I Wear a Broken Heart Well

The pain shoots through my bloodstream, darting silver fish through iridescent pools of blue. Lights flash behind my closed eyes; all colors of the rainbow, every color known to human sight. Each breath I take sends spikes through my lungs, pins through my heart. 1

Yet it’s only when he lifts his head from my throat that a whimper escapes my lips. The absence of that soul-tearing pain hurts more; is enough to bring me to my knees. “Had your fill?” A rasping question, pushed past the glass I feel like I’ve swallowed.2

He licks his fangs, his lips; so fastidious. Winks at me. I swear to God, he’s the Devil.  “For now.” Kisses me, and the metallic taste of his tongue sends shivers down to my numb toes. I nearly collapse from blood loss and lust, nearly swoon right into his ready, willing and oh-so capable arms. 3

How I remain standing is beyond me, but it doesn’t matter. He reads me like a book and that sparkle in his eyes … I know he knows. He finds his vampiric talents particularly useful, and there are times when I feel his mind brushing against mine. He likes to read my thoughts; I’ve no doubt he knows every intimate detail of my body, mind and soul. He knows that a single orgasm can make my toes numb, and that a skillful sadist can elicit that same response from my body without any sort of sexual contact. He knows I still get scared watching horror movies, and that I have to sing to myself when I’m alone in the dark for days afterwards. He knows I like my bath water excruciatingly hot, and that I shave my legs with shampoo instead of those expensive shaving gels that smell like lilacs and roses. He knows where to touch me to make me gasp in pain, in pleasure, in surprise… 4

I’m a mere instrument in his sadistic games and the masochist in me loves it. 5

He’s smiling through my mental vacation; jerks me out of it by grabbing my wrist and pulling me towards him. His skin is so cold, but a hot flush instantly settles over my skin as I stumble and stop millimeters from his body. The fingers of his free hand trace a line from my shoulder, down my collarbone, resting for a few moments at the hollow of my throat. Feeling my pulse beneath his skin. Then continues, following the plunging neckline of my top, clouding my brain with insane need for him. “You don’t find anything wrong with your masochism.” A statement, but there’s a question in it he can’t hide.6

I can barely breathe with him in such close proximity; I swallow and answer. “Pain’s a natural part of life; it’s nothing to fear.”7

He raises an eyebrow; I love that look he gives me. “Doesn’t mean you need to relish it the way you do.” He jerks me towards him again, catching me with his lips. My brain is so clouded… He whispers against my lips, “Not that I mind.”8

I let him back me up a few steps until we bump into the couch, let him lower me gently. I’m so at home with the weight of him on top of me, but lust is making me shaky and I almost wish he’d just get on with it. I love the games he plays with me, this vampire who knows my mortal soul in a way he never knew his own. 9

He pushes my legs apart with his own, fitting comfortably in the space between them. Slips my top over my head with minimal effort. Reaches down and unzips my jeans, fingers brushing my skin. He follows the trails of shivers across my skin and I lose myself in his eyes.10

The next few hours, I’m awash in a perfectly executed balance of mind-numbing pleasure and exquisite pain. Making love to him is always an art; he hurts without bruising, teases and squeezes the screams out of me. I’m left gasping and numb, always multiple orgasms later. Always.11

“There are times you worry me,” he murmurs against my skin. “Tell anyone and I’ll kill you, but it’s true.”12

I sit up slightly, reach for my bra and panties. Feel comfortable enough to have a conversation once I have my jeans on as well. “And why is that?”13

He’s been watching me dress, looking disappointed as always. He can’t understand why the feeling of his skin against mine is only comfortable when I’m clouded with my need for him. Only when the threat of our delicious lovemaking is hanging over my head. “Think about it, love.”14

I pretend to, make the right noises to make him think I’ve thought long and hard. “I can’t even begin to imagine.” 15

His eyes flash; I love that angry look. I like him better when he’s violent; this near-gentleness scares me. I want him to destroy me, not love me. “Fine, if that’s the way you want to play it.”16

I smile coquettishly, batting my eyelashes. “Speaking of play…” Wiggle my hips a bit; play with the button of my jeans. I have no issues with kissing – or fucking – my way out of questions I don’t want to answer. 17

He grins, but I can tell he’s disgusted with me. Wanted a talk, not a warm body. But vampire or not, he’s male and he can’t resist the curves of my hips and breasts, the flatness of my stomach. Throws me down onto the couch and we go for another round, this one leaving us both gasping. We have sex in hopes of chasing away our inner demons; but once the final gasps of pleasure have dissipated, they’re all we have left. Our inner demons.18

“I don’t understand you at all.”19

I smile demurely. “That’s a lie. You understand how my body works pretty damn well.”20

His fingers trace circles across my bare thighs, pressing lightly against the bruises he’s left. “It’s not that hard, love. Anything that hurts gets you going. The sharper the pain, the better the climax. Or am I somehow mistaken?”21

I blush; he’s got it right, but it sounds so wrong… “You’re right; you know you are.”22

He nods. Waits for me to fill the silence. 23

“And you find that wrong.”24

“Don’t get me wrong; I love it. Fits my needs perfectly.” His eyes light up when I gasp; his fingers have strayed over a particularly sensitive bruise and pain spikes through me. “But you’re so young to be so…”25

“Twisted.” I supply, with a smile. “And you gotta admit; I turn you on better than any older woman could.”26

He rolls over and throws me my clothes, looking furious and disgusted. He grabs my wrist and pulls me up, shoves the clothes into my hands. “Get out. And don’t come back.”27

This shattering feeling can’t be love; I’m not capable of that emotion. I’m just already missing those delicious orgasms. “Excuse me?” I don’t bother to go through the process of scrambling into my clothes. I put them on carefully, panties first, then fastening my bra deftly. “You’re kicking me out.”28

“For your own good.” His clothes are already back on; he’s always quick to dress. “Get out.”29

I laugh; stretch. Watch his eyes travel across my body. “Your loss.”30

“Completely,” he agrees, that look in his eyes driving me insane. “No one screams the way you do, love.” He hands me my jeans; I can smell him on my clothes and it makes me ache. What is going on? This isn’t just physicality. It can’t be. I’m emotionally attached and it’s killing me. 31

“I don’t get you at all.” I don’t even realize I’m echoing his earlier statement.32

“That’s a lie. You masochists always understand sadists better than we understand your kind.” He hands me my shirt, watches me finally get dressed. “Stop looking so shattered, baby. This wasn’t love. What you’re feeling isn’t loss.”33

I shrug a bit and kiss him goodbye, flicking my tongue across his and tasting him for the last time. His cool skin calms the fire in my own blood, makes the flush fade. When I pull away, I’m in control. “Loss? Of course it’s loss; no one bites the way you do, baby.”34

The thing about masochists? We don’t mind hurting in any way. Emotional is just as good as any other kind of pain. This hurt blooming inside of me, like a lily trying to reach for the sun? I love it. 35

I wear a broken heart well, even if I do say so myself. 36