He’s doing it again....

 

The insults, the mockery, and the sardonic remarks he always threw at me every time we encountered each other. All of that just to extract anger, hate, pain, tears from me. To rip my heart into pieces, just to make me lose my temper.

 

It’s getting old now, it’s been years, and yet it still continued. I used to cry whenever his sharp tongue slipped another contemptuous word. But not anymore, I’m a grown man now. In fact, I found myself constantly fighting back. Returning those disdained words with a brave comeback. Other times, I even found myself throwing my fist at his face if I couldn’t control my emotions any longer. I didn’t learn to box for nothing. Our friends have gotten used to it, to our fights. At first they were worried and tried to separate us before another world war happened. But other times when they were bored they would just leave us alone. I guess they were tired. I’m tired. Why can’t we just stop this? Why cant’ we just be civil?

 

He’s doing it again...

He corners me into some random empty room at the Jimusho. He presses my body against the wall roughly. That derisive smirk always forms before he presses his lips against mine, sliding his hands through my hair. It’s a punishment for me, for hitting him earlier. A punishment he knew I couldn’t take. A perfect punishment to make me regret punching him in the first place. But somehow it has become a routine now. This has been the n-th time he has physically assaulted me. I wanted do something in retaliation, to just push him away and hit him again. It’s been weeks but I still I couldn’t find a way to fight back. In fact, I only found myself surrendering. To let my lips part as he traced his tongue along my lips looking for an entrance. To let him savor me, taste me, feel me. I could only shiver when I felt his hand slowly caressing my thigh, and going bolder and going under my shirt.

 

He always breaks our kiss with a satisfied smirk, letting me know that he has won the fight. That no matter how smart my comeback was, no matter how hard I fight, I would eventually lose. I hated my self for that, for not being able to defend myself. I found myself as helpless as I was years ago.

 

He closes the door and I find my self weakening in the knees. I fall helplessly to the floor, crying out my anguish in silence. This was even worse that what it used to be. Worse than the verbal assaults. All my efforts to be strong were futile. He had found a way to beat me again.

 

After a while, I hear the door being cracked open. I didn’t lift my head, I didn’t want to see, I was afraid that he’ll come back just to find me crying, and he would enjoy his triumph even more.

 

But slowly I found myself being touched tenderly; a hand was caressing my hair. For a moment my hope was again rekindled. The hope that he has finally realized that he has hurt me so bad. That he would come back and apologize for ever doing so, to hug me and kiss me again, but this time full with love and tenderness.

 

“Tatchan?” I heard a familiar voice. But it was not his; it was not his husky voice I longed to hear. It wasn’t him, it was…

“Kame?” I finally lifted my head.

“Are you ok?”

I shook my head. I might as well spill all my anger and pain. I needed to get this off my chest. I couldn’t take it anymore. My chest was about to explode.

“Kame?” I started with a trembling voice.

“Is love always this painful?”

Kame didn’t answer; he just pulled me closer and hugged me. I could sense his bewilderment, I wouldn’t blame him. I didn’t need an answer anyway. I just needed him.

 

 

 

“I love him Kame.”