I Kissed the Boy Who Hit Me: Part II
Sometimes I thought he saw me as his human punching bag. He didn’t beat me or anything, but his words cut every bit as deep as his hands. His words could claw me up and tear my insides to shreds. It was translucent torture, being with someone who cherished me one second, someone who could so violently dismiss everything I ever thought we shared in the next.
Maybe it was all just a dream, just a beautifully unraveling thing. Maybe it was just a figment of my imagination.
Sometimes he was sorry right away. Sometimes he saw the damage he’d done and he was sorry, sorry, sorry and he loved me so, so much and I was everything he ever wanted and there were tears on his cheeks and everything. I believe that he truly was sorry. I could see it in the way he looked at me, could feel it in his touch.
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