Mare Moody - [blank]

Have you ever wondered how much of your life has been decided by your looks?

What if I had red hair? Would my fate be the same? Could the color of my hair change who I was entirely? Maybe my story would be so different.

The small mirror stares back at me in the dark room. It reflects the face of a girl that I barely recognize. Long brown hair, and brown eyes. Curves flow down my tired body and deep crevices are placed at the exact points where my hips begin. Men stare at me though I strongly believe that my body is mediocre at best.

Four walls surround me. They may contain me but they cannot command me. I can choose at any moment to leave these walls. I can choose in any whim of a thought to leave this room and never come back. What keeps me here?

Perhaps it is the metaphorical ropes of relationships that I have burdened myself with. Even more so, it could be the real ropes of a family. Genetics can pull you down to earth so hard that you break your bones upon the roots that you thought would never hurt you.

Ive known since I was seventeen that I needed to get out of here. The dark rooms eat me every night. I know that every night I stay here, its one more night that my soul slowly slips out of my ears like a leaking faucet. I feel the gentle waves of tears begin. I know I can never get out of this town.

The bed begins to drown me. One pillow is not enough by two is far too many. My hand grips the pillow to my left. I throw it across the room. I want to get up. My feet move off the bed and find their own way down to the floor. I stand upright. The oversized shirt loosely hanging off of me hits my knees. I feel the cool breeze go through my body like an ancient spirit awakening for my late night plight. The wind feels relieving on my tired knees.

One foot in front of the other brings me to the threshold of my bedroom. I stand in the frame for a second, grasping the the door frame. What is my mind doing? The stairs look so inviting. My foot tests the temperature of the waters of my conscience but my brain is too flooded to understand when to stop. So, my feet move on, down the staircase. The front door is too close to my bedroom. The temptation dangles before me like the greatest treat in front of the greediest dog.

My hand finds the door knob and I walk through. My bare feet hit the pavement. The shock of the frozen ground fills my body with adrenaline. It propels my steps. I walk with as much purpose as I can. My hand drags along the cold metal fence of my neighbor's house.

I see the light of his bedroom from 3 houses away. The only lights echoing on the concrete of the street are his and the two street lamps that are actually lit.

My heart begins to pump chaos through my bloodstream.

My feet grow numb and encourage me to find his warm bedroom rug. My feet move me slowly, steadily. If my steps are steady, perhaps my brain will become steady too. Lord, let my feet be the platforms on which my life takes me.

I find his front steps and boldly walk forward. The cold stair rail guides me up. I follow it blindly. Blindly is as blind does. I do this with most things. My feet land on the porch. His door is unlocked. I walk in. The stairs are directly in front of the vestibule; they beg me to come up and meet him. I indulge.

The carpeted stairs feel warm compared to the shocking pavement outside. My toes curl around the fabric between each step. My memory guides me to his room. Ive been here before. I know this place. Ive walked this floor and every time, it feels a little bit more familiar.

I open the door to his room and a feeling of dizziness rushes through me. It is a heavy excitement disguised under my mistrust.

He is asleep on his bed. His arm is casually slung over the edge of the bed and the white sheet barely covers his naked body. He is exposed. Yet, in his sleeping haze, he has little to no care about the world around him. He is so at peace. The image seems to paint him like a dead man but breath still finds his lungs. Perhaps he had prayed.

I stand before his bed. My hands trace up my abdomen and pull off my shirt to reveal my naked breasts. I stand before his sleeping body, as naked as him.

My shaking hand grips his sheet and pulls a section of it up to reveal his left buttock. I lie down and pull the sheet over myself.

He stirs. I woke him. I feel his arm move from its original position and his whole body rotates toward me. His gaze hits my soul like a ton of bricks. I know what is coming. His hand lightly touches my cheek and gently beckons my face towards his. I give in and feel his soft lips against mine. My whole body irks. My back arches and my breast push against him. He pulls himself on top of me.

The world is so simply described when using single words. My hands slip on his sweaty back. I feel his arm move down my spine. His finger traces each vertebra. Breath passes through my mouth. The deepest sigh escapes from my body.

His mouth nuzzles my neck and his lips press intently against my throat. I feel his body breathe. It moves to a beat. The universal beat of lovers. It beats in all of us; it is loud and proud and must be heard. My hands slowly move up to his hair. My fingers naturally tangle in his messy thick hair. His bare chest forces itself against my breasts.

I can feel him on every nerve. I can feel his saliva on every inch of my body. He is swallowing me whole. I am sobbing but he cant see me. I wish he was mine. I wish I was home. I wish I was anywhere but here. I wish I am someone Im not.

Then I feel it. I feel it enter into my body like a piece that had been missing. It feels so right yet so wrong at the same time. I want him. I want more but I do not need it. My mouth pleads with my brain.

He presses himself in further until his entire being is in me. I gasp. The eternal pleasure that breaks the floodgates of sin becomes one with me. I am it and it is me. Indescribable. Unbelievable. Unaltered. Confined.

He swallows me whole like a mother bird feeds her young. Open mouth, open tongues, open stomachs to what is to become.

He lets himself go inside of me.

Our bodies swarm each other in the most blissful spiritual way. He falls to my side and breathes a heavy sigh.

I lay by his side after the fact and the existential logic of my being grows fogged. I try to remind myself why I came here in the first place.

Sleep overtakes me.

It was night and morning. The second day.

I wake to the dim sun pouring through the dirty window. Guilt flows into my soul like a nonstop sluicing. My hand moves to his side of the bed, seeking his warmth. All that greets me, is cold sheets and an empty pillow. I open my eyes to confirm what my hands told. I look at his pillow. He isnt there. I place my hand on it, attempting to feel his presence through the use of a dirty rag that has touched his cheeks for longer than I ever have.

I hear his heavy footsteps and my eyes look for him. He walks to the bed and grins from ear to ear. He knew what had happened. I reach out for him. My index finger gingerly rubs against his bare chest.

He looks at me. I hate his gaze. It is a gaze of meat. He simply sees me as a doll. A sex machine. I will never see his love shower on me. His stare slowly makes me more uncomfortable until I need to get dressed to get the feeling of his look off of me.