You sit on your neat white couch in the living room with a bottle of Merlot in your hands which from time to time ends up between your lips so you can have a gulp of it. Everything becomes blurred and your jaw feels numb. Your own sobbs bother you because itís not right to fall apart. Itís wrong to cry. But you have to cry because you know youíll go to hell.
You put the empty Merlot bottle aside and realise that in fact itís not empty at all. Just donít waste a drop. Again you raise it to your lips and as the bitter liquid meets your tongue you know that itís been enough, otherwise youíd have to vomit. Donít vomit onto the carpet. Youíll never be able to clean that spot again. Donít vomit! As you swallow you feel the warmth that builds in your throat. Itís a nice contrast to the cold that spreads in your body.
You close your eyes and itís her you see. But she doesnít sit next to Gabrielle on Poker day or happens to be around for coffee and home-made chocolate cake to have a chat until she has to go back to work. Sheís all over you. Her hands cup your small breast and her head is held by your own thighs firmly while her tongue flicks over your very own clitoris. You open your eyes again and try to breathe but it wonít happen until you threaten to choke.
You try to hate her instead of yourself, because she was the one who made you do this. She stroke your hair and messed it up. She came closer and cupped your face until she pressed her soft, pink lips against yours. You flinched with a disgusted look on your face although you have to admit that it felt good but she wouldnít let go of you. Before you could even react any further her index finger lay on your mouth and lingered there for just a few seconds and then she pulled you close with her left hand that still rested on your back to kiss you again. This time you didnít flinch. This time you let it happen. In your mind there was one thought racing: ďHOLY MARY, IN THE NAME OF GOD PLEASE LET IT END!!!Ē But it didnít. She made you disrobe yourself while she took her own clothing off. And then she used you. She made you feel so good, so loved, so adored, so desirable. But youíre nothing of the like because you sinned.
You come to your senses again and notice that you dropped the bottle. But for once you donít care. You look down on your own bared body. ďDirtyÖ Iím so dirtyÖ shower. I need a showerĒ, you think and run up to your bathroom. But you forget about your plan as you stand in front of the mirror. Naked. Skin. Dirt. Sin. Youíre the sinner. You clench your fists and watch your face losing the mask you wore for years. The mask of perfection. For a second you feel free and pure. The first time in ages you feel like a human being but then you realise that itís not supposed to be like this. You donít want to see yourself Ė the sinner. The woman who loved a woman. In your anger you raise your fists and break the mirror. There are pieces everywhere. On the floor. In the sink. All over your hand. Blood drips from your hands and your memory takes you back to when you were a child. Your mother lies on the street. Ambulance. Police. They take her away. Thereís blood on the street. A lot of blood. Clean it! You have to clean it! You search for a cloth. You clean it. You clean the mess you left. The whole bathroom, the living room, the kitchen, the wedding silver. But you will never be able to clean up yourself. Because a sinner wonít turn into a saint.
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