If Fire Was A Lover

January 15th, 2021

There is no feeling like kissing someone and being caught up in the moment, and then you open your eyes and your mind, and you realize that they're kissing you for all of the wrong reasons. As if there was ever a right reason to be kissed, that I do not know. But I know for sure that there are many wrong reasons to be kissed, and Logan always kissed me for the wrong reasons. A girl's heart is a delicate thing; you cannot just kiss a girl because you're bored. She'll think of it forever. The first time he kissed me, I went home and traced my lips with my fingers, unable to comprehend that his lips had touched mine, and that we became one at that moment, and then suddenly it was over and I was nothing to him. And yet he remained everything to me.

A good friend of mine, Blake, had begun to show romantic interest in me. He was thoughtful, charming, patient, likable; everything Logan was not. That was just the problem though, he was too kind. It was strange to me that he would randomly buy me flowers and nice jewelry and that he remembered my favorite movies. I felt as if he had some anterior motive, because Logan made it a sure thing that I knew I was only worth my body, so if Blake was being this way, it must mean he wanted my body, right? If that's all there was to me, anything anyone did for me was only for my body. Logan made me feel like I had an open wound between my legs, one that would never heal. Blake made me feel like I was human, and there was something disturbing about it. But I also liked the way he treated me. Blake told me that he wanted to start dating me. We talked about it and how I wasn't ready for a serious relationship yet, but I would start seeing him, kind of as a test trial.

Blake came to a family dinner that night and met my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. All of them immediately loved him. His whole character was very charming. He was smooth with his words, he knew how to keep a conversation going, he smiled with his teeth, he made everyone laugh, and he was kind. When he left to go home I talked to my aunt to see what she thought of him.

"My goodness girl," she started. "I don't think I looked at him once tonight without catching him looking at you. Those blue eyes of his never left your direction." She told me. I blushed, grateful to be noticed, and embarrassed to be feeling so giddy about such a small amount of affection.

"I'm sure he was just nervous, he probably was looking for something familiar." I told her.

"You seem very familiar to him, very sure to him. The way a man looks at you tells you everything about his intentions. That boy wants to love you, Elizabeth." She said with a soft smile.

Later that night when my family left I texted Logan to pick me up. I felt horrible, I felt like I was cheating, I'd never been with two boys at the same time before. But I couldn't let go of Logan, and I didn't want to let go of Blake, not if we could be something beautiful. The air was cold and snow sprinkled my face as I walked out to Logan's navy blue truck. We didn't speak for a while when I first got in. He had country music playing quietly and held my hand as he drove.

"I missed you," I told him.

"I miss you, too." He whispered, bringing my hand up to his mouth to kiss. Butterflies awoke in my stomach. "What'd you do today?" He asked me.

I looked up at him and then back at the road. "Blake came over. I guess he likes me. He just hung out with the family for a while." I said softly.

"But you don't like him, right? I mean there's no way." Logan laughed.

"Of course not," I lied. "I only want you," I told him. His hand tensed up on the wheel and then slowly released. I hated watching him do small things like that, it terrified me. Even the smallest forms of anger, if it was coming from him, there was fear in my eyes.

He smiled as we pulled into his driveway. I told my parents I was going to Wendy's house for the night. Hopefully, if things went well, I wouldn't have to go to Wendy's. I hoped that we could just talk and fall asleep. There was music playing when we went inside. Logan took my hand and pulled me close to him and started dancing slowly. I put my arms over his wide shoulders and wished that moment could last forever. We danced around his kitchen and through the rest of the house. When we got to the stairs he picked me up and threw me over his shoulders which made me laugh. But then he threw me onto the bed and climbed on top of me, and I stopped laughing.

"You're so beautiful," he said, pressing his lips into my neck. Shivers went down my back and I fought to breathe, suddenly my lungs decided to give out. The smell of sawdust encased my lungs, and I knew I'd remember it forever. I'd remember him forever.

"Logan, not tonight." I told him.

"But you're the one who called me, remember?" He asked, pulling his pants down. He shoved himself into my mouth before I could object. I would've cried but you can't really cry in that position. Each second it became a more difficult task to breathe, and to want to. If my heart had stopped beating at that moment, if my lungs had refused to keep taking in oxygen, I wouldn't have been upset. Actually, I was wishing for death. I prayed, body and soul being disconnected from each other, that if there was a god, that he would take me out of this world right away.

Logan was right, though. I called him. The fact that I even came over after spending the entire day with a different boy was absurd. It was awful, I deserved to be used. My throat was closing up and I couldn't see. My eyes were filled with tears but somehow it didn't bother Logan, I think it turned him on. He liked when I was upset, it reminded him of the power imbalance between us. It's why he liked to call me baby. It made him feel good to point out that he was stronger than me, older than me, bigger than me, that I was nothing but a little girl in his hands.

At that moment, hatred coursed through my body, but not for Logan, for my father. If he had just loved me the right way, if he had expressed kindness through his hands instead of the violence, maybe I wouldn't be so willing to accept the way that Logan loved me. And if he hadn't created this hole in me, then I wouldn't be using Logan to fill it in the first place. I read a quote once; "When you aren't fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives." My father taught me that. He taught me that even a violent, toxic, manipulative form of love is still love, and sometimes it can be beautiful. I loved my father, even when he hurt me. I loved Logan, even when he broke me. It was in my blood, I was genetically cursed to love men who treated me like garbage. It ruined me to know that it might never change, my perception of love that is. If you are raised in a burning house, you're bound to fall in love with flames, because the heat is what's familiar to you. And that is exactly what I did, I was dancing with fire.

When he was done he left me in his bed, crying, to go take a shower. I was already gone by the time he came back. Wendy's couch had become my second bed, because Logan's bed had become my grave. I died each time I laid in that bed. Nobody came to see me in my grave, not even Logan. He ignored me as the earth swallowed me whole.