Beat on the brat

2038-01-19T03:14:07Z

Demon seed. He pulls this deliberately to get a rise out of me. Both of us headstrong and stubborn, each having to get the last word. We're like two yappy dogs in a yard freaking out over the distant sound of air conditioning units switching on. We yell without knowing exactly what we're yelling about, only that the air hangs heavy with a feeling that makes us both uncomfortable until we feel the need to voice that discomfort. Maybe we're both looking for a little attention and a few scratches behind the ears. If we can't get that, fighting is better than nothing. Still, it was worse when we were actually married to each other.

I swear there are still treadmarks on my thighs from where he kicked me. Over and over and over. Funny, I can't even remember the brand he wore. I don't think I cared much at the time. I just sat on the floor, trying to hold in any urge to yell out or shed a tear. On the other hand, my lip and cheek have healed all right. Some people just don't scar, so I guess I'm one of the lucky ones. No lines to run my fingers over and think back on fondly, or at least nothing to serve as a future reminder to hunt down the dirty dog, at the conclusion I will warn him of his impending doom before we engage in one last battle.

In case you missed it, I used the word fondly there with the utmost sarcasm. Of all the black eyes and various bruises, gashes, broken bones, and stitches I've received, I can't think back to one that would make me go, "Ahhh, yes. That was a great head-bashing." I understand that there are people that covet that kind of thing, and that's great. Whatever floats your boat. Anything's better than fuzzy handcuffs and candlewax. But until you've had something like having your nose broken with a fist, think about what you're asking for. It's an insult to my sinus cavities. If you've been there, then consider me a comrade in arms.

Lest ye think of me as a victim in all this, stop. Stop right now, and be ashamed of yourself for going there. Because everytime I got it, I gave it back a hundredfold. Taking my size in account, I'd say we were about an equal match. Did I enjoy it? Well, the jury is still out and it looks like they're ordering dinner. But I have to say, there's a part of me that needed it. A part that needed to get out whatever emotions I had dammed up over time. A part that needed the rush of adrenaline to feel alive when alternately drugs and exercise failed to provide the thrills they promised. And a part that needed the hightened sensation of a soft caress over a raised area of skin. But no, none of it made me orgasm. That occasionally came afterwards, but mostly I was too busy searching for the iodine.

Right now, I'm living in anxious times. The tour's over, and I now have a month to wait until the album comes out. If there is any mercy in the world, a mini tour can be arranged. As a result of my downtime, my poor shithead ex-husband has to put up with me. Despite the fact that living together was like trying to fit two postive battery cables into the same spot, we always remained close, especially after our divorce. Still, I'm amazed he puts up with me as much as he does. Perhaps he needs it as much as I do. What more could you ask for in a best friend?

We should all give him thanks, in fact. He's what makes me the calm, rational, well-adjusted young lady you see before you. *twitch*

The Other Sister

Beat on the brat