crying, eyes streaked, she asks if i get any pleasure from this.
are you kidding? i say. you’re the sadomasochist.
she sniffs.
i feel like… well, stronger. like i’m a lion tamer.
am i a lion then?
you’re a tiger. do you still have that st. vincent CD i gave you?
she nods.
the last song on that CD is called ‘year of the tiger.’ it’s about how annie relates her nickname ‘the tiger,’ to her rattling bouts of depression in 2010, which is the year of the tiger in the chinese zodiac. i guess it’s about how she overcame that. you’re a tiger.
my heart hurts, she says.
let me finish. you’re wild, you’re exotic, you’re rare, you’re beautiful and you’re incredibly dangerous. yeah, dangerous. you hurt people so candidly. getting close to you is a death wish, but it’s worth it. that’s why everyone tries. you cut people out of your life with razor claws, like you do to everyone. but not me, for some reason.
crying again.
i sing-song the lyrics, ‘living in fear in the year of the tiger…’
this year though, is different. it’s the year of the snake. the year i was born in. the year my father was born in as well. this is a year to focus on myself, to thrive. to be true to oneself.
being a snake is in my blood. crafty, cold-blooded, deaf. and i realize later, that i’ve candidly cut out her heart before and eaten it right in front of her. that i’m no better than her.
when i try to explain why i let myself get destroyed like this, i have to shrug. i like dangerous women. i like feeling like i can tame something i can’t tame. something no one can tame. i like letting myself get ripped to shreds, throat torn out, ribs splayed open, guts spilled, heart eaten.