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@sandicgo REPRESSED|EYE-OPENING|ROMANCE/LOVE
His hand shakes as he regards the small carton of milk between his fingers. He remembers this texture, he remembers this paper...
He remembers how it hit the side of his face, he remembers how his lungs burn, he remembers being eleven and wishing, wishing WISHING FOOLISHLY WISHING THAT HE COULD TELL HIS FATHER WHAT HAPPENED BUT HE CAN’T, PAPA’S IN THE GROUND, PAPA IS FLOWERS AND GRASS AND THE AIR BUT PAPA CAN’T HELP---
xxx
“Please,” he says to a frosty window plane. He’s all of thirteen and he hears mama crying in her room at night again. “Please, just let tomorrow be perfect, somehow...let a miracle happen.”
And, for once, kids were nice to him. He dared to smile at the girl named Lily and she smiled back, he got an A on his math test, and that night, mama made his favorite dinner.
That night always made him believe in God, in the Saints.
xxx
Her lips tasted like bubblegum and she pressed his fingers to her hips and told him, in-between kisses, how he could touch her.
She gave him permission and gave a little arch when his fingers slid beneath the band of her undergarments, his hands cupped her bare backside, and the way she gave a slight moan let him understand that to have pleasure, he would give it.
There was no way he could ask for anything, not when she was on his lap and he was naught but an ugly thing -- he didn’t deserve anything he wasn’t willing to work for.
