“Fuck you, you little cunt,” I say, hand on her throat. “Fucking respond, why don’t you?”

She spits black blood that burns into my skin. 

She fucking loves me so much. She pays me good money to hit her when we’re alone at home, the back of my hand vibrating off of her cheek. She laughs and cries, but mostly only when I’m out of the room. 

I don’t know who she thinks I am; if that’s significant at all. I don’t know if I’m at all significant to her, or if she just likes the way I respond to her; I take her money, I take her shit. I take her abuse and her lies, and I turn them into a perfect, nurturing relationship; a lie like any other.

She makes me want to want to die.