A WILD THING

A WILD THING

She’s a wild thing and you cannot love a wild thing. I tried to help her with cleaning the bleeding scar. My hands were shaking.

“Oh my god, stop being such a pussy.” she said and grabbed the cotton wool from my hand madly.

“I worry about you. Please, stop seeing him. He doesn’t love you. He just wants to hurt you all the time. Please, promise you’ll never see him again.” I said desperately. And then I whispered the only thing I couldn’t say out loud. Although I wanted it more than anything else in this damned world. “I love you.”

She looked at me with her killing eyes. Her honeyed hair was untidy and her lips were all red because of the habit – biting them. But I still loved her. I hated the bruises on her skin, I hated when she came with a new welt.

“Don’t you dare say he doesn’t love me! Anyway I don’t care. I love him. I love his passion,”

She said while she was trying to wash the blood down. She made a short pause and sizzled. “Ouch.”

I couldn’t bear it any more. I ran straight to her and clutched her to my chest. I hated when she suffered. I wished he could beats on me next time – not her! I tried to hug her tight, kissed her into her wonderful golden hair and kissed away all the marks of blood but she pushed me away furiously.

“Let me be and go away! GO!” I stayed cautious, with my eyes open widely.

“Please.” I whispered.

“I said go, you bastard!” She yelled out and reached out her hand for handy-mirror.

Before I managed to close the door, it smashed against a wall right by me. OK, that’s perfect.

Seven years of unfortunate was just what we need I said to myself while I was trying to shake off the pieces of glass.

Many hours later I tried to knock at her door. I was all crumpled and my back hurt from lying on an old hollow couch where I was trying to think up the best excuse. I was wearing an old flannel shirt and faded jeans, my hair was tousled, and I was barefoot. The worst of all was my heart was bursting, though. I lived with her in this old flat she inherited from her grandma. Time to time. It had looked different. I could see it as if it was today. The walls were white and the curtains weren’t closed all day. I slept here and tried to make it cleaner every now and then. It depends if she was merciful enough to let me be by her side. There were times I slept in front of external door, on an old stinky doormat just because I wanted to be as close to her as I could - as close as she allowed. She worked as waitress but she was too talented in so many things! She knew it, somewhere deep inside her, but she didn’t want to confess this fact. Even to herself. I felt always sorry for her. She was so pretty. No, she was wonderful but her face was haggard and her eyes didn’t sparkle with exhilaration as often as before. She spent most of her time with this evil monster. She didn’t love him, of course. Idle talk.  I hope.

When I knocked at the door, it was silence inside. I knocked one more time but still nothing. I started to be afraid so I opened the door slowly and very, very quietly. She was lying at a large mattress she used as a bed and read a book. I didn’t have to look at the cover she read only one book at every turn because she was thinking it was written about her. It was Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I waited till she told me I was forgiven.

She raised her eyes and looked me. She was lying on her belly with one red-nail uplifted leg. Her hand was brush her hair and she was doing it again. Biting her lips.

“Come here.” She commanded strictly.

My pace was slow as I was scanning the room If she could throw at me something else than handy-mirror. The broken pieces were still at the floor so I had to step carefully.

“Lie down!” She told me as I reach the mattress. She put down the book and I did exactly what she wanted.

She put her cold hands around my neck and pressed.

“Don’t try to tell me what I have to do any more. Otherwise I’ll kill you. Comprends?”

She whispered grossly, trying to imitate French accent and held my neck stronger. I knew I was much stronger than her but I loved her. I’d do whatever she wanted. I love her in spite of her bad French pronunciation, in spite of her bad habits, in spite of the fact she didn’t care about my love. I loved her more than anything.

“Yes. I would never do it again.” I said muffled as I couldn’t breathe properly.

She waited a few more seconds and then she released me.

“You’re an idiot.” She chuckled when I was gasping quickly to inhale some air. And then she took a strand of her hair and stroked my cheek with it.

“Do you love me?” She asked quietly.

My heart began to run. Maybe she cares about me a little bit.

“Of course I do.” I whispered.

“Good.” And she stroked my cheek again.