Willingly Forced

He loved her. He worshiped her. Their relationship may seem strange to others, and some aspects of it kept him up at night, but she was happy. He loved her so that all he wanted was to keep her happy.

Alone, they would talk and pick on each other; torment one another playfully, then she would curl up in his arms where she knew she was safe from all things.

When they made love, it would been seen as dangerous and animalistic from an outsider's point of view. But to them, the rough ways they handled each other in their intimate skirmishes, was how they knew the other loved them. They could be theirselves and express their love in true uninhibited ways. Occasionally, they would come together as a 'normal' couple and passionately caress each other and whisper sweet nothings (that held so many heartfelt truths) as they copulated their feelings.

But usually, she would say 'no' and half heartedly bat away his advances. He would laugh and pin her arms above her, and she would giggle and look into the eyes if the man she could trust with her life and knew would always love her.

One if his strong hands would deftly do away with her pants and play with her, amongst her poorly performed pleas to stop. All the while, the trust and love and understanding of each other shining brilliantly through their eyes.

It had been months since he had had her to himself. He missed her. Missed her touch, her smell, her body. Missed her pretty face and witty banter.

His will power failed him. The one and only time in the years they had lain with each other. He didn't recognize her cries were real. He didn't see the real want in her eyes to stop.

His eyes and mind were glazed over with the only thing clearly seen and understood to him at that moment.

'She's mine again. I have her here with me. I love her.'

He played as he always did, never noticing the danger through his love crazed head. She didn't play, didn't want to play.

But she leaned over nonetheless and willingly rolled the condom down him. She had him sheathed, grabbed him, and inserted him herself.

Their rough, hard 'love making' lasted only the blink of an eye compared to what they were use to. With both of them not entirely satisfied.

She returned home, and playfully and flirt-fully talked with him into the night with text messages containing uncountable smileys and 'lol's'.

A couple of days later, while happily talking and playfully convincing her to come visit him again, simply to hold her and adore her, she confessed to him. Told him she hadn't wanted to love him in their furious manner that night. But he had taken liberties and proceeded against her anyway.

When the night replayed hurriedly through his shocked mind, he saw all the signs. Hindsight is always 20-20. He repeatedly apologized and expressed his emotions and feelings continually. He loved her! How could he have been blinded so that it would cost him his only true love?

Days had gone by. He begged and pleaded to see her, to make things right. He tortured himself day-in and day-out. He knew what he did was nigh unforgivable. But he cared so deeply for this beautiful creature, the very real woman of his dreams. He continued apologizing through choked back sobs. He asked again and again for what he could to make it better; to make amends for his transgressions and prove his undying love.

She continued to refuse his pleas.

He had hurt her and was loosing her. Had already lost her, she had told him. But he couldn't give up! He loved her! There had to be some way to help her see his words of passion were true and unexaggerated.

Days had gone by then without a word from his beloved. He didn't know if it was less than a day or if it had been a week. It seemed as though, to him, an impossible amount of time had passed without a phone call or text.

He had hurt her. The one he promised he would never hurt. The one he loved so uncontrollably. He had sacrificed so much for her, had given her everything he could, without expecting anything in return but to see her happy. To see those lips spread in a gleaming smile with the knowledge that he made that beautiful smile happen.

He did everything just to make her happy. He regretted nothing. He loved her and would continue to give her everything. Just to keep her happy.

His grief consumed him in the time he was left to his thoughts. Dangerous and bad things happened when left alone with his grief stricken mind.

The glint of an old razor blade caught his eyes and enveloped his thinking. That blade linked memories of first time experiences with the woman he loved. Of a past he would throw his future away for. If that future didn't allow him to hold her.

He hadn't slept or eaten in days. All he could see was the thin sharp edge of the small metal blade.

He doesn't remember going to it and picking it up. He has no recollection of the time that passed with the blade pressed tightly to his skin.

The first small, dragging cut brought him out of his reverie. The small red line that formed proceeding the blade was all that existed.

He hurt her. He had to make up for it. He had to find some way to help her see how much he cared for her.

One cut turned to two. Two to four. Four to eight.

Into the night and the next day, he watched the mass if red lines crisscross his leg as if it was happening to someone else.

It eased the pain in his chest and head. The cold hard words she had spoken to him and that squeezed his heart until its bloody tears dripped freely and unhindered over his broken love began to finally recede to the back of his mind.

As the razor slide carelessly across his skin, pulling on hair, digging deeper here than there, his mind cleared and his feelings went numb.

After days, he calmed noticeable. He still and will always love her. And he would win back her feelings for him. Even if it meant starting their relationship over as friends. If she would have him as that at least.

I won't give up. In my stricken and shaken heart, slightly recovering with each conversation, you will always be mine; I will always be yours. I love you, Baby.