If Fire Was A Lover

January 10th, 2021

I spent the weekend at Wendy's house. The majority of the time I was painting, and then at night I'd watch basketball with Steve. I liked that he let me stay up late and eat as much junk as I wanted to. I wasn't ready to go home yet, I knew if I saw my mom I'd cry and tell her everything. I also knew she couldn't handle that. Logan wasn't her problem, he was mine. I'd deal with him myself. When he called me useless, something inside of me died. I think a switch just turned off. It was like someone pressed my power button, I was no longer alive. I was just his. Being called useless by the person I sacrificed everything for was devastating. I always gave him what he wanted, but because I said no one time, all of the sudden I'd lost my worth? Was there nothing to me except my body? What about what I had to say, and how I was doing, and my favorite bands, and my writing, and my art, was none of that "useful" to my being? It wrecked me. He wrecked me. He'd ruined me long before he called me useless, and that's why he knew he could get away with it. He knew I'd come back to him, again.

The painting I'd been working on was of street lights on a dark highway. I made it for Terrance because he'd asked me to make him something futuristic. I figured nothing would lead to my future more than a dark road and some dim street lights, so that's what I painted. It was a beautiful piece, as simple as it was. I felt like Terrence might understand it. He knew his son very well, and he knew that I was over a lot. He's not dense, I'm sure he figured out why I'd been over so often. I wish he'd ask me, but oftentimes he just told me Logan was in his room and to have fun. I wish he'd interrupt us, tell Logan to leave the door open, or tell him we couldn't be in his room at all. But I couldn't blame Terrence, and I really couldn't blame Logan. I had myself to blame, I just didn't want to accept that. I wore jeans and a belt that I tightened until I could hardly breathe, thinking that would stop him.

The air was cold and bit at my ears so I pulled up my hood. I used to love the snow. I wasn't so sure of it just then, though. Terrence opened the door for me and greeted me with a nice hug.

"This is for you," I smiled at him and handed him the painting. He smiled back and took it gently from my hands.

"My god, this is beautiful, Elizebeth!" He told me. "It's going to hang up in the living room, I want to see it everyday."

Sarah came down the stairs. "Dad, you don't even hang my paintings up!" She laughed.

"That's because your paintings would scare the dogs." He joked.

She kissed him on the cheek after laughing and headed out to work.

"Thank you, Elizebeth." Terrence said. I smiled at him and went up to Logan's room.

The door was open with just a crack, and I peeked my head inside before entering. He was laying on his bed, eyes glued to his phone. I walked in and tried to ignore the naked girls on his T.V. They didn't make me sad anymore, but I must admit they kind of made me jealous. He made love to them, never to me. Finally he noticed me and looked up. He didn't smile, he just looked back at his phone. I sat on the bed hoping he'd say something, he didn't. So I began to touch him, I knew that touch was the only thing he'd pay attention to. I was nothing to him except sex, and I was slowly beginning to accept that. He immediately dropped his phone on the carpet and got on top of me. I regretted it as soon as he did that, maybe I would have rather been ignored.

"Can't we just talk?" I whispered, his weight crushing me.

"What is there to talk about?" He asked me.

"Nothing, I guess." I told him, but I didn't mean it. I could think of a million things to talk about. We could've talked about how he was doing in school, how he missed his mom, how he'd gotten into drugs and I was worried about him, how my dad and I were constantly at each other's throats and it was breaking my heart, how I'd been self harm free for only 8 hours, how he made me felt, how he made me live, how he made me die. But, no, words were not important. Not mine, at least. He pulled my pants down and did as he pleased as I twitched and scrambled underneath him, I couldn't get comfortable. There was nothing comforting about being murdered, and that's what he was doing. The only thing I could think of was that I hated sex, I hated to be touched, I hated to be held, I hated my body, just existing made me sick.

Logan gripped my stomach so hard that it made me feel nauseous. He buried his face into my neck and I felt his breath against my skin.

"Logan stop!" I began to panic. I pushed him off of me and stood up in a rush, pulling my pants up as fast as I could.

"Liz, what's going on?" He yelled. "I was so close, God damnit."

"I just, I don't know." I whispered. I tried to calm down and sat on the bed. He began touching himself while looking at the girls on his T.V screen. He sat right next to me, as I cried, having sex with other women. I layed down, unable to hold myself up, and I cried. He didn't notice, or he did notice and just didn't care. He kept touching himself, not phased at all by my falling apart. The smell, the sound, the feeling of it all, made me feel dead. I had finally started breathing at a normal pace when I felt something warm hit my face and my hair.

"Fuck, sorry," Logan started.

"I'm done," I told him. Tears streamed out of my eyes and I ran out of his bedroom, out of his house, and through Wendy's house. I locked myself in the downstairs bathroom. I started the bath and stuck my head under the drain, almost drowning myself. But I didn't care. There were bits of him on bits of me, and it made me want to kill myself. Never had the urge to cut myself open been so strong. I dumped a whole bottle of shampoo in my hair and sobbed trying to wash him off of me. Thank God Wendy was at work, if she'd been home she probably would have called the cops, I was acting insane. I screamed and ripped out chunks of my hair and wailed at the top of my lungs. I rubbed my face red and raw, took all of my clothes off and turned the shower on. I could hardly stand but I had to be clean, I had to be anything other than covered with him. The water was scorching hot but I didn't mind, I needed to burn. I needed to be purified.

When I stepped out of the shower the entire bathroom was fogged up. I wiped down the mirror and examined myself to make sure it was all gone. I had never been more disgusted with myself. I looked down to my stomach and saw finger shaped bruises on my sides. It made me want to cry but I had already cried every year that I had to give. I collapsed to the floor and layed on the cold tile in silence, trying to make sense of it all. I got dressed and went to lay down in the spare bedroom. Logan came in with no warning and sat on the edge of the bed. I forgot to lock the door behind me.

"You're not done, Liz. I'm not done. I'm really sorry. I know you have a hard time with that stuff, but you have to believe me when I tell you I'd never hurt you. Just because he did doesn't that mean I will." He said softly.

"Okay," I whispered.

"I love you, Elizebeth." He looked into my eyes when he said it. I could tell he meant it. He didn't know how to love me but he still loved me. Those three words became a rope, they shot through his stomach and into mine, and wrapped themselves around my heart. He was tied to me, and I to him.

"I love you too," I said. He kissed my forehead and left. I fell asleep.