Tiny Fearsome Hurricane Force

Surprised I knew her language was Tagalog, she asked me out, so we met at Barley’s in Knoxville’s Old City for pizza and beer. She was so tiny she got drunk on one IPA and we had to go to Java City over on Jackson Avenue for coffee to let her sober up for the drive home.

We only kissed that first night, but that led to many more nights. She was a 23-year-old in-demand stripper, a single mother, and she wanted badly to be married. It took two weeks before she let me come to her place in the projects behind barbed wire fences and patrolling cops, but after that first time, she wouldn’t let me leave. She clung to me and passion ran deep. She was a goddamn tiger in bed, a lover and fighter. When she fought, storm clouds gathered and she was wicked fierce. But Holy Christ, these were the most violently explosive orgasms in history and that girl was the horniest person I’d ever met. She needed it at least five times a day and was always wet no matter what or where. It seemed like Heaven, at least for awhile.

(Yeah, I knew I was in it for all the wrong reasons… I’m not proud of it.)

After eight months of passionate tussling, of my continued refusals of marriage, of my telling her I wanted only an uncommitted relationship “for the time being,” having just been burned in a very long-term, decade-plus relationship, she apparently ran out of patience and told me out of the blue that she was moving to Michigan with an old boyfriend to get away from me and the city. An old boyfriend who was her son’s father. 

She called me at my new job and asked me for cash. I barely had any money – I’d been broke as shit for a year. I’d moved across the country at a bad time and hadn’t found work doing crap. Hell, I’d been staying at her place in the ghetto, braving both the cops and the bangers, sharing her mattress on the dirty bedroom floor. However, I’d recently gotten a crappy gig bouncing at a biker bar for $6 an hour, working very late nights and getting a few bruises for my effort. I wasn’t a huge guy, but I’d always broken other people’s bones faster and easier than they broke mine. 

Still, broke is broke. I told her I didn’t have any cash, but she said she knew I must have some money. She said “Just give me some – I’m moving. I need some cash, baby.” With flickering lashes and the whole show, which worked on me every damn time. Kicking myself for being such a sucker, I told her to meet me in the big Walton’s parking lot, now next to a freshly razed old supermarket.

She drove up in her purple Kia upon seeing me standing by my ancient black once-sporty Nissan. She got out and I asked where Cam was. 

“With Steve,” she said.

“Already? You didn’t waste much time. You just told me about this last weekend!”

“Well, he’s got a new job lined up in Michigan. Plus he has a huge cock and is pretty awesome in bed.”

“Shit baby, when did he get into town?”

She admitted it was about three weeks ago.

I said, “So you’ve been messing…” and didn’t need to finish the rest as she casually nodded yes.

How long had she been cheating on me? Was dick size the culprit or was it commitment issues? Shit, how huge was it? Like Ron Jeremy-sized? She was barely five feet tall, less than 100 lbs. I thought we were a good fit, so to speak. I realized I really didn’t want to know the rest.

Whatever. I sighed and handed over my last $300 in cash, leaving myself with literally a dollar and three quarters. I emphasized it was only a loan. She snatched the bills from my hand, got back into her Kia, looked back at me, said “Thanks” and drove off.

I never got my money back, in fact never saw or heard from her again. But then I wasn’t surprised. She wanted to get married; by God I hope she did.

Violent Devotion

I.

The word of love is a mystery that sneaks up on most. Worship can be better understood. I found you when hope had died ugly, trembling with fear. We struggled for what felt like an eternity, trying to decide who would win. It was a very terrible thing, and I regret ever calling it affection, the blood that dripped from our wounds tasted bitter. I want to be kind, sweet, harmless. I want to put this rage away, inside a book of fairy tales no one reads anymore. I want to strip this of all the horror we cultivated, dress it up like a thing of beauty. It’s no use, it’s deformed, a fruit of gore, rotten. 

I think about all the things I told you, the lies I built like a castle, with faulty structure, just waiting for the right time to come down. I remember biology class, my high school self struggling to stay still, a story of spiders on the whiteboard. Their cannibalism was a tale of terror, detached, no emotions involved. It’s not how we work, strange humans filled to the brim with feelings.

I cry as I eat you.

II.

I want to try on your skin, pull it out slowly like a sticker from a beloved notebook. Wear it like a form fitting jumpsuit, glue it to myself so you can’t have it back. Move with your arms and your legs, speak with your mouth, summoned words going up from the skin of your throat, your neck but my will. It would be fun, I promise. You’ll be nothing but exposed red muscles, veins throughout your body, a living and breathing science book image. But I’ll take care of you like that. I’ll put you inside a box, closed tight so no one can see you, I’ll give you food everyday through an opening on the wood, you’ll be warm and cozy while I walk around.

I’ll tear your life to pieces, self destructive and unkind. Your job will be nothing but a distant memory, all the love in your life left traumatized. I’ll use all your knives until they are blunt, cutting chunks of your plans, eating them raw. Is this how we end? My eyes watching through your eyelids? I’ve learned the way you move, your tics and repetitions, the rise and fall of your voice, the tone you use when you want something. I’ve practiced, every night. Twisting my sounds to become yours. I move my hands while I talk too, I make the same jokes you do. This is a form of admiration, I hope you are flattered. You are a debt that is owed, and I’m the collector. I take you with greed, anxious, wanting. 

I dislike you just as much as I desire you, with all of me.

I write you in my memories, the main character in a film, the world revolving around you, the universe bending to your will. I feel like Bluebeard, keeping you locked inside, my puppet, my prey. I like it, I play the part well. I hang the people you love from the ceiling with joy, imagining your face when you see your life cut in two. I picture you in their place, hungry and lonely, malleable, clay ready to be molded into something else. 

You’ll cry of course, feeling trapped in the warmth I wrapped around you, it’s how it always goes. But I’m not moved by tears, never have been. I just watch your hope go, running away while your body stays.

III.

I’m the monstrous fisherman that captures the mermaid, unwilling to give up my possessions. I wrap you in my net, mouth watering with greed, dissect you like a fish, bleeding on the wood of my boat. Isn’t it funny, how I don’t hesitate? I’d do it again, just for you. 

I take stock of you, like cattle. Count all your fingers and your toes, think about which one I’ll cut first. It horrifies you, of course. But this is a return to nature. I kill you as I love you, make you my favorite meal. I scoop out your insides and turn your corpse into a home, your flesh my roof. 

I must be the one to do this.

You could never stomach me.