He’s leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom with a loose tie around his neck, rolling up his sleeves as if anticipating work. He watches my fingers seductively pull my tights up around my propped up leg on the edge of the bathtub, and I stroke the fabric once it reaches my mid-thigh, snapping the lace into place. I look at him to let him know I caught his eye, and he walks over to kiss me once I’m finished, fully, purposely, biting my bottom lip instead of doing it on my own. He tilts my chin up the minute he pulls apart, making me look into his lust-filled soul, his very brown, eminent eyes. He caressing the material of the black teddy along my torso, and I patiently wait for him to kiss me again, to pull my body against his. He begins to pull down a strap from my shoulder, but I tell him to be patient, we were just getting started.

My love for him is like a spiral staircase in a mansion of white carpet and gold trim, very illuminating and enchanting, forever in dark coil, a ceaseless abyss. I’m entranced by his ways and his hold over me to where I begin drowning in the rush, twisted in the darkness he willingly consumes. My love for him never deters when he grasps and squeezes my chin, never ceases when pushed against the wall and thrown on the kitchen floor. My love only grows stronger, deeper, harder, and he notices with every woe he commits, the throes of passion I ensue.

We’re planning to go to a charity event, to raise money for children. My love adores helping those in need, especially when it benefits his company, negotiating with mostly business women who find him as charming and sinful as I do. We dress to impress the rich, the white mothers and fathers of men, only for my satin dress to be ripped from the zipper, and hung lazily on the bedpost. I wonder if he cares that he contributes to feeding dying children, or if he praises the amount of investors he’s able to persuade with me on his arm.

He rejects my flirtatious remark, and immediately grabs the back of my thighs and lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist and sets me on top of the counter by the sink. I distract him by moaning into his mouth when he kisses me, closing my eyes as touches the most delicate parts of my body. He kisses the spot between my shoulder and neck, and I remember when that used to send me over the edge. But when I found out it was something he would do to most of the women he takes to bed…

The shower curtain slowly slides open, and I open my eyes to see the dark haired woman step out of the bathtub with a knife in her hand, only wearing a satin pink slip. Here’s another woman he thought he could share his love to, another woman who he could abuse and control, to make her believe there was only me and her. He brought her to me during a summer night in July, a third to ensure our union has no boundaries.

I said my love for him grows deeper, stronger, harder, wiser…I have so much love for him, it’s overconsuming, for both me and her, we could bury him alive.

She walks slowly towards him as I hug him close, pressing his head against my skin so he couldn’t see, couldn’t notice the scene.

He once threw a glass cup at my head.

He once gripped a handful of her hair from behind.

She quickly jabs the knife in the midst of his back, piercing deep into his flesh with intention and rage. I hold him against me when she does it again to his side, and again and again…and again.

We have so much love for him.

We love him.

We do.

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