Always The Same

"forgive me father, for i have sinned . . ."

maybe if i were there, maybe if i had the opportunity.

I shift uncomfortably on the cushion, where so many have sought redemption before. I'm no longer here, I'm there, it's no longer him, now HIM . . .

....

If i were there, you could have me. If I were there, you could prove it to me. Take whatever this broken mirror can give and sliver it even more, Push me. Push me to the breaking point and ruin me.

Your eyes question; I push harder.

Help me. I'm begging. 'I can't feel it. I can't feel it, even though it's all over my skin and every nerve pulses with it."

You laugh. "What can't you feel?"

"Anything," my breath, so shallow, wild, wanton . . . My hair is too tight. My scalp is being pulled and divided. My head is going to explode, my skull to be crushed into the sweetest of fragments, all that once was. I reach up and violently remove the fastenings winding my brain tighter and tighter. Hair comes out in pieces and I whimper at the unexpected pain.

Still, your eyes are searching.

I wander to your window, feeling tendrils escape the tangled knot on my neck and fall across my shoulders. I can feel your eyes burning into my back as I untwist the gnarled mess of my hair, and involuntarily quiver when I hear your calculating breath. Your pensiveness disturbs my thoughts, disturbs the fluid animal that is now soaking into my mind.

Turning, I move my lips to ask what you are thinking, but leave the words unspoken, lips poised. The fear takes control again. The fluid animal seeps into my veins. I press my weight against the wall, letting the shadows take my eyes. The lace lining of the new shirt I had coveted so desperately rises and falls with every breath. Constricting again . . . I feel dizzy. I can't breathe. Everything turns black and I start to fall . . .

....

"yes?" the voice isn't yours. i pull away, vicious and ready to strike at the voyeur.

"speak."

"i'm sorry, father, it's been two weeks since my last confession . . ."

...

Colours fade in and out . .. it's still too hard to breathe. I feel your hands on me, pulling me, saving me. I struggle with the tie on my shirt, grasping, pulling. It won't come off. Digging into my skin, I claw wildly to get a firm grip on it. Finally I feel it slip between my fingers, and I don't let go. I wish that I cared anymore, but all I can think about is the beautiful oxygen that I can have if I do it. The sound of the ripping silk sends a sigh of relief throughout me. Suddenly, the icy air pours over my skin, and I think for a moment that I've slipped beneath the ice of the lake that we went to last winter.

I can still feel the soft fabric against my back, and I tear at it wildly, still gasping to be free. Your warm hands are tightly around my waist, bracing me, and you murmur something I can't understand as I finally free myself from my haute couture prison. I can see the shadows playing across my skin already. The fluid animal is spreading.

I arch my back, letting the hair flow down as I press against your hands.

"Push me," I say, meeting your gaze and stretching my body against all of you that I can reach. You still don't move.

"Push me. Break me,"I repeat. I roll onto my knees, away from your grasp, exposing my back to you. I wait for your hands, which grudgingly travel across my back, lightly, knowingly. A noise escapes my throat, half-growl, half-purr, and I feel you draw back into yourself.

"Please," I breathe, "please . . . push . . ."

The fluid tiger takes control of my back as your hot breath sweeps my neck and moves down my shoulder blades. When your lips settle in the hollow in my back, the hollow where the cross you drew is inked into my skin, my entire body quivers with the purr of the fluid tiger. I moan, so softly that I barely even hear, and inch closer to your hands. They follow the curve of my side, and find their way to the clasp on that delicate bra I threw on in my rush to find this, find you . . .

"Take it," I whimper, "take it."

You pull it off, pushing it onto the floor, and fasten your lips to my shoulders, tracing the line the my neck with your tongue. Your hands wander slowly to the front, the warmth spreading the fluid tiger further. I roll my body, pressing every inch of my freezing flesh against your burning skin, revelling in the dual temperature of my skin. I feel . . . exothermic and endothermic. A serpent and a tiger. I slither and purr.

Everything goes black again.

....

"hmm . . ." i murmur softly, slithering in the confined box. i come back to reality, the tiger evaporates, and the dimly lit confessional clouds my vision.

the sound of heavy breathing reaches my ears as i mourn the proud beast slowly retreating into my veins.

"father . . ." i whisper.

the strained reply comes a moment later.

"anything else, child?"

i shift, staring at the air for a while. the hard wood panelling and catholic ornamentation are imprinted into my back.

the glow starts to spread again. the tiger yawns.

....

I'm melting. My entire body slithers and writhes against the floor as it tries to take your hands. I need to feel it, God, I need to feel it . . . It's so hard to feel anything. My hips are pressing against your so hard that I feel like I might break.

"please . . ."

I feel it . . . my skin being freed . . . as your hands push against my thighs, the tiger paces. Somehow, he reminds me of the inequality, and I stumble to pull your shirt free. Finally, the fiery skin is under my palms, and I pause for a moment before pulling the rest of your clothing to the floor. I want to own all of your skin. I take it slowly, spreading the tiger though my fingertips into each of your pores.

A guttural sounds moves past your lips, and I can see the fluid burning behind your eyes. pleased, i press against you harder, watching the flame flicker and grow.

"take," i whisper, "push . . . break me, please . . ."

i wait, you oblige. my thoughts are no longer my own. perhaps the tiger is in control, or maybe the serpent . . . you move, deep, as i breathe in the toxicity you supply. arching my back, i try to take more, but my hair is instantly wrapped between your fingers and my head pushed to the ground. i growl and try again, but am once again whipped back as your teeth find my neck and close. i whimper as tears spring to my eyes and i cry for you to stop. a soft kiss covers the bite in apology. i push my hips up, slowly, exploring, waiting to see if i'll be pushed back to the floor. i moan with the fullness and beg for more.

and then i can't breathe again.

the air catches in my lungs and i gasp. i try to fight it, i don't want to leave . . . i bury my face in your neck, whispering to break me, and wrap myself around you. more . . . please . . . i start to choke for air, but there is none . . . i move wildly, trying to feel as much as possible before you're gone, before i'm gone . . .

....

i gasp for air again. the familiar disturbing panelled walls surround me, the tiny walls seem to be closing in. there is no sound from the other side of the screen. i wait, perhaps he is reflecting on all i have told him? i strain to hear the father breathing as i catch my own ragged breath. a minute goes by, two, three . . . i freeze, hoping nothing has happened to him.

i feel the cold then. not the fluid tiger, the serpent . . . i glance down to see a sweet warm liquid just barely ebbing through the partition of the confessional. my toes are a rich red mess. i sigh.

i thought it would be different this time.