Saturday, November 3, 2012

Free Form Writing - A Kiss.


I leaned against the leather couch, arms wrapped tightly around the plush pillow in my arms. The room was warm and cozy, an excellent counseling office if I do say so myself. My counselor sat a few feet away, relaxed, her blonde ponytail swaying gently in the air condition.

“So tell me, what do think about something small, like kissing?” She asked, her voice like a lullaby you hadn’t heard in a long time, gentle, relaxing, luring.

“Kissing? It’s so precious to me.”

“Why’s that?”

“When my abuse started, he tried to french kiss me. I was 10, that was disgusting back then. I always clamped my teeth shut and refused to give in. It pissed him off every time, but I didn’t care. I wanted to piss him off anyways. Eventually he learned I’d never give it up, so he just gave up with that. For a while anyways.” My voice trialed off, my smile at my defiance, slowly slipping.

“Then one day he figured out how to take that from me too.” I squeezed the pillow tighter, my legs curling close to me.

“By now he’s done pretty much anything you could think off at that age. It wasn’t right, but it was routine now. I knew generally what to expect and I just performed to get it over with. I was numb really. So he decided to try something new to get a rise out of me.”

“One day, while laying nude in the bed he climbed under the covers and between my legs. I remember staring at the ceiling, just waiting for it to begin. I didn’t expect his tongue down there.” I felt my cheeks redden.

“It felt good and I hated it. I hated myself for liking it. I hated that he made me like anything.” Just like all those years ago tears began to slide from my eyes.

“I hated him.” I blinked to try and gain control over myself, burying my head in the pillow for a moment to hide my shame.

“I didn’t want any positive feelings with him. As long as it didn’t feel good then there wasn’t any confusion. As long as it wasn’t nice I could block it out. So I gave in.” I pulled my head away from the pillow, leaning further back to stare at the lamp in front of me.

“I told him if he’d stop I’d give him a kiss. And he agreed. He took from me the one thing I’d held onto for years. The one thing I considered sacred. The one thing I refused to allow him to have. I felt…broken. Like I just lost the game. Like with that kiss he might has well have stepped on what was left of my soul.”

I stared at the soft glow of the lamp, and felt empty. Like it had happened all over again by just admitting it out loud for the first time. We were quiet for a long time as I struggled to unlock myself, to warm myself up from the cold numbness that taken over. Finally I left semi alive again I spoke.

“That’s why a kiss means so much to me now. If I kiss you it’s not just a peck on the cheek for fun. It has a meaning, a feeling, a showing of love, or caring for that person. Even though he took something great and turned it rotten that alone has still remained pure to me. Maybe it’s cause I fought so hard for it for so long. Or maybe it’s because it’s part of how it all began, I don’t know. I just know that for me a kiss is always more than just a kiss.”

I’m sure my counselor said something along the lines of ‘thank you for sharing’, but I don’t’ remember. I remember being in shock about those feeling because I’ve never said them out loud before. I also remember feeling slightly happy to have found that I still held some things precious to me.

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