on the other side

My face hurt. One eye so swollen that I could barely see out of it. What was left beneath the aegis of bloated lid was tinged bloody and the ichor tainted tears that would ooze over the lash I kept smudging over my cheek in a weird dysfunctional courage scar. I've seen the plains people. They have multicolored scars on their cheeks. Like baboon butts.

Anyway. I wasn't the only one that got a taste of violence because if you think I just sat around and let them beat the shit out of me you're double dog dare wrong. They won't corner another spider any time soon. But this spider went to his corner to lick his wounds, or I should say .. his rings.

The stench of the springs was rich with people. I scaled the usual rock so I could perch and peruse. Heidi was there in her "look at me" red dress. A spinning satellite off that was frigid. I was pleased to see her. It had been days since I last had the pleasure of the angel's company. The duality of her nature just made her twice as good.

I was just dragging a bit of tissue from my ring when she approached. I gestured her to come up beside me. Sometimes when I am around frigid I want to be human so bad I can taste it. I want to even be Gorean .. god forbid. But the sensation and urge is new to me so I like it and thus wish to prolong it despite the masochistic tendency or because of it.

She had been beaten or whipped. She wore the marks and I could smell them on her. The surface marred and excited to bring the blood and fluid to damaged cells. But it was different on her. It made me angry. Or I think it should have made me angry. I am not sure which. It is hard for me to tell. But I wanted it to stop. That I found nearly as interesting as wanting to be Gorean. Masochism at it's finest.

She wanted to touch my face but was afraid to. I didn't mind and I took her fingers and pressed her cool skin to my own feverish flesh. It felt good to me. I put her hand on my knee so I could examine it. She smelled like stringent laundry detergent. I liked that. She was clean. I liked that also.

I touched one of her welts and I asked her what it felt like on the inside when she was beaten. Not on the outside. She told me, but I didn't exactly understand her. I think I upset her by asking but I actually did wish to know. Oddly enough it sounded to me like she hurt on the inside when she was beaten because of her own failure to be good enough. But why would she worry about whether or not she was good enough for a woman she did not even like? That's where I lost her. It just doesn't make sense to me how a spiteful woman who would beat a slave out of jealousy could command such respect and loyalty as to make the girl suffer simply by calling her a failure. I understand the hurt on the outside. I understand the physical pain suffered. But what I am struggling with is ... I think I must meet this Eliza person who has such a profound effect on my angel.

Tonight she said something that hurt me. I don't remember what it was. I just remember being suddenly very angry. Either I have some residue left from Mary Jane or perhaps my wish to be human for the angel is manifesting itself. I wish I could remember why I felt.

Tonight I am frustrated. I rage against the bars of my own inabilities to understand and connect. Tonight I prowl the fence like the Wall Road. Scratching, howling .. hungry. Around and around trying to find a weak link so I can get through.