I trusted you to them, my love.

They took you and they flayed you, they forged you in pain and sweat and vomit and suffering, they told you who you had to be. You are noble, you took it and you made it into your own. You let them hurt you and I stood back, and you said trust you, and I did.

I trusted them.

You emerged, skinnier and lithe with strength. Your spirit was clear and pure and you were, as you said you would be, still you. You had more patience, a strange compliment to give one of the most patient people I know.

Too patient.

They broke my trust. They mistreated you. They gave you to hungry wolves who tore their pound of flesh from you with their teeth and left you broken and hurting. I couldn’t protect you, my protector.

You wanted this so bad and so you took it. You were patient, ever patient, calmly and cleanly patient. It’s been almost a year now since I first heard you utter the words where you asked yourself aloud whether you wanted to keep giving them your flesh if all they would ever do is take it from you.

A year of threats and suffering, a year of fear and anxiety, a year of abuse and emotional torment. It’s taking its toll. We are both worse for the wear, and while you are ever putting up a brave face, I can see it in you.

I have given up hope. I have given up faith. I drank their kool-aid and swilled it happily, but their words are not the same as their actions.

You have more integrity in your little finger than the mangy carnivores that left you bleeding like this.

I have been unsure about almost everything up to this point, but I am not unsure about the relief that it brought on me to hear what you were planning. To hear this may end, for real may end. Something new may come and what’s to come only fate can show, but something different and altogether not full of this false hope. They can take away my honeymoon, they can take away the clothes, at the end of the day it isn’t an identity, it’s not who you are in your core.

They can’t take you away from me and they can’t take me away from you.

I have your love and I’m lucky for it and they can’t take that away.

I feel a fool for having believed their rhetoric and I can only imagine how you feel, after having given them your blood. You gave up on so many things, sacrificed for them, and in return you get nothing except experiencing firsthand what they are capable of.

I don’t want to wish ill on anyone but at the same time the part of my heart that lusts for vengeance hopes that they will reap what they have sown.

We will move on, and be better for it.