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Wednesday, September 15, 2010


If I died, I would only be finishing off the job he started. He should've just ended it. Instead of leaving me here. Leaving me to do this myself. Leaving me to burn.
I've always loved to play with fire. I would get burns a lot, but I never...EVER flinched. Bad things happened when he saw me flinch. So I played with fire for him. To make him “happy.” Whatever. My efforts were never good enough. Because in all honesty, I was never good enough for him. It was always me who was hit. The worst part wasn't the rape, or the bruises that never had enough time to heal, but the hugs. Hugs are supposed to be sweet, caring gestures. From a parent to a child, or one best friend to another. But not these. There were the hugs that replaced words: “you'll come back.” Not a question. Not an observation. A demand.
Once he said “it's what good girlfriends do. And you have to be a good girlfriend.” For some reason that hit a nerve. All I've ever been to him was good. I followed by his rules, took the blows, didn't tell anybody. So I spit in his face and delivered a sharp “fuck you.” That was one of the biggest mistakes I've made. I got scars from that night, accompanied by bruises so bad I had to wear sunglasses for weeks.
I don't believe in miracles. But I believe that things happen for a reason. And sometimes, nice things just happen. For example, when he left. No one knew where he went. No one asked either. In fact, no one cared. I was free. At least that's what I thought. I tried to be a normal girl. But it didn't work. I could feel him watching me...always.
I admit that I started the fire on purpose. It was so easy. I set up a ring of rocks on my large front yard. So it couldn't spread. For once, I would be the focus. I made a line of lighter fluid around the edge of the ring of rocks. Then I lit it with a simple match. Very calmly, I walked to the center. My face was like stone as I stared at the road. I knew what would happen. And I didn't care. I watched his car come into my driveway. I watched him step out, angry. And I laughed. It was a sick, disturbing noise that fell from my lips.
“Care to join me, Chris?” I cried over the cackle of the growing blaze.
I didn't hear his response. But I saw his lips move. Then a curious thing happened, he cried tears of rage.
Now I could feel the fire's warmth and comfort relaxing my muscles. My pulse suddenly quickened. Soon. I've been wanting this for so long. Even after he left, it only made me realize that he stained this body, all over. I could never be free from that.
I loved watching him kneel on the grass in pain. Hopelessness. Helplessness. I was leaving, and all he could do was sit there and watch me burn to death.
Burning alive is indescribably beautiful. You can feel your skin peeling away. Your body falling to ash. As I felt death tugging on me, like a little girl tugs on her mother's sleeve, I screamed my final words.
“I loved you.”