I ripped the pages of the book I made him. I took it between my two small hands and looked him in the face. A pause then before the first tear. His eyes were large, unblinking in their disbelief. I couldn't stop then. He stood naked and imploring as I struck him over and over, on the face, on the chest. I turned my attention the book and grabbed the hefty pages again.

Destroy my affection. Step on your heart.

The threads I had used to bind the book were strong, refusing to break. I had forgotten how many times I had looped it to secure the pages. I was, I am, an animal scratching wildly at the sides of her cage. I would have scratched his eyes out. Instead I stormed off after he asked, "What did I do?"

backtrack ; to the end