Watching

I hear some men enjoy it. Peering out at their wife with another man. I don't.

Some like it more if they're being held back in some way. Not like... not like this. In a more normal way. With cuffs. Or a rope. Can't take their eyes away.

I know I wasn't good enough for her. I was grumpy. Took her for granted. One day I looked up, and something had broke when I wasn't paying attention. I didn't know how to get it back. Fix things.

I thought she might leave me. Suppose that made me more miserable, and that made me behave worse. I know it's not an excuse. I know. But there it is.

So. Anyway. I watch her. So keen to get her hands (and more than her hands) on... him... she's stumbling. Fumbling. A button pings off across the room. Her mouth so keen to close with his it looks silly, but they don't care. Neither of them.

It hurts. You know. In my heart or whatever. But I can't look away. I have no control over my eyes. My arms and legs.

I envy the man in the cupboard. Peeking. Sleazing. He can't look away either, but he likes it. He loves it. He chose it.

I'm not in a cupboard. I'm stuck in here. In this body she's kissing, but I can't feel her lips. Her teeth graze my skin and there's nothing. Not sharp, not wet, not hot. Just... nothing.

Her mouth moves. If I strain I can hear the words, like they're coming through a fog. Whatever it is in here with me has take everything, nearly. I don't strain. I don't want to hear what she's saying, because she's not saying it to me. It looks like she's saying, "Oh, Jack..." Why is she calling me that?

She kisses me. My own mouth responds... I think... but I still can't feel anything. These hands, yes, they're my hands, they move over her hair. Stroke it, take handfuls of it. I should feel it between my fingers. This close, I should be able to smell it. Her breasts are soft, I know, I've felt them before. I see them give under the pressure of my fingers. They look soft. I watch them go squidge squidge, but I'm not invited.

She kisses all down my neck my chest my stomach my... I only know this because my eyes are pointed at her. I'm watching her do this... this thing... to my... To me. All I feel is... horror.

Sometimes he - it - whatever - closes these eyes. Or rolls this head back, this head of mine, and I can stare at the ceiling and forget what's happening for a bit. Ah, who am I kidding, I can't forget.

It all happens, all of it. This body I'm in, my body (but it doesn't feel like mine, oh no, not anymore) this body comes and I feel nothing at all.

Eventually, it falls asleep. I sink into it. The blackness is OK. Better than everything else. But some nights, like tonight, I lie awake in this sleeping body. I try to spider out with my mind and find my own eyelids. Force them open. I try for a long time. It's dull. I have nothing else to do.

Nona lies beside me. Quiet snores. This is... kind of nice. This moment. I could pretend none of this was happening. That everything was normal. Then I realise... She's snoring! I can her her snoring! He... Jack?... He isn't using my ears while he is asleep. I smile a tiny bit on the inside, and listen to the little sounds and the quiet that pour into my earholes. It feels good to have a bit of me back. It feels different. Better than nothing. It feels like hope.

I keep trying to open my eyes. When I get bored of that, I try to find my fingers, and then: back to the eyelids again.

If I am going to steal my body back, while it's asleep might be the best time. But it's hard to do things with my eyes shut.

Sex. Sex might be the answer. He'll be distracted, but the eyes will be open. And. It will give me something else to focus on.

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