Part 1

as if walking into a mirror – startled like seeing your own reflection when you haven’t prepared yourself.
a flash of a smile as if he was waiting at the gates, as if he knew i would come, as if crossing the framed exit was walking into a mirror.. or just the harpo scene.

he said he was vert but then denied it immediately. he said we should step-off together.
he took off his shirt (the same black sun etched over his spine, twice the size as here). his bone structure was rigid and invading his muscle fibre.. soon he would not move. until then he rolled and bounced off walls without the slightest flinch.
he opened the bottle with an eyesocket, then poured. i took off my tee and he laughed at my black dot and the malleablity of my flesh. he prodded and scrapped until I was raw and bleeding. he laughed at my yelps and pulled my hair to hear it again.

i am now naked and bleeding, alcohol invading my wounds from his spit. again rudely overturned again the fizz sting, contracting from his tongue and boney fingers. and now the world is closing in, his hands around my throat are closing it, there is hardly any light left the only visible sight is the mirror infront of us.. i look into his eyes.. i cum. Blackness.

awake and the sun has gone and he is in me once more, this time gentle like waves, the breathing of a sleeper. we are in a different room. bare except for the mattress i lay on and that bowl in the corner.
i am shackled by a necklace to the wall.
it is not him. this is heavy, fat and hairy with fat and hairy searching fingers. non-vert squats in a corner commenting in a language i don’t understand. the shackle is a pulley system.
i am hoisted to stand naked on tiptoes. a hose comes through the shoebox sized window. i am washed down. i look at the run-off, it is the colour of piss and full with bloodclots and jellyfish.

i am left. my toes begin to ache. the strain on my neck is great. the light from the window goes out. cold dark. ache out.

i wake. i am in a hospital bed. i am not in a hospital. the walls are mirrors. repeated i disappear into the distance, smaller smaller still. bandages on arms and a cast on one leg, an ominous stitched scar down my left flank. out.

i wake. i am in a hotel reception lobby. i am not in a hotel. the view is a trompe l'oeil. again a mirror. blood red lipstick tied to a swivel chair. the cast has gone and i am dressed in rags. the desk bell rings and rings again.. it rings every minute.. it rings 127 times before someone enters, it is anti-vert. smiling he cuts me free and kisses me for 2 rings. i breath as he tells me that i am home.. that i will never need again. i am set. i do not smile he slaps me so i smile. i am led to a new room that we will share. there is a large chest. you are mine i will help you to live.