great night,” he bellows, spewing into my direction 
I need to pee.
Clammy palms touch my temples and slide down to my cheeks
He is massaging and shaping me, I’m made of clay.
Is this supposed to be enjoyable?
Closer, closer, closer he gets
Inching, inching, inching nearer to me
Now would not be a good time to pee.
Suddenly, the impact comes
A test-car rams into a wall
A fist strikes a board 
A hammer drives a nail home
Houston: We have made contact
His battering ram of lust penetrates at my castle door
A traumatizing collision 
Catcher’s glove hands scramble the hairs on my head
My fists clench, 
My eyebrows furrow.
I retract.
He advances.
He feels me, and I feel the pressure on my bladder.
I need to pee.
Scooting, scooting, scooting closer to me.
Aren’t we close enough?
His arms entomb me like a cage, and my heart flutters like the scared dove within.
My arms robotically move to his neck.
Rows of tiny hairs rise through layers of skin like gravestones littering a cemetery.
The feel of his neck, the scent of his breath, the sound of his breathing, the touch on my face, the taste of leftovers,
Sensory overload
I can’t think
I can’t breathe
I can’t move
I need to pee.
I pull away, allowing a silk strand of saliva to connect our moist lips.
Receiving a peck on the cheek smears more of the liquid on my face
My eyes move down, avoiding contact with his eyes
I notice my blue converse sneakers, and their worn edges
I notice how familiar and comforting they feel
I notice the tip of my shoelace is gone when another, unwelcoming tip appears 
A surprised “Oh, hey,” escapes my mouth
A pregnant silence follows
“I need to pee,” I burst out
I desperately reach for the handle and I tug, squeeze, pull, and yank
The door releases with a groan
“Good bye,”
“See you soon,”
I flee from my Alcatraz and breathe free air as I kiss the land
In, out
In, out
In, out
This was how we started.


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