The Wolfboygirl

You balk. You’ve gotten through all your relationships by being yourself. Hasn’t everyone?

“Sure, it’s just “yourself” changes. I mean, everyone has an idea of who you are. Your friends want you to be fun and dumb so you act that way with them. Your parents want you to be polite and soft so that’s who you are when you’re with them.”

You still feel like yourself, either way. Just a different version of yourself.

“Exactly. Their version. And if they control that version of you, and if that’s who you are, then the closest you can be to someone is letting them control you completely.”

Winter breeze above you. The packing truck backs out, the sun is threatening to set. You sip your to-go coffee cup. Painfully sweet, leaving your throat slightly burned.

You place a hand on her shoulder and swear that you don’t need her to be anything other than happy.

She gives you a little Cheshire-cat smile. “So you want me to be a happy person. If I wanted to be with you, I’d have to act positive, like you really make me feel better. You’d want me to get manic when I fuck you, right? Be your perfect little emotional support top who holds you tight and never has her own problems?”

….Okay, you don’t need her to be anything. She can present herself however she likes around you.

She thinks for a moment, then sighs wistfully. “You still have that idea of me in your head.”

Maybe. But you don’t need it satisfied. You lean your head in until your noses almost touch. You tell her that she hasn’t pushed you away, you still feel good around her, and you still want to love her.

She goes quiet. Then she sighs and breaks her cigarette on the curb. “Okay, you’re coming with me.”

You meekly remind her that your break’s nearly over.

“You ate something bad and got food poisoning. You were too weak to drive so I took you back to your place. Now let’s go.”

She drags you across the lot and shoves you in the passenger’s seat. Pulls out quickly but measuredly, the little turns pushing you back and forth. Then you’re on the town’s shitty little main street, and a few minutes later the residential area.

She finally drops her shoulders as the ride nears its end. “I’ve been implying all this is a lot more violating than it really is. That’s how everything feels after you get raped. Suddenly it hurts to be loved and you can never trust anyone.” You never knew, but you probably should have guessed. You give a few lame condolences.

“Yeah, whatever. It’s been years. I actually can’t believe I’m starting over again.” You smile. You have that effect on people.

“Yeah, yeah.” She smiles back wistfully, then stops, looking sick all of the sudden. “God, you’re already changing me.”

You remind her, at any moment she can drive you back. You don’t want to change her, just understand her.

She swallows, then glances back wearily. “Do you understand what I told you? Did it make sense?”

Maybe you don’t know how it feels for everything to be violating, but you know that she deserves to feel better. And you know enough to know she’s a good person.

She laughs bitterly. “Right. So you actually know jack shit.” She parks the car at streetside, run-down brownstone towering over you. She leads you up the stairs to a tiny apartment, dark with clothes across the floor and a grimy kitchen station. Bills taped to the fridge, open bedroom and bathroom doors. Clear line of sight through the bathroom door to window showing no fire escape and indeed no other exits. Bad smell.

“I don’t think you’ve been paying attention. I’m depressed and bitter and I see human connection as selling your soul. Did you wonder if there’s something wrong with me when I said you love someone by letting them own you? What does that imply for you, if you want to love me?”

You give her the same platitudes, she’s not a bad person, she can’t push you away that easily. But somehow those words don’t come as strongly as they’re meant to. It hits you, you’re stuck in this girl’s house, you’re alone with her, and she’s blocking the door. You told yourself you were letting her drag you here, but did you really have a choice? There’s a wild look in her eyes now, she’s breathing heavy like she’s scared of her too.

No. You’re not giving up on her like that. You walk up to her and say, she’s right, you don’t know what it’s like to be raped. But you want to understand her so, so badly. And she can’t convince you to be afraid of her.

She gives you a manic laugh, grabs your face tight with both hands. “Yeah? Will you feel fucking better when you know what it’s like? Do you want to be a victim that bad? You make me fucking sick.” You say it’s okay to feel sick after what happened to her. It’s natural. She’s still a good person.

She steps back from you, that mania turning to fear. Then you hear her mumble a “fucking fine.” Her hands grab your wrist and the back of your neck, tighter than ever, forcing you into a kiss.

Her mouth is warm and tastes of smoke. Her teeth glide over your tongue, giving it little bites. She’s sucking on you uncomfortably hard, and when she pulls away the skin under your tongue is very sore.