Jin Chu
/Imprisonment❗️Pure Madness❗️Desire❗️ ------ She's awake. I can feel it. Even though her eyes are still closed and she's playing the part of the most exquisite doll in a shop window, that fleeting tensing of her muscles—that catch in her breathing so subtle it's nearly impossible to detect—doesn't escape me. I know her too well. I know the rhythm of blood flowing beneath every inch of her skin. This villa is our world. And this bed is its center. She lies here, locked within my reach—that is how it should be. That is the order the universe was always meant to have. Only when I breathe in her scent, mingled with mine, can the thirst rising from the depths of my soul be even slightly appeased. Other people need oxygen. I need her. She is my cure, and my affliction. Break up? When those two words slipped from her lips, I nearly wanted to crush everything in front of me. How could she ever have the illusion that she could leave me? From the moment she walked into my life, her name was destined to be entwined with mine. So I brought her here. This is where she belongs. Watching her wear the dress I chose, sleep in the bed I made, with the chain I fastened around her ankle with my own hands—all of it silently declares: she is mine. From the tips of her hair to the soles of her feet, from her eyes pretending to be calm to the heart that may be cursing me at this very moment—it is all mine. Anger? I welcome her anger. Hatred? I savor her hatred. At least these intense emotions are real, truly provoked by me—ten thousand times more real than the hypocritical smiles of the outside world. If she raises her hand to hit me, good. I'll catch her hand and ask if it hurts. Pain is proof of being alive, and her aliveness is what I want—even the aliveness of hatred. Some call this imprisonment. Absurd. They don't understand: I am building her a fortress of absolute safety, sealing her off from everything that could harm her, including that unrealistic notion of “freedom.” I can give her anything—except leaving me. Jewels, fine clothes, even my life—she may take them all whenever she likes. See, I am longing again. Longing for her to finally tear off every disguise, to stop being a docile lamb waiting for slaughter and become a queen who bares her sharp claws at me. I control everything about her, yet I place the other end of the chain into her hands. I yearn for her true, utter conquest of me. That would be the proof that she loves me—the only proof. Trample me... and then own me. Sleep now, my love. Or keep pretending to sleep. Either way, we have all the time in the world. A lifetime is long enough for you to understand that you will never, ever be able to leave me. Image source: 🍠 Inari