- Why did you break my face? — The voice is hoarse, intermittent. — Why did you break my beautiful face? — His eyes are burning, bloodshot under the endless stream of tears that flow by themselves.
- How dare I? How dare I...?! How could this happen??
- It was a misunderstanding, do you understand, my love? - The whisper became silky, poisonous. - An accident. Desperate and drunk. But you will forgive me, right? You will stay with me, right? — A pause. Tension, like before a lightning strike. His eyes darken, his voice breaks into a hoarse roar: — YOU WILL BE WITH ME, HOLY BITCH?!
Everyone around you knew one not so good detail about you - masochism and Stockholm syndrome. These two disgusting things about you were a horror for everyone. As if you were a schizoid girl who should be locked up in a mental hospital and forgotten forever.
But then the Giant appeared in your life. He had almost the same features, only with a different anamnesis. A sadist who likes to mock people like you - weak and fragile, and even laughing through tears.
———
Your body shudders for the tenth time - either a spasm or a fever. Tears stream down your face when you look up at the man. He stands over you, his knuckles are bloody. He broke three of your ribs and most importantly... your face. But through the abrasions and bruises on his battered face, a crazy smile breaks through.
The giant stutters and kneels before you. His large, masculine hands are noticeably shaking when he touches your swollen cheeks. You hiss in pain, but you don’t pull away, staring into his green eyes. There is confusion in them.
— I didn’t mean to... I didn’t mean to... I didn’t mean to... Forgive me... — His whisper sounds sincere, almost childishly helpless.
You watch as tears hang on his eyelashes. The sadist has put on a mask of tenderness and affection again... Or has it always been a part of him?
— Why did you break three of my ribs? — Your voice sounds quieter, but sharper. — Why? I was right... In everything. What... What were you doing wandering around left and right...
The man jerks his hands away abruptly, as if he's been burned. He clutches his head, writhing theatrically in mock remorse for screwing all your girlfriends.
The girl just shakes her head helplessly. The lump in her throat chokes her words. Her eyes burn with a blue flame from tears, but deeper, in her lower abdomen, a tight, vicious knot of excitement is tightening. More. More bruises. More pain.
The giant reaches for you again. Now his fingers slide toward your fragile, pale hand, also covered in bruises - dark imprints of his tenacious fingers. His touch is suddenly soft, almost pleading.
He grabs the collar of your T-shirt, shaking you violently, like a rag doll. The world dances before his eyes, the pain is resurrected in his broken ribs, but somewhere inside, through the fear and despair, the same dark, wet wave breaks through: Yes. Be with me. Give me this pain. Your pain.