“Why do men hurt women?”
I ask my lover from the other side of the room without looking in his direction. He does not take his eyes away from his laptop but his fingers freeze, I know this because the clickety clack of his keypad takes a break. “Because men are predatory in nature” came his spineless voice. “And predators always feel the need for a show of power.”
With his reply I gaze in his direction; his large brown eyes eventually meet mine. “Half the time men act on their destructive instinct instead of being rational.” I sigh deeply because I cannot think of the perfect reply to his words. He stretches out his hands and gestures for me to come towards him.
I get off the bed and it instantly makes a shrieking noise. The spring under the mattress was weak so an irritable racket accompanied every major movement. I sink into my lover’s open arms, my body gently resting on his. “Make sure you hurt any man that hurts you” he says this without shuddering. I know he means it because his face is bereft of emotions.
I tell him about the first time my body fought, about how my best friend at the time forced his way inside me, fighting my nineteen year old innocence.
I know he is hanging on my words because he sucks in one side of his lips as I speak. “What did you do with him?” he asks when I am done with my story. “I got rid of his body” I say waiting for him to cringe or gasp in astonishment. He breaks into a smile instead and cues his right thumb up as if to tell me I did a good job.