A Wank Wednesday post, under the prompt Utensil.
Inside the circle of your arms, I beat my fists against your chest. I am upset and angry with you. I have sworn and yelled and called you names. I fucking hate you right now. I have every right to be angry with you, and yet somehow I know that you are going to win this fight.
Yet you say nothing. Why won't you react? Why won't you say something? You hold me silently, taking my frustration and hurt and absorbing it. You do not defend yourself, you do not pander to my temper tantrum. You simply wait until I am spent, sobbing and broken.
You pull me closer to kiss me and I feebly try to stay angry. I melt against you, swinging wildly between frustration that you could hurt me so much, and relief that you are now here, that the hurt is over, even though I know it won't last. My body betrays me by tingling for your touch.
I hate you because you own me.
I don't want you own me, I do not like that you own me, and yet I cannot stay away from you. I spend hours, days, weeks learning how to get over you, how to live without you, and then you waltz back in like you never left and I cannot help but fall for you all over again.
You are going to tear me apart, piece by tiny piece, and I will be here until the last because I am addicted to your smile, to your wicked laugh, to your easy charm and mastery of my emotions. I need the throb of my desire when you look at me, saying nothing but communicating fathoms with a simple look. I crave the darkness of my dreams where you take my body and make it nothing more than a utensil of your fantasy.
So take me, because you will anyway. I cannot fight you, however much I want to. Use me, because I will feel perversely better afterwards. I will hate you and curse you, and in my darkest moments I will wish I never met you. But I will want you, and crave you, and need you, until the tiny pieces are all that is left of me. Because you own me, and there is nothing I can do about it.