Maybe Perfect Red

by Ebony

(loosely inspired by the fanfiction 'Haunted' by Junsui Kegasu, and dedicated to her. hugs.)

---

Maybe if I smile,
you'll be happy.
Maybe I'll be enough for you.

Maybe you'll come back,
from those places you love to visit,
to run off to, to run
away from me when I
get selfish,
get uncontrollable unwanted, anymore.

I can't touch you,
shimmering figments and ghost.
Always your eyes on me,
I feel, through the back of my head
I know you're watching.
Where before your gaze
warmed me up like uncensored sunlight,
I can feel it wrapping
around me throat like elastic bands,
squeeze squeeze tight.

I can't breathe and you're laughing.
You smile.
I'm choking, vulgar pain in my lungs,
bittersweet red and white in my mouth,
down my throat it dribbles,
must be an aqquired taste,
that sticky sweet, I'm not trying hard enough...

Sickness wells up inside me,
and your eyes tell me I am disease before
you pull out away from me and
scream,
and I know by now it's my fault,
and my innate skill for fucking it up.

Maybe if I stop crying when you
reach your limit, maybe if I
stop being so foolish,
you'll love me back.
Maybe the bruises will disappear into
skim-milk skin and
I'll be pretty enough for you,
just maybe.

You gaze-glower-stare at me from
across the kitchen table,
whereon you pinned my wings down with
staples last night and
whispered all sorts of
things into my ear,
your breath reeking of alcohol as it
slid over my neck.

It's morning
and my body begs for something to eat,
for sleep without constant nightmare,
for silence without you.
But there you are, syrup
coating your lips, sticky sweet.
Flicker glazed eyes,
throw me off balance,
your words pouring out,
'I'm sorry!'

I believe you.
How can I do otherwise?

You bury your face in my shoulders
and for a long time
you shiver-shudder like it's cold,
before pulling away and pushing back your hair,
kissing me sticky sweet,
and telling me you'll be home from work late (again)
tonight.

Maybe,
tonight you'll kiss me again that way, and
maybe,
you'll smile more often at me,
and maybe I'll cry a little less.

I cross my fingers because there's
no harm in not.

But the maybes I was singing
under my breath all day
are sucked painfully from me as
(again) at 9:30 at night
your voice rises loud and your hands
push me back and,
tell me I'm stupid,
and you hate me,
and I love you,
and you hate me hate me hate me.

I feel sick to myself and go limp,
stomach tossing inside of me,
and my heart feeling so unclean ripped apart
I can barely feel your hands leaving
more plum-coloured bruises all over me.
But from my eyes no tears escape,
and when you're gone
I can stand,
silent unable trying,
and take bare-foot steps to the bathroom,
trying my best not to stumble,
trying my very best
like I always do.
I always do.
You don't even notice.

Maybe if I wasn't so selfish,
and maybe if,
maybe if...

I don't look at myself pathetic in the mirror,
but the lights
are off anyways so it doesn't matter,
the only illumination drifting in from the
street-lamps, the stars
smothered by thick, damp clouds.
I feel nauseous, hands groping for
the pretty little razor blade
I keep hidden behind the floss in the cupboard,
though I know you know its there.
You look scared at me sometimes
-it's like some teenage love story-
and I'm sorry...

I thought you wanted me to hurt.
I thought I deserved it.

Maybe maybe,
if I dig it into my wrist just like this,
into the blue spider-web veins and
quickly swipe,
maybe it'll hurt enough.

Maybe maybe,
if the blood the leaks out
quickly, quicker than it usually does
and down my hand and into the sink,
maybe it'll be enough.

Maybe maybe,
if I swipe again and again just like this,
crisscrossing, red liquid streaming
out, pretty pretty red alive against the silver
glinting,
maybe it'll be enough to make me enough.

Maybe maybe,
as things are going black and
all I can see is that red
spiraling into the sink, and
my half-breatheless scream-sobs wracking my body like
an orgasm made of pain but just as delightful,
maybe you'll love me back.

As the door swings open and the
fluorescent light comes on,
and you stare, wide-eyed and guilty
at me,
I can feel myself smiling.
You rush forwards and wrap your arms around me,
and I can feel your breath on my neck,
and your voice in my ear,
murmuring sticky-sweet slurred up words,
tears running wetness down your cheeks,
and you tell me how sorry you are,
just like every time before.

I believe you,
just a little more than before.

I'm smiling.

You clamp your hands over my wrists
and you scream
so loud.
Away away I'm slip-slide falling,
breatheless,
I laugh and lean into you,
and you don't call me stupid,
and you don't force yourself into me,
and you don't tell me you hate me.

And I smile.

Maybe,
maybe now I'll be enough
for you to love me.