All is forgiven
I’m on my stomach in a hospital bed. The door opens and medical students come in. The consultant explains my condition in glorious gory detail while they get a good look.
This has become my lot; to be paraded as a medical curiosity, like a circus freak of old. Several of them suppress giggles. I don’t really blame them. I blame myself, I knew I would eventually end up here after I met her.
She was intoxicating! From the moment we first met I was hooked. I met her in a commune that I used to deal with. She was really into her new-age stuff, a bit of a freak for it.
I convinced her to leave and move in with me. She was a real freak in the sack. the things she would do would drive me wild. It was these wild nights that kept me enamoured with her.
I failed to realise she was still in the commune in spirit. She was a freak for the the wacky ‘bacy. I ignored it. I was hooked.
I don’t smoke it myself, except for the odd toke. If you use it a lot it can effect you. She began to act odd, even for her.
Most of the time I went with it; a lot can be forgiven for a freak like her, except for once. That was
when I noticed that one of the stamps in my collection, a prized freak, had gone. I accused her of stealing. The reality was a bit more prosaic; she’d gotten a little confused and tried to post it. It was recovered and all was well. Or so I thought.
She’s not one to forgive. The next night’s bondage session turned decidedly unpleasant. The consultant has told me he’s never seen an injury like mine before, he wants to write a paper.
She visits daily, says that she is very sorry. I try and resist but I know I’ll forgive her.
Just as soon as I heal.
Written for Trifecta Week eighty