As she sat in the tufted chair at my side, I could feel myself grow warm; my heart began to thrust inside of me.
She was wearing a black laced halter top, and a little black sweater over it, with one sleeve falling down her pale
shoulder, exposing an elegant, hard, protruding bone. Her jeans were dirty and cascading down her thin legs,
making dark blue pools around her flip flops and pretty feet. Her dark eyes were full of anger, I could feel her burning
away beside me. She turned me on that way. I was mystified and intoxicated at how much anger was inside of this
frail girl – how she could be so hateful and so fragile – a beautiful, fatal combination. She was my goddess then. I
wanted to throw myself at her feet in that small, cramped office full of ordinary, chattering people. She was silent,
she was the stillness and all the mystery of the room. She would not pry open her soft, baby pink lips for speaking,
for eating, not even for breathing. I loved her, I wanted to caress her smooth, hot body; to make her limbs shiver in
my hands. She was a virgin; a rarity. She had a puffy face, tangled and long brown hair. She was from the forest, she
was an ethereal creature sent to this terrible, moronic society to stir up the lust and magic within me. To help me
escape the machinery, and to help herself escape as well. And then I knew I was dreaming. She was a darling little
ghost, only haunting me. I felt a coldness whisper through me, and she was gone. Later I heard she was a former
student who killed herself. She told lies and gave her body away to some awful boy who used her used her used her
until she lost her grace. She couldn’t go on with herself, she couldn’t sleep with herself. She was drowning inside of her
very flesh and one night filled herself with sleeping pills. She then cut up her lovely wrists, and walked through the
shadows of the city with dripping arms until her body gave up, until she fell to the earth and slipped away. And still I
loved her, I craved her visit. Sometimes, deep in the night, early in the morning, that still-dark dreamy place, she crawls
into bed with me. She spills herself into my tired arms, she heals me, my goddess of suffering. I feel her ghost song
floating underneath my skin, her lulling pain. And as I sleep, she screams.