A Twenty-Thousand Dollar Tale

I remember a time not so long ago, or maybe it was… sorry my memory has faded over the years, but I remember a time when I was wanted by all. I mean, let me tell you, I was the topic of discussion everywhere! All the popular crowds raved about me, and all the undesirables tried their damndest to shut me up. Maybe it was because I was so blunt, so…exciting, so full of promise, and Lord I had been known in my day to fulfill those dark submissive promises, sometimes within a minute and others within a day or two.

Well, that’s what my lady had said… she was a beautifully gifted young lady and I fell in love with her and she with me for a couple of years or so. Just me and her. She whispered so many delicious and private secrets to me, that to even think about not telling others about them seemed like a waste. Her hands were delicate and gentle, and she would run her finger along my spine every single time we began our conversations. She truly loved me as only a passionate and beautiful woman could. And her eyes… if you could’ve looked into her eyes as long as I did. Hours I tell you! We stared at each other as she touched me, laughed with me, licked her lips in feverish anticipation and shuddered with pleasure, sometimes smirking beautifully after we finished… there was a few times, which I do not regret that I brought out, other powerful reflections full of sorrow and epiphanies. She would hold me close; her tears would gently stream down my back as I felt the thud of her heart against me. The vibrations of her insecurities and the secret of her inner strength shook me to my very core. Those times were actually some of my favorites. I touched her soul and when we would depart for a time, I knew, oh yes, honey I knew, I was on her mind. There were other times she was so angry with me that she abused me! Bent me to her will, she screamed so many insults and was quite volatile! I think, the anger was truly at herself and I quietly listened in awe at every step that led up to her feverish and emotional outburst that left many permanent stains in my soul, but she always came back, gripping me tightly, forcing me to stare into her beautiful pain -filled eyes, full of life, full of lessons, full of mischief, full of hope. This girl had been through a lot. She was the Beautifully Broken, and the people she would tell me about, I believe for the most part, were too. She was a wise young lady and I learned so much from her. At the time that I promised not to tell a soul, I knew I was going to be with her forever. I was her everything, her beginning, her end, and every chapter in-between. That’s what true love is? Right? I mean I understood her like no one else did. Sometimes I wondered though why she trusted me with all her secrets. I felt that she, through everything she was she could really make an impact on people if she would just share her life with them, I mean of course, not all would agree, and My oh my… the scandal and destruction it would cause for others, but other levels, some souls would most definitely identify and finally heal, finally not feel alone.

Alas, all good things MUST come to an end.

The last month that we were together was one of the most painful, but even that had its precious value to me. She always kept me very close, was always forcefully jostling me around from place to place, slamming me to the ground with teeth jarring force and then lifting me to her again as if I was the only reason she breathed. Our conversations were becoming shorter and her touch unsure and halting, she was so much angrier with herself and apparently one of her many lovers she had a tendency to bring up regularly when we were together. I remember a few times where she would shove me in her closet, right in the middle of our discussion… her breathing would shift with panic, and I could do nothing but remain silent and support her in secrecy. For if I spilled all her secrets, I honestly knew her life would come to an end. Our last day together she kissed me. Tears streaming down her face, so many tears that even my face wrinkled and began to sag under the moisture.

You see… I am allergic to water; it causes me to break out and my skin to become fragile, even tear. It makes it hard for me to speak and I’ve known others with my condition to die horrible deaths.

But I took the pain, because I loved her, and I felt pure euphoria just from the knowledge that she needed me.

Then there came the spine stiffening commotion and I knew not what was going on. First screams of distress and unbridled anger,then all of a sudden my back slammed against the wall, my body was sprayed with warm, dark, staining redness from front to back, and I almost drowned in it. She grasped at me with her own blood-soaked hands, but he yanked me away from her, leaving streaks of her blood across my face. I managed to gain one last agonizing look at her as he held me against him, towering over her, his chest heaved with the exertion of a mad man that had embraced his darkest of emotions. Her labored breathing and desperate pleas turned to still and quiet.

I guess that was, goodbye.

Her lover and now, murderer, hated me and held me captive. He abused me over and over again, my spine screamed from the pressure and torment. I told him everything! I couldn’t help it. Every last detail! I talked, and I cried, and I laughed, and I giggled, and roared and sometimes my words came out blurred and indecipherable. But I vomited my Ladies secrets, over and over again. I know some would say I was a betrayer, but in some ways, it felt good to tell.

Her lover was a violent man, but he was addicted to me almost in the same way that my Lady once was. I saw the uncurable hunger in his eyes every time he looked at me. And yes, he too would stare at me for hours in complete silence. Over the years he would have me tell her tales over and over and over, then he would slam me in the corner, and I would hear him sob in the distance. He too would soak me with his grief and hold me close while ending his passions as I whispered without hesitation, her most erotic confessions to him. Our last day together, I thought I was going to die! I was blindfolded and jostled around blindly and violently in utter darkness, but then, I felt it! The progressing intensity of pain, searing me, burning me! I screamed silently for what seemed like forever! But it was only seconds. My savior smacked my face repeatedly and viciously, but it made the burning feeling subside. Till this day my scars remind others of my abuse and causes them to value me more when in their presence. I was placed gently in a cool room, where the air became stagnant with the scent of only myself whereas I remained for years. I was at peace but lonely. Every once in a while, another person would gently caress me with love and fascination resonating from every part of their face, as I told my story/her story, to them. I would see the grief and the joy, just as I had with her and sometimes the familiar look of greed and lust, I had saw in her lover’s eyes.

One day, I was gently escorted out of my quiet cell and many people came to visit me through a small glass prison I had been placed in. I was not allowed to personally tell my tale or interact intimately; but made to lay quiet and still. My captive, who I had saw peer and check in on me many times before, who had always had kind words to say and always spoke as if I was a fragile infant in need of care and solace, began to tell my tale loudly and monotone without an inkling of the passion my lady’s hand had carried. He mentioned the name of my lady quite a bit, but to me, never enough, after all these years.

A man at a podium called many numbers that day and many people parroted those numbers back in turn. I heard a loud thunderous clap of wood to wood and a firm voice yell; Sold at the sum of twenty thousand dollars!! My captive handed me gently to You and thanked You with vigor and excitement expressing his astonishment of his recent accruement of twenty thousand dollars. And as You gave him a piece of paper way thinner than any of my battle scarred, well loved, blood stained and slightly charred pages; I heard You say to him; you know… this little black book is worth way more than any dollar amount. It belonged to my great-great grandmother. It was then that I realized, to a stranger, I was worth only a twenty-thousand-dollar check, but to You I was worth the debt I put You in, willingly. To me though, I finally get to gaze into the eyes of my lady once again, every time You look at me.

The end.

Written by THE AWESOME Connie Phillips