Burn Down The Mission (Statement)

"You are the sort of girl everyone wants to keep as their dirty. little. secret."

The sentence seeped from his mouth like a foul odor. It came out slow and with an an intent that shot like a dagger straight to my soul. His moustache was severe but somehow these words and their meanings passed effortlessly through and passed it.

The shrill, harsh, change in this interaction left my legs with the need to adjust themselves against the weight. I felt the all too familiar burn at the back of my eyes. The past few days had been filled beyond their brim with weeping. I wasn't about to do it again. I would not give him a single tear. He didn't deserve it. Either had the others, but I felt like I still commanded control over at least this one tear that was threatening to let out so many others. My entire idea of him had just changed. I was unable to speak in fear of letting that tear through. He sensed that I was struggling and kept on.

" You don't make sense as annnyyyyything else. You are too damn smart and too damn stubborn. And you really like that about yourself. There's not room for anything else."

Of all the people who would have an actual right to say this to me I was standing in disbelief that the one actually saying it was him. His face was morphing into all the others who had not had the guts to say this but had left the idea in their wake. He kept on, vilely.

"I woulda fucked the shit out of you, though."

My stomach turned and my mind was spinning. I was having trouble figuring how we even got here! This evening started off so well. It was supposed to be my break from these feelings. Why had they followed me here?! They seemed to perch as a sniper a top the head of every friendship. Who would be next.

I had fallen tangibly silent, and I knew he was drawing conclusion in it. I didn't know how to tell him how wrong he was about everything and how angry I was and how hurt and how disgusted. His face was still cycling through all of the others and I couldn't draw the line between him and them even though there were nearly no similarities. He just got lucky with hitting a soft spot. Why had he even been looking for one?

My lips parted to speak but i barely had breath enough to whisper. The phone rang and he answered it. He looked me in the eye and motioned for me to be quiet. As if I was able to make any utterance at all. I knew who he was talking to, but used the time to try and pull myself together enough to salvage at least my ego from him. He stayed on the phone longer than i could stand. I walked out of the room, down the stairs, through the cold kitchen with its harsh light, and out the back door. Like I had something to hide.