In the
loneliness of my room, I fall to my knees. The lash is in my hand. It’s cold,
and my naked body shivers. This will expiate my inexpiable guilt for a little
while.
I bring my
hand up and stare at what is to punish me. I bite my lip, doubting. No. No
doubt is EVER allowed.
The lash
falls over my shoulder, all the way down to my kidney area. I gasp, but in
silence. I do it again, over the other naked, trembling shoulder.
This time,
I cannot help but screaming. Immediately, I bite my lips so hard they bleed.
Pain is healing. It is control, it is freedom, it is the only thing still
making my life worth living for a while. I am so not allowed to complain.
I bring it
back again and the excruciating pain that explodes in my flesh expands into
millions of tiny thorns that pierce my nerves. I fall forward, a tiny droplet
of blood tickling my back. It’s hard to, but I breathe, slowly at first. My
entire body is shivering, trembling in pain like it would in pleasure.
I drop the
lash, since my quivering fingers can no longer hold it, and I let my body
collapse onto the bed, the soreness in my back reminding me of the punishment I
just went through.
Bruises
will form where nobody sees them. Not like anybody cares about it anyway.
Pain keeps
me alive. It makes me worthy of the air I breathe, for a few hours at least.
And if it allows me, it will also grant me sleep.
Yes. Pain
is my lover, and my very best friend.
And with
that happy thought, I roll off into slumber.
