Another Night

I tasted my own blood seeping through the side of my jaw. My tongue felt swollen and my throat was so dry that a grunt would sound like a thousand knives stabbing every nerve in my body. I lay down. I lay on the dirty floor with the wet mud acting like a warm bed for my naked body. I slept there. My body was not at rest. My body was not with me. My body was in the arms of another man. He is not my lover. Yet, with every penetration he makes, I feel a part of my heart crash and break. I see the tiny pieces of my heart flowing out of my sore throat, into the fairy land of the heavens above. The heavens I look up to are looking down at me. Probably jesting. Probably not caring. The clouds are as dark as the eyes of the man who is now face to face with me. With whatever I could gather from my blurred visions, I look at him. I look at his face. He looks gentle. When I saw him in the bar, he was gentle. He had soft brown eyes with a lighter shade of brown in his hair. Tall and handsome. Dashing. He bought me drinks that I couldn't afford in this lifetime. I thought to myself, "Must be nice to be rich." Must be. Must be nice because he can easily silence my screams with his money. If he wanted to. He thrust again and I look to the side. I cannot look at him. Not because he is beautiful. Not because he is wealthy. He pains me, not physically. Physically I am numb. Physically I cannot feel the rash, the burn, and the blood that has now dried down my thigh. Right now, he pains me mentally. I look to the side and see my numb pale hands. I look at my beautiful fingers. They're long with pink nails and a beautiful structure. My beautiful nails. Every time I played piano for my mother, she would praise my nails and fingers. They were beautiful. Now my nails have mud underneath and my fingers are like a dead cactus slowly discolouring after the water in it is absolutely absorbed by the cannibalistic soil beneath. I look at the perpetrator, the ruiner of my fingers. It's this beautiful man. He looks pretty, underneath the full moon. The light from the moon covers the shadows of his cheeks perfectly. It could've been such a beautiful night. He could've rescued me from my demise. From my sadness. From the pain I suffered with the loss of my mother. From the grief I had after the disappearance of my father. But this beautiful man managed to make me feel a new emotion: numbness. As I felt a warmness between my thighs inside my cold body, he unattached himself from me and got up. He looked down at my tear-stained face, now freshly stained with the red scars of his touch. He looked at me. Something in his eyes told me that he was miserable himself. Something told me that he was looped into a darkness where he fell and will never get out of. I looked at him. I must be looking dead. He was about to say something, his pretty mouth half open. Then he just shut himself, as if he is a puppet controlled by a demon inside. He shut his mouth and left after throwing 10 green-coloured bills that I didn't bother looking at. I am sure it's a large sum. As I lay there, naked, distraught, used and abused, I picked myself up. My stomach felt this absolute wrecking sensation, as if I am being eaten alive by sharks. My head and eyes burned as if I am a witch on a stake. I get up, grab the bills and make my way back to the bar. I need to wash up, fix myself, and get ready again. After all, there is another beautiful man waiting to use me. Next time, hopefully, I won't be lying on the mud but floating up in the heavens, comforting the next woman getting warmed up in the mud.