YBFJ

CHAPTER: The First Time He Made Me Bleed

It started over cigarettes.
It always does.
Something stupid. Something small.
I lit the last one,
and he grabbed it from my lips
like it belonged to him.

⸻

I said,
“Try that again and I’ll snap your wrist in half.”

He said,
“You think I won’t make you beg for me by dawn.”

I stood up.
He stayed sitting.
Of course he did.
He liked me taller than him.
He liked me angry.

⸻

“You act like you’re mine,” I hissed.
“You act like I’m supposed to care what you think.”

He smiled like a wound.
“No, you act like you don’t care,
but you keep putting my number in your mouth
like it’s a communion wafer.”

⸻

I threw the glass.
Of water.
(Or maybe it was vodka. Who remembers?)
It hit the altar.
The bones spilled.

And Roberto,
Roberto fucking laughed.

⸻

“You think I care about your dead friends, vampire?”
“You think I believe in that altar shit?”
He kicked over the black candles.
Ash everywhere.
All over his boots, his chest, his voice.

⸻

I lunged at him.
I don’t even remember moving.
Just hands.
Just hair.
Just breathing in sync with pain.

I bit him.
I drew blood.

⸻

He shoved me off.
Stood up, shirtless, red dripping down his collarbone.
“Fuck you,” he said.
“Yeah,” I spat back,
“That’s the plan.”

⸻

Then silence.
That kind of silence that burns the inside of your ears.
That kind of silence where neither of us
was sure if this was still love
or just possession.

⸻

Finally, Roberto said,
“You think I’m just a hole, huh?”
And I whispered,
“Yeah, but you’re my hole.”

He should’ve hit me.
I wouldn’t have blamed him.

⸻

Instead, he sat back down,
lit another cigarette
with trembling hands,
and said,
“I hate how much I want you to mean it.”

⸻

I didn’t apologize.
He didn’t leave.
We fucked again that night—
not for pleasure,
but for war.
For ownership.
For the myth of belonging.

⸻

In the morning,
he was gone.
My lip was split.
My chest scratched.
My sheets soaked with sweat and apology.

⸻

I told myself it was the last time.
But vampires always lie.
NEW YEAR’S EVE IN DEFIANCE, OHIO

It was New Year’s Eve.
I was nineteen.
I lived in Defiance, Ohio.

I think I had just graduated.
I believe I was on Molly, Percocets, LSD,
marijuana, alcohol, definitely Xanax.
Did I say opiates?
If I didn’t—add cocaine.
Yes.
Sorry.
Alcohol.

⸻

There was this man—
older than me.
Not Roberto.
No.
We’ll call him Diego,
for lack of a better word.

His heir—
was sick with violence.

He was a boxer.
Defiance, Ohio.
He boxed on the weekends
or maybe once a month.

He came over
only to get fucked up.
Just like everyone else.
In my life.
Just like everyone else.

⸻

I was
this vampire
of a queen,
of a king,
of a whore.

I spent my days
cleaning up after yesterday’s party.

⸻

Everyone else had left.
Gone to work.
Gone to do normal things.

I stayed.
And I cleaned.

I cleaned piss.
Condoms.
Drugs done in my mother’s bedroom.
Drugs done in the bathroom.
Drugs done on my head.
Drugs I did.
Drugs I didn’t do.
Drugs the dogs might’ve done.

And I cleaned it all up.
I was only sixteen when it started.
There were no children.
We were the children.

⸻

The other day—
the other other day—
I went to a bar after my grandfather died.
Two weeks ago.

Stefanos.
In Defiance.

It was Hula Night.
Hawaiian Night.
On the same day my grandfather was passing.

I thought it was Saturday.
No one corrected me.
Or maybe they did
and I didn’t hear them.

⸻

I kept rambling.
About how it was Saturday.
Even when I woke up the next day,
I said:
Okay, well, it’s Sunday.
It’s time for rest.

⸻

Hungover.
Chest pressed to the floor.
Cat hair clinging to my ribs.
I whispered,
Fuck me.

I have to go to Dallas.
For a meeting.
For a business trip.

And all I can think about is
Diego.
And his big, long dick.

⸻

You want the truth?

I’ve learned to let go.

And I let it go.
And I’ve let it go.

⸻

My head pounds from letting go.

It’s a hard thing to do.
But I do it.
I demand it.
I demand freedom now.

⸻

I am free.
I am that.
I am.

I am enough.