Daffodil

My boyfriend likes to watch me sleep. He's fascinated by my body. At night, when he thinks I'm asleep, his hands wander all over me. His favourite places are those that he cannot touch by day - the areas forbidden to him in sunlight. My boyfriend thinks i don't know what he does those nights - thinks i don't know where his fingers live during the witching hours. Sometimes i wake with him still inside me, but i must pretend not to notice or he will become angry.   My boyfriend likes to touch me all the time. Sometimes i enjoy it, sometimes i don't. I think he knows this, but it's odd that my sobs don't make him stop - that my shouts of pain only make him laugh; that my embarrassment of being seen by those others in the room makes them want to see me more. Maybe i don't make myself clear enough. But it's often hard to talk, and anyway if i struggle the rope makes my wrists bleed.   My boyfriend likes to smoke. I try to make him stop, because everyone knows that smoking's bad for you. The trouble is, there is never an ashtray, and seeing as he doesn't like me to wear clothes when we are at home he often burns me with the cigarettes because there is no-where else to put them. I don't complain - who wants their boyfriend to get lung cancer?   My boyfriend likes to cut me. We made a deal that he could only do it on my legs, so no-one would see those un-attractive scars, but sometimes when he's had too much to drink he forgets and it's only when my hand falls limp inside his trousers that he releases the blade from my breasts.   My boyfriend doesn't like me to leave the house. I suppose it's because he's worried i may leave him, and when i tell him that I'll be with him forever he strokes my hair and takes Polaroid photographs of me to show his friends what a wonderful and loyal girlfriend he has. I've often wanted to ask him why i must be naked for these pictures - why the position of my legs on either side of the television set, or his hand being between them, is so essential - but I'm sure it's all too complicated and sophisticated for me to understand.   Anyway, I'm not really supposed to be here - he doesn't like it when i visit him at work. The girls who he employs - all very beautiful, with plump breasts and scars that glow violet - look at me annoyedly as i plunge the knife deeper into my side with every step towards him. 'I suppose you lasted longer than the others' he says, and the sense of pride that i feel stays with me long after the blood has drained from my veins. Written February 23rd, 2002 © on Feb 23 2002 12:04 PM PST   0 • 8