A suprisingly quick write, inspired by bits of conversation with raptus_egaliter.
Give Me An Opening
All right, it's time to admit it.
I am thoroughly obsessed with you.
Oh, I'm very low-key about it: I'm not going to demand attention from you every day (probably), or stalk you home (though I want to). But I cannot get you out of my thoughts. You simply will not leave. I can reason with myself, I can blackmail myself, I can scream and cry and masturbate and pray, but you're not getting gone. You're the character that shows up in every fucking story. I can't help it.
I don't want to help it.
No, that's a lie. I want you to go away. I want to go back in time and un-meet you.
No, I want to un-make myself. I want to restructure my own mind.
No.
No--now I can't even wish you gone, or I changed in some way that would unhook my mind from you. There's too much I don't know about you yet; too much I'm still desperate to see.
I want too much of you.
I try to control it. I try to stop myself after an hour--two hours--a day--a week. But it won't stop coming; question after question spilling out at you, thought piling upon thought, building a tower of you, drawing a blueprint of you. It's not what I want: no, what I want is to (smash you) smash your head open and reach inside your mind, uncaring, unheeding of all that violence done upon you who are kind to me. I want to reach inside and root around and touch everything, everyone, every memory inside you that makes you. I cannot be satisfied in this world until I have touched every single cell of your brain and left my fingerprints on every single neuron.
Not that I want the responsibility, you understand, but I want to get you. I need to get you. I absolutely have to understand you in this way that is visceral and cruel, because although I would rather you not suffer I would take everything I could no matter how much you were hurt, drawing it into myself and hoarding it jealously like so many jewels.
I want to peel off your skin.
Okay, sure, I understand that you need skin, also that I want to touch it and to have it touch me, also that in general if you are going to interact with a man it is better that he have most of his flesh intact. I get that. I do.
It's just that I want to make sure of what's underneath. I want to get past it. There must be something beyond the flesh, there must. Something deeper. Because although I can want you and your tongue and your mind and your words and most especially your hands inside me, at once, as much as I can, so much inside me that it's everything, safe where I can account for it; as much as the thought of your fingers pushing fast and hard and deep within me makes me want to scream and beg and take and yes, in spite of that it is still not enough inside and it is not enough you. I cannot trust you that way. I cannot trust that I know enough of you, just that way. There must be something beyond.
There must. Some level that all of the physical shaping unity cannot get to, that if I just pushed hard enough I could push past to--some part of you that I need to get to that is beyond your brain and your muscles and your speech and your organs. Something so distant from your smile that I have to claw to it.
Some resting point. Some point of you that would be enough.
So you see, I need to peel off your skin. I need to pull apart your mind and catalogue it and chart it, and I need to control that much of you, be that certain; I need to rend you so that I can see how you fit together and be far enough inside of you that I am absolutely undeniably not out. I'll try not to demand attention from you every day, or stalk you home, or hide in the back of your car as you walk the parking lot at night. No, I'll be low-key about it. But you can't expect me to lie about what I'm looking for.
Some resting point. Some point of you that could be enough.
I want to peel off your skin.
Your skin is not deep enough for me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'd dearly love to hear any comments. cutter_tekka@hotmail.com
Back to the fiction.
Back to CutterFics, Ltd.: click of the heels