Shattered and Shed

You look in the mirror, and you are disgusted to see it's me who's looking back. You cannot hide it. It hurts. But it won't be long.

You watch my face contort with pain as I pull another tooth out. Strings of bloody saliva stick to my fingers as I place it on top of the pile. Roots up. Ruby leaking slowly down the white pyramid. So pretty. Enjoy it now before it turns brown.

Your tongue caresses the throbbing gum languidly, tasting salt and iron from the leaking gap.

Do you remember the first tooth I lost?

I bit into a Twinkie, and there it was. Shattered and shed. Discarded.

"You have to quit drinking," he said, voice broken without even looking me in the eye. But then he left anyway. Why did I bother?

With shaking hands, I grab hold of another tooth. Smooth. Warm. I push, and it gives. It was waiting for me. Rocking back and forth, its roots scratch inside my jaw; they tickle my nerves, an electric current climbing inside my bones and into my brain. Then it cracks and pops.

Oh, that pop! Sublime. Like bubble wrap on Christmas morning. Far more entertaining than the gift.

The dislocated tooth breaks free of its gummy prison and is released into my hand with a gushing stream of scarlet fluids. Another hole for your tongue to explore.

"Almost done, my love," I whisper to the mirror, my breath bouncing into your mouth.

Sometimes I wonder which one of us is real and which is trapped in a perverted version of the world behind the glass. And if I smashed it now, would we be finally together?

I watch the green spark shine inside your eyes as I pull the last tooth out. Blood pools down my chin and into my bra. I look down. There's enough for somebody to take a body shot. I wish you could.

I look further down, to the bandages on my stomach.

"Happy birthday to me!" You sing as I start pulling them aside. Steadily unwrapping the fresh wounds. A present just for us to share. I grab the stitches one by one and pull. It's just like that corset you used to wear on special occasions. You looked so hot, and I never told you. I was blind and took you for granted. I'm sorry.

The skin stretches, unable to let go of the stitches, and then it rips. Flakes of pink and crimson follow the blue thread. Drops of blood are the pearls on this choker.

"Pretty!" I try it around your neck. A bit too formal, maybe. Not today. I put it aside and get back to my exposed tummy.

I sink my fingers in the opening, stretching the folds of skin, gently pulling them aside, until raw flesh meets my touch. I push further, deep into the fatty layer. It feels slippery, greasy, yet parts so easily. Like that's all it ever wanted. I find the muscles and can finally scratch.

Suicide watch. They put me on suicide watch for trying to scratch my belly.

Assholes! Ever heard about bodily autonomy?

You smile. You have such a beautiful smile. I'm so lucky you like my sense of humor.

Subtle snoring reaches us from the living room: Ethan. He loves me too much to leave me alone today. Came to pick me up from the psych ward, bought dinner and everything. He just doesn't love me "like that" anymore.

Can you really stop loving someone "like that"? Can you really go from "I want to eat you up, so we can be together forever" to "I think it's best if we stay friends"? I don't think so. I think he smelled you and got scared. Poor, silly Ethan.

Oh, my Ethan! He's such a deep sleeper.

Like, what's the point of him staying the night? Would he even wake up if I killed myself?

You flinch.

No, don't worry, my love. I would never do this to you.

You smile. Not my new gummy smile. You have your teeth. So pretty. So sharp.

I finger-comb through the adipose tissue between my muscles and skin. It's surprisingly fragile, like dipping my hand in overnight porridge. And it smells so... appetizing. You lick your new teeth. My turn to smile.

There is a point where pain becomes too much, and people should pass out from shock. Should. But if you don't, that pain turns into pleasure. Brains are fun like that.

I push my other hand into the wound too, and grab the skin flaps tight. It tries to resist me. It tries to hang on. I pull as the broken fat cells spill and leak onto the floor; a yellow and crimson work of art. Should be hung in a fancy museum, not wasted on my bathroom's tiles.

Torn slabs of skin follow; a canvas I never had the chance to paint.

Remember when I tried to get a tattoo and chickened out? You were shaking with anticipation, and I let you down.

Warm, thick blood runs down my legs. An interesting contrast with the cold tiles I'm standing on.

Legs. You don't need legs.

I look down. These foreign objects, attached to my properly naked abdomen. I used to fancy them because of their sheer strength. Not long, not pretty, but sturdy and reliable. And stretchy too.

I wonder if I can still do the splits.

I put a foot on the edge of the bathtub and pull myself down with all the strength I can muster. The joint cracks at the hip.

Not tall enough.

A little more... the washing machine!

One foot above the machine, one foot on the bathtub, I pull myself down. The secret to great splits is to practice them in suspension. No ground to stop your hip motion.

Now, I can pull myself further and further down. Grab the bottom of the tub for leverage. The hip creaks and cracks as I drag the rest of my body towards the floor. Then, finally, the most satisfying pop. Followed by an awkward tear. Kind of like when I ripped my jeans squatting down, but with a certain wetness to it.

The legs dislocate, and I fall all the way down. They follow suit, thudding on the floor next to me. I grab the ankles and pull the feet above my head. The torn skin rips further up and lets go.

Like removing a shirt too tight at the end of a long day, your skin feels the relief of the missing pressure. You can finally breathe.

We're done.

We follow Ethan's warmth to the living room. He's so handsome under the moonlight; my stomach tightens. All that love I remember, all that love he took away.

His feet stick out of the short blanket. I could never sleep with my feet out... and it will never happen again, because I left them in the other room.

Your tongue darts around his toes before you give them a tiny nibble. Your pretty teeth leave their pointy marks.

"Babe, what...?" He giggles in his sleep. I used to love tickling his feet. I open wide and suck on a few toes. Startled, he's awake. A silent scream forever stuck on his lovely face. Your toxins preserving this moment for us. His eyes move down, imploring, praying.

I open wider and my jaw cracks. Its bones breaking under the weight of Ethan's legs. I will not stop. I cannot stop loving him.

I gasp and swallow harder. My mouth stretched in a mind-shattering tension. The skin on my face pops and tears, revealing more of you. We're finally together.

And Ethan too.

Oh, Ethan. This might not be forever, but you will live inside me for a long time.