by Yasmina Crichlow

Created on: May 24, 2008   Last Updated: November 28, 2011

Disarmed-

I cover my eyes with one hand, the other grasping silently at my t-shirt. He looks at me; not any different than any other day, not with more love, not how I'd want him to. I peak through the cracks of my index and middle finger, his smile turning into a grin. My body trembles.

I feel weak in the knees, though I'm not standing. I feel my mind freeze, but it's hotter than a desert. I'm spinning in circles, yet I'm glued to the ground. I've been caught in his trap, though I have yet to be found. He seduced me and now he lets me run free, I just can't understand.

"Do you love me?" I ask quietly.

"Of course I do. Just like all my friends."

"Oh." My voice so small, it won't come out.

"Something wrong?" He questions.

"No, no." I smile through the pain.

My fistful turns into threads and sharp cracking sounds; my shirt slowly ripping apart with anger I didn't know was present. I can feel his eyes on me, they widen with curiosity, with fear. I let it all go, I jump from my spot, I walk away - like I always do - turning my back on my problems.

I don't love him this way, I can't, why would I?

He let me do anything to him. I'd shared his bed, not sleeping a wink, too hopeful of what could happen. He never moved an inch, hand around my waist, snoring into my neck. I tried not to touch him, tried not to cry, tried not to strip him. I failed.

When he awoke, skin flushed and clothes disheveled I pretended to see nothing.

I was sick. How could anyone do that? I was worse than a necrophiliac. I knew he'd figured it out; I'd done something. But he turned a blind eye as usual, too set on keeping the balance in our circle of friends. Even if it meant ripping my heart into myriads of pieces, setting them to evaporate beneath the beating sun.

Even as he haunts me in my dreams, kissing the flow of tears away, wiping my aches astray, it can never be reality. Even as I touch his hands, his hips, his lips, his waist, his.......He won't let me grab hold of his heart.

Too afraid of what his mother will think, he pushes me aside. And with such distance being created, I have no choice but to rebel and pull him closer, slipping him deeper into my thoughts, wishing to enchant him. I look at him with those eyes; sultry and lust-filled, calling to him in his bed at night. And he responds slightly, alcohol dripping from his lips, he whispers he loves me more than life.

And I believe him, I believe.

Though one day, it'll probably kill me.

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