Steel my Heart

Yesterday his hands grip me so tight he might break me in half. He thrusts me in and out. In and out. Until I'm bloody red and dripping; smothered.  'till his victim is a messy corpse and his blunt nails feel like they've imprinted crescent moons into steel. Today he uses me to chop bread in the morning. He toasts it like any other day. I cut the crusts away whilst he debates, runs his hand through his hair again and again, and then one more time after that. "I need to..." he says, "it's time for it." He says a lot of things. A lot of things like this that make very little sense. When it's just him and me, he'll say things. His cruel mouth will twist into a grimace or a smile, and both will be equitable in enjoyment.

He cut a secret pocket into his rucksack, just for me. That rucksack wasn't cheap either. He doesn't do anything by halves. I sit in that rucksack, sometimes in the boot of the Mercedes. Sometimes even by his feet, where elegant suede loafers tap out a gleeful rhythm. I reflect sunlight into his eyes, but they're perpetually dark. Staring past the road, past the earth and the grass and sky. Past everything. It's like he's seeing something that's not there. Or something that was, or something that will be, or could be. It's like he's seeing nothing at all. Driving with his eyes closed.

I sit amongst a coveted collection. Watching him tenderly touch each old friend. Watch a thin tongue wet his lips as he thinks about the good times. Nostalgia overcomes us both in these moments, and if he could feel it, if he could feel it like I do, I think that he would cry. As it is, the lump in his throat bobs, his head tilts and the mop of dark hair reassembles itself.

It's in these moments that I know I am loved. Loved more than anyone, anything else. I see him staring past everything and I know it will be us forever.

He tucks me into a compartment with the others. I am shrouded in darkness, listening to the calculated thud of his steps. The doorbell is ringing. He clears his throat and I wait. I wait in anticipation for the door to be opened. Because I know what's coming.