"When was the last time you cried?"

I thought to the night before, where I had lain in bed sobbing.

"Can't remember." I told him.

"You must, think when was the last time you were really sad?"

He had hurt me, hurt me more than he had ever done so before. I wanted nothing more to die in that moment, die in one last final escapade of peace. It would be peace that took me, I knew it would be. Compared to this, anything else was peace.

"Not sure." I told him.

"There must be something. When that boy broke up with you, weren't you upset then? Why didn't he like you?"

A lie I had concocted, a lie to try and get him away from me. There had never been a boy, none ever tried to go near me. All a lie, so he would stop, and when he didn't, I could only go further.

"Cause he didn't want to have sex with me." I told him.

"That's right. Didn't you hate that, wouldn't that make you cry?"

It made me cry what he did to me that night. To make up for it he had said.


"There must be something that makes you cry darling?"

He did not see the shudder at that soothing tone, the tone he kept for me. In my own house there was nowhere I could go, nowhere I could run.

"I don't cry."

"Don't worry, you'll cry one day."

He was already close to me, he had been from the moment he had sat down. I could feel his leg against mine, and a small outward tremble brought me away.

"Nothing's wrong with not crying." I told him.

"Of course not, there's nothing wrong with you."

He smiled, that smile. It was the one he had given me since birth, the same one. Oh how I could remember it when I was young, but then I could not understand. Nor did I understand the first time...

"I have some work I've got to do." I told him.

"You can do that later." I was in his arms now, his arms that gripped me like a cage. I could not run, nor could I hide. I could not do a thing, but rely on nothing.

Alone from him, I did not cry. I breathed, so calmly, so smoothly. He slept, snoring in the next room, how happy he should be. It was with a creeping I entered, to look upon his disgruntled figure. He did not look peaceful, he did not look sad. He looked like nothing.

It is an easy thing, to destroy nothing. How can a knife strike, when there is nothing to be stricken? And so metal struck nothing, a gasp from its throat. Its eyes were open, flailing to catch me. And there it was, the single tear floating across its face.

"You made me Father, now I make you cry."