Sex and Sorrow

We rejected the system. We each set our own rules and followed them like our lives depended on it, because they did.

We were like soil and rain. Together, we created something beautiful.

On the night I first met her, she said to me as we left the club, “Don't even think about holding that door open for me. I'm nobody's princess.”

“That's good,” I replied, “because I'm nobody's knight.”

She'd danced like a wicked fairy seducing her prey, with those golden curls bobbing around her curves playfully. She exuded a feminine prowess lacking in anyone I'd ever met; she owned the night. I flirted with her, she flirted back; so, willingly, we left together. It was only supposed to be a little fling.

She made love like a tiger, that night and every night thereafter. In the morning, we would talk about philosophy, politics, music, and breakfast. I don't remember whose idea it was to live together, but neither of us wanted to abandon our pad to go live with the other. We both viewed it as an act of submission. Instead, we left our previous homes and found a new place together.

It was a cozy studio in the heart of the city, with brick walls and industrial pipes across the ceiling. Occasionally, we'd hear street musicians off in the distance. Long past midnight, crowds of people in their twenties buzzed in the streets as if it were the middle of the day. Many of them adorned themselves in styles that would've made Lady Gaga look like a conservative schoolgirl. We often mingled with those crowds.

Our new lifestyle forced us to look into stable sources of income, but neither of us wanted to look for a corporate job. We refused to play that game.

“Let's start our own business,” I said. We were standing in the shower, with Clan of Xymox blaring on the old record player in the main room. “What's something we both like?”

“Music?” she suggested.

I paused to think about it for a moment, and then said, “Nah. Neither of us plays an instrument.”

“You could be a DJ or something.” She was massaging my black hair with shampoo.

“Maybe. I'd rather be on the dance floor. Wouldn't you?”

“Yeah...” She trailed off in thought. “What if we started a new Insta together? Wanna be an influencer?”

“Nah, that's your thing. I'm not interested in dealing with sponsors and shit.”

“It's not that hard, you know.” She played with the streams of water trickling down my chest as I rinsed my hair.

When I finished, I spoke again. “I'd like to run a shop, but there are enough music stores in this neighborhood. We wouldn't stand out. What's something else we both like?”

“Sex?”

I laughed, mildly intrigued. “A sex shop?”

She grabbed my shoulders in excitement and looked into my eyes. Barefoot, we were nearly the same height. “Oh my Goddess, that would be so awesome! Let's do that!”

It was decided. After a period of discussion and planning, we opened up a small shop full of fetish gear and adult toys. That was our baby; we took pride in her, and kept her as clean and attractive as we kept our own bodies. Our first customers were our friends from the night scene, and we met a ton of other great people and unusual characters soon after. As our clientele grew, we were able to expand our inventory and make back what we'd spent on getting the project started. Those were the days.

We lived this way for a long time, together yet independent. The only vows we ever made were vows to never get married. We both decided we'd never belong to anyone other than ourselves.

But that right there was part of the problem.

For not wanting to be anybody's princess, she sure as hell acted like one. She felt entitled to everything.

“I earned that money with my own two hands! You can't tell me how to spend my money!”

“It's my money, too. You can't just go around replacing your wardrobe every time you get sick of it. There are these things called bills.”

“I'm not replacing my whole fucking wardrobe, it's just one outfit!”

“It's overpriced!”

“Your shit costs just as much as mine!”

“It's rare vinyl! That's completely different!”

Three nights later, she was wearing that outfit. I told her not to buy it, and she did anyway. I told myself to just deal with it, that this was the quality in her that I had found so attractive to begin with. Besides, I wouldn't have made a compromise with her, either, if I'd wanted an imported album or my own new clothes.

Our finances were beginning to suffer, though, even with the relative success of our business. When one of us got something for ourselves, the other one had to get something too, and I was beginning to feel cramped and restricted with this shortage of resources. It wasn't just happening in the realm of money.

“Who was that bitch you had here last night?”

“I've been fucking other chicks for ages. You finally getting jealous?”

“You can't bring them here!”

“Why? Pissed off because you still haven't lured any meat back to your den? I beat you. Get over it.”

“Shut up! You don't know who I've been with when I'm not with you! I go to their beds!”

“Then we're even. Calm your tits. It's my home, and I can do whatever I want here.”

“No you can't! This is my turf!”

“Well pardon me, Your Highness. Does the royal fucking court need your permission to-”

Slap.

That was the first time she hit me, but it wasn't the last.

She got increasingly violent whenever things didn't go her way, but I refused to either cower or fight back. I just stood there, blocking her swings with my arms if I could, and sometimes grabbing her wrists when I'd had enough. I wasn't going to stoop to that level of emotional instability.

One day, blinded by rage, I pinned her to the wall. “Will you quit it?” I shouted. “Someday, I'll hit you back. You'd better watch it.”

That day came. She was pummeling me so feverishly that my field of vision was a blur of blonde hair, painted nails, and the thing in her hand. Each blow stung, and then I felt a ripping sensation in one of my earrings. I let go of the restraint. I kept my word. I backhanded her.

She tripped on her stiletto heels and fell backwards between the chairs at the table, making a commotion the entire way down. What happened? I didn't think I'd hit her that hard. She laid partially under the table with a mass of tangled hair covering her face, and I froze, waiting for some kind of response. I saw her torso begin to heave with silent sobs.

“I told you,” I warned her. “I told you if you kept treating me like shit, I'd hit you back.” As the rage left my body, I felt my cheeks cool. She said nothing, but I heard her gasp for air between sobs. “I had to defend myself,” I continued as she lay there like a pathetic heap. I felt something wet on my chin. It was a tear. My cheeks felt cool because I was crying.

I clenched my jaw. It pained me to see this tiger, this free spirit, slumped on the ground like a battered waif, so I stepped forward and gingerly put a hand on her shoulder. “Get up,” I murmured. After a short pause, a clawed hand shot up toward my face while she simultaneously screeched like a harpy. I dodged it and moved back a safe distance, still crouching.

“Luc, you asshole!” She looked up at me like she wanted to kill me. I'd never seen her face so red, twisted, and wet before. “How could you do that to a woman?!”

“I told you,” I repeated, but I couldn't finish the rest of my sentence. This thing had just happened and there was no going back. I could feel it in the air, an electric animosity that prickled my skin.

“Why do I even bother with you,” she said as she climbed up to her feet. “You piece of shit!” I stood up. I still couldn't open my mouth, and just watched her get up and rub her injuries. She looked me straight in the eyes, indignation shooting like spears through my skull. I was gazing into the eyes of someone exactly like me.

I knew what I wanted to say, but I'm ashamed to admit I'd been too afraid to say it. I trusted my gut and let it out anyway.

“Go.”

I gestured toward the door. She said nothing, but looked at me like I was crazy. “I mean it. If you don't want to bother with me, then follow through with your words. Get out of here.”

“You're just pissed off,” she spat.

“No, I'm not,” I said calmly. “I want you gone. Now.”

Almost instantly, a look of terror swept over her face where rage had been only a second before. “But...don't you love me anymore?”

I paused to think about my answer. “Yes,” I admitted. “But I'm not gonna put up with this shit anymore. It's over, Lil. We used to bring out the best in each other, but we've turned ugly. We're both too selfish for a long-term relationship.”

“You're just confused,” she said, raising her voice. “You son of a bitch! You don't know what you're talking about! This is my home, too! Why don't you leave?!”

“Because it's under my name on the lease. I changed it when I renewed it.”

“What?!” she screeched. “You did that on purpose!”

It was just an empty accusation, but actually, she was right. I had done it "on purpose," to protect myself, just in case. Just in case something like this ever happened.

“What about the shop, then? If you get the apartment, then I get the fucking shop!”

I rubbed my forehead, feeling depleted of energy. “Fine. Whatever. Just go!”

I expected her to walk toward the door, but she walked up to me instead. I watched her like a hawk and braced myself for what seemed inevitable. Instead of raising a fist, though, she planted her lips onto mine, and drew me into a passionate kiss. Primal instinct kicked in and my tongue swirled around hers despite my better judgment. Her taste evoked memories of those blissful nights we'd spent fucking each other senseless and then baring our souls to one another the next morning. It was a bittersweet moment.

As our lips parted, she looked at me with those assertive eyes and said, “You won't forget me.” Then she spun on her heels and walked out the door, making sure to slam it shut with all her strength.

She'd always known exactly how to twist the knife.