In his bed I am queen, unobtainable me
Sexual being, human with feelings
The two are not me
The two will not be mine

And what can you do with a girl
If she refuses to be mine?

She lays there.

Lays there lays there lays there and hopes he doesn't tell her to enjoy it because then she'll have to.

She pretends to be the doll he wants her to be. She makes herself blank and featureless and emotionless inside and on the outside she smiles because he tells her to. She separates herself, the Jessica in her head and the one lying on the bed with him over her, crushing her.

She hopes one day he'll get tired of playing with her. But right now she is his favorite toy and god she almost hopes he breaks her soon, finds some flaw, something wrong that shatters her where he can't put the pieces back together.

When he is done (thank God it doesn't take him long this time,) he tells her to clean up.

"But stay in my sight," he says, and she knows he's learned from his previous mistake.

She curses inside her head. She does what he wants, her back to him, and then excuses herself to the restroom.

Maybe he'll fall asleep soon. There's not a chance in the world he'll let her leave again, not a chance he'll slip up.

Three months.

She's been doing this three months (though saying she's doing it implies she has a choice, and fuck that), and she has never hated herself more than she does right now.

God if she could cut her strings she would. But his grip on her is too tight, and she'd get tangled in the strings if she tried.

"Come back in here," he calls, and she splashes water on her face and heads back in the hotel room.

If she's fast, could she grab the bottle of wine, smash it over his head before he has a chance to tell her not to?

He's sprawled on the bed when she returns, shirtless, and she fantasizes about breaking the bottle of champagne and leaving a scar right between his ribcage.

She is not his. She isn't, she isn't, she isn't. She won't be.

But right now, with him still lying there, smirk on his face, with her throbbing foot reminding her of her mistake and her head clouded and her will almost, almost broken—

she forgets.