I thought he’d be mad about the water incident, but he seemed to feel some sly joy because I’d started a fight over him. He’d already told me how unfortunate he thought it was that I wasn’t more competitive. When I told him for the thousandth time that I didn’t want to go out with him for a run, he said, “You’re really fine, but if you were a bit more of a fighter and bothered to exercise, you’d be a perfect ten.”

Up to now, I’ve never been very interested in competition or sports, and I’ve never had any need or interest in beating or being better than others. But I’m not going to lose to her, no fucking chance.

Words

Words

He’s a master at turning my words against me. He remembers everything better than I do—he just takes the most uncharacteristic things I’ve said out of context and frames them in an unflattering way. When we fight, he bombards me with my own words. Then I feel like a girl who’s cut off her arms and handed them to him in complete trust. Now he’s using my own lifeless limbs to hurt me.

Lessons from History

Lessons from History

A few days ago he suggested that it might be nice if we started to bake together. The scent of cakes and fresh pastries overpowers the grime, the dust, the sour rags that have saturated the basement apartment. He doesn’t know how to bake, and while I work my way through a recipe, he hangs out on the computer in the living room. I have definite doubts about this baking experiment. I’m terrified I’ll get fat from eating all this cake. He thinks fat girls are repulsive.

When he was a teenager, he was with a girl for a few years. He was taken with her from the very beginning, but as soon as she started to gain weight, he lost his appetite for her.

Cycle

Cycle

Sometimes, we boil over. I explode about something or crumble into a pile of self-pity. We bare our teeth, I threaten to leave forever, I sob, he comforts me, we fuck and fall asleep. The next day, we’re silent until the world has realigned. Then life goes on, as life always goes on.

Love

Love

He’s peeled me like an onion. Surrounded by the leavings of my own sallow skin, I’ve dwindled to nothing, and my eyes smart.

Contract

Contract