Deer

by Heather Stai

          “In the land of Gods and monsters/I was an angel
           looking to get fucked hard.”
           --“Gods and Monsters”, Lana Del Rey
 
“Is this fun?” My aunt shouted as I wept. “Do you like how this feels?”
She reminds me again of the definition of insanity, and it’s clear she does not understand.
I was not expecting different results. I was waiting for the snap of the whip.
I was bracing myself for what he would do to me. Yes, I like that.
 
There’s such adventure in that kind of pain. The not knowing whether he will show up or call, how late he will be, calculating exactly how much we could drink before he wouldn’t be able to cum. Every-morning hangovers. Showing up to work and wincing as I pressed against my collarbone at my desk, deepening the marks he had left behind.
 
I had wanted the truth, once. I had wanted the normalcy and the title of His. I wanted to know where all his little demons were, so I could pick them out of his skin and seal up the wounds. He told me about every girl, every drink, and the girl from Florida that had made him this way. He didn’t ask for forgiveness, I just gave it to him. I didn’t trust him, I didn’t need to. We were lovers without trust, like surgery without anesthesia. I knew it would hurt. I wanted it to.
 
There was mystery in the not wanting to know what I was up against, what women he had touched since the last time we saw each other. I couldn’t ever tell if it was his cologne or someone’s perfume that had rubbed off on him, but it didn’t matter
because he always smelled good.
 
More than once, his friends called me other girl’s names. I loved that rush of sadness, the endorphins thickening when I ran my fingers through his damp hair as he vomited in the woods. He fell asleep in my lap that night, warm in front of the bonfire. “You’re an angel”, he mumbled in his sleep. In the land of Labatt light and half empty liquor bottles, I was no angel. But he was God, and I sang His name.
 
One morning, still sore from the night before, he pinned me down to the bed and I tried to fight him off, heart pounding from the thrill of it. No, no, no, it hurts but once he was inside, the pain was dull like a butter knife. I never told anyone about that.
 
Outside my apartment building, a family of deer sit on the side of the road watching cars as they pass. All the cars slow down and stare. Some try to see how close they can get before the fawn scatter back into the trees. They never run. They will stand in front of the car and blink thrice.
They are anticipating the snap of the whip.
They are bracing against the hood of the car, waiting for the smash.