it seems like every guy wants to dance with serval. all those she meets and spends some time talking to, anyhow. but she rarely wants to dance with anyone. she has reasons. i gave them to her.
dance guys: out of control (she wants revenge)
it's not my favourite song. not at all. neither are the others below. i played them all to serval. first she said she liked them for not having sheep in them. but then she got my message.
my heart: decades (joy division)
don't disregard these songs, ye young men speaking to serval, hoping to know her more than as yet another avatar dancing in a club, sometimes saying the stupidest things. the same goes for you that may wish to form bonds with her. you'd be fools disregarding. you'd be labouring in vain.
my lust: wild is the wind (david bowie version)
i didn't have birthday parties for my 14th and 15th birthdays. i had sex. i don't know if he thought it an appropriate way to celebrate. maybe he just wanted to remind me who was in charge. as if i'd forget. for the 14th, i had anal sex. i hadn't expected him to come for me that day, so i hadn't prepared. he was never careful. it hurt. but there was no knife, so i wasn't that scared. it just hurt.
the first knife was the third time of them all. for numbers one and two, he had come to me sweet and gentle, although determined, giving me no choice. he said i was a grown-up now, and that he loved me. but next time, the third, after i had told him it must stop, he changed. there were no more words of love. there was the knife instead. there was duct tape, and a stick. when he left me afterwards, i sat on the concrete floor of his barn in nothing but a pool of tears, blood, sweat, sperm and some kind of engine oil that he had used for a lubricant.
he broke me in one swift move. i had no means for defending myself from something like that. his threats on me, and on what he'd do to my little brother should i ever tell, did the rest. he had me. he was 35 something, and a lot bigger than me. i was 13.
he came for me for two years. apart from being rough, careless, he didn't really hurt me much. he slapped me at times, and once cut me. it could probably have been a lot worse. but he did endless damage to my heart. life leaked until i was a living dead, spending all time dreading for him to come, and suffering when he did. i tried to kill myself, i failed, and he kept coming.
and then it just ended, after things had gone way out of hand one night. i was sent to hospital. he was soon searched for by the law.
it wasn't over, though. not for me. returning from the living dead is a long journey, even with professionals helping. so is fighting guilt, self-reproach, self-disgust, and self-a lot of things. i got wrapped up in weird behaviour that i later learnt was an obsessive-compulsive disorder. and even though the bad man was behind bars, all the other men were still out there, and i feared them.
the past has affected my every relationship so far. and through me it follows serval into next life.
i'm not strong. oh, in a way I am, gritting my teeth, fighting scars from bad days every day, and for ever on vigil, to ensure i and my family are left alone, if necessary by doing things i'm scared to do, but they have to be done or i won't be free.
but i'm frail inside. my mood dies from just little things. i cry in bed sometimes, over things happened, over time lost, over what i couldn't do, over what i'll never have. i'm sometimes utterly lonely, which i shouldn't be, don't deserve to be.
the border between my real life and the next one is not much of a border, not to me. one will affect the other. they become part of the same.
please don't play with me lightheartedly, ye young men. if you don't get my point with those songs, then, well, don't ask serval to dance. if you do get it, then you know where we are. it's off my chest. you know what it takes.
mia"
