Page 113 of Isolation
I. Have. Lost. It.
I fling myself at Milo. I use the same right hand to land another punch.
“Raven, stop,” Milo moves to avoid my assaults. “You are going to hurt yourself.”
I don’t even notice the pain on my fist as pure adrenaline takes over. Milo closes his eyes as if resisting his urge to roll them.
“Baby, you have barely recovered as it is,” he tries again to make me see reason.
I pretend not to hear him and land punch after punch on his face, neck, and shoulders.
“Shhhh,” Milo soothes and grabs both of my arms with ease, trying to calm down my hysteria. “Stop, baby. You’re going to fracture all of your fingers if you don’t.”
I use my left foot to stomp on his right foot with all my might.
Milo is so shocked by my insane array of attacks that he lets go of my arms.
I stumble forward, then I turn to face him.
“It sucks, doesn’t it, Milo?” I yell. “When you ask someone to stop, and they don’t stop.”
Milo is standing a safe distance away, but I can see his stunned expression.
“Is that what this is about? Do you want to hurt me? Is that what will make you feel better right now?”
No. I don’t want him to agree to this. I want him to suffer the way I did, against his will.
I want him to hate this, then I want to force it on him. I want to make him bleed the way my insides are bleeding right now.
However, having tired myself out from my own attacks, I momentarily stop flailing.
I am not satisfied with the results, but my arms are exhausted from throwing punches.
My hands feel like they are about to fall off. There is blood on my knuckles, while Milo remains unscathed.
Milo is watching me closely. His body language is clear. He is thinking of at least five different ways tofixme. All of his protective instincts are out.
Milo, the caretaker, is in full-blown concern mode. But I don’t want this guy right now.
I want Milo, the lust-crazed sociopath. That’s the only person I want to hurt at this very moment.
That’s the guy who robbed us of what could have been.
“You can’t fix me,” I answer the question that his body is resonating with.
“No, I can’t,” Milo admits in a shockingly calm voice. “Raven, if it’s going to make you feel better to hit me, then fine. But can we do this safely? It’s clear that the punches are hurting you. Why don’t you try using your nails? Or biting is equally effective.”
That condescending piece of shit.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you seriously telling me the best strategies to inflict physical pain while reserving my own bodily harm? Where the fuck was this concern while you were having your way with me and ruining my life?”
“I wasn’t trying to ruin your life,” Milo whispers. “Raven, I love you. I want to fix—”
My hands move on their own accord at his empty declarations of love.
Milo suggested using my nails. I am taking him up on it. I scratch his cheek and his neck till I draw blood.
Milo doesn’t budge this time. He doesn’t try to stop me either, which takes away any satisfaction this situation could have provided.
