That Red Dress With The Flowers That I Burned

Feb 08, 2006 21:35

I saw him today. He looked old and worn. He looked miserable and pitiful. I prayed in my head that he wouldn't speak to me but he did. He came over to my counter and said,

"Hi, Brandy how are you?"

I couldn't move. My throat closed and my hands clenched up so tight that you could see my bones through the whitness of my skin. I didn't say anything I just looked at him and thought 'monster, pervert,' I couldn't move it was that paralysis, that old fear that kept me choked and disgusted. This was the man who ruined my favorite dress. This was the man who put his hands in unspeakable places when I was six years old. This was the man who molested me. This same man had the nerve to try an talk to me. This same man who still puts the fear of god in me, although I have no idea why it's not as if he isn't pushing 70 and feeble as can be. I still hate him. I still want him to rot in hell for what he did. I still hate him. I hate myself for hating someone when I try so hard to love everyone. He is the one person that is on this Earth that I can say I truly despise, I hate him, I loathe him.

I didn't speak to him. I was dazed and bewildered. A deer caught inbetween headlights. I was frozen. He dropped his payment on my desk and walked away and out the door. I put my head on my desk and took the first breath since he spoke to me.

Back to his question : "How are you?"

How am I? How dare he! How am I? Oh, life's just been peachy living with this my whole life. Living with this scarlet letter so to speak, living with the memory of your swollen hands on my innocent skin. Oh, YES DEAR GOD life is amazing. I can't tell you how happy I am to see your face, a face I'll never be able to forget as long as I live no matter what I do. Thank you Darrell, life's been fucktastic.

-suga
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