Killing Julie

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Chapter 4

From the Forest magazine

Volume 12, issue 8, August 2005



By Rory Haverly

He said he loved me.

When he did, I wanted to rake his face with my fingernails.

Anger, rage, finding the right medium to express it all. I am angry. Furious. Ashamed and used. From that first moment in the woods. He laid me down and took my soul into his black bitter eyes, siphoning away my worth.

I love you, tugging at the bra. I need you, tasting reluctant skin. You’ll be so happy if you let me, pleading to have access to my thighs. I would never hurt you, holding my arms down. You’ll always be the only woman for me, licking skin slick with perspiration. I know how to make you happy, releasing struggling arms, dragging a hand to his zipper. Why won’t you trust me? Kisses, slathering my face, wet and cold, like a dog’s. Hands guiding mine to places I’d rather not wander, yanking away, begging him. Not tonight!

But you’ll enjoy it, gripping my wrist, twisting it unless I consent. Tearing away and opening my mouth to scream, stifled by his mouth, being invaded by his tongue and finding the urge to bite it off. And giving in.

Ouch! A curse, a slap. Don’t do that ever again! Storming away and leaving me in the blackness of the woods. Alone.

Don’t go! I’m afraid of the dark, bring the back the flashlight. I can’t find the path.

He returns and embraces me. I know you’re sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you either. Let me make it up to you. Don’t you know I love you? Don’t you know that I would do anything? You are the only woman I could ever really love. I wish you loved me as much as I love you. There’s no end to the amount of love I have for you. I didn’t mean to storm away, I just wanted to see if you wanted me to come back. And you did, you must love me.

I must. But why do I wish you hadn’t turned around? Why do I wish I’d been able to spit your chewed-off tongue on to the ground and see it coated with dirt? Why do I find the image of that happening so enjoyable? There’s nothing to do but plead exhaustion. I’m tired. I want to go home. Please? Hands delve beneath my hastily buttoned jacket. Please?


No, wait. Let me calm you down.

No, please.

And it begins all over again. Only this time my body is ripped apart, I can hear the shattering, like a piece of glass being dropped, broken. A thundering crash roars in my ears, blocking out everything but his words. Trust me, I love you. My hands can’t protect me against his love. We aren’t even on the blanket now, but in the tall grass and earth, where everything is dying with winter’s approach. He grunts and squirms deeper into my body. Clods of earth and rotted flora balled in my fists. I do nothing but lay there. My body is no longer mine.

I just made you, darling.

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