It starts with a plea.
Can you hurt me, please?
The laughter and “probably” that follows makes me want to fight.
Goddamnit, I know you can. Will you?
With one glance, I can see the energy in your eyes, matching mine. A smoldering, low on the coals yet, but the fire has started. My breath catches and I try to focus my brain, not let it run away…with either too many possibilities or the feeling of self-sabatoge that none of them could ever really happen. We’re here, now. This moment is more than possible.
You take a step towards me and I suddenly feel bold, cocky and take two steps towards you. That’s something you bring out in me…that urge to fight. Challenge.
You regard me with a lopsided smile, amused but I can see the fire growing.
Can you feel it? The tension crackling between us? I’m tired of waiting, tired of being reserved, of being passive. Let’s fucking DO this. Whatever it is in this moment. Let’s create it together.
You say something snarky, commenting on my courage in a way that makes that fight rise higher, sharper in me. I so wanna punch you. That’s probably not the best course of action, though…so I choke it down. Your lips twist in a sadistic grin full of swagger as you watch the struggle in me.
Now I want to punch you so. Fucking. Much. More.
We’ve talked about it. You’ve said it’s okay. But do I dare? That would almost certainly end poorly for me. I try to weigh how enjoyable vs regrettable that decision could be, though…
You keep observing me, as if you can hear the inner dialogue and then there’s another snarky comment and my right hand balls in a fist and I reel back to punch your shoulder.
It lands. I look at you…mostly confident in my decision.
You blink and grin. Not moving. But mocking me with your lack of response.
Well, fuck you, too!
This time, I punch harder, but before it lands, you grab my arm, twist me, and my chest is shoved against the wall. I turn my face at the very last nanosecond to avoid breaking my nose from the impact. Your whole body comes up behind me, crushing me against the wall.
“Glad you got that out of your system,” you growl in my ear. “Now it’s my turn.”
And like the sky opening up for a storm, you unleash a barrage of blows on my back, non-stop. For just a few mintues, I’m a punching bag in a gym, and you treat me like that object, oblivious to my screaming, crying, writhing.
Just like that, you pull my soul back into my body and as the bruises start blooming, my skin finally feels normal again.