Love is cruel. Love is kind. Love is sweet.

 

Love is obedient.

 

“My sweet,” he calls me. “My sweet boy, my love." I release the collar from my neck and turn to leave the satin sheets of my prison. A hand reaches out, nails clawing at my arm as I stump out the cigarette on the dish at the side of the bed. “My sweet, don’t leave,” he murmurs. I wipe the tears from my eyes and press them into his cheek.

“It is time for me to go." The sugar has burned, and the sickly-sweet taste has turned bitter. We both knew it was coming, leaving the hob on, hoping the caramel would be glue enough to keep us together. I get up, his kimono hanging from my shoulders as I fumble for my shorts. I dare not look in his eyes for they are a trap - a trap I told myself I would not fall for again. I turn my back to him and pull up the shorts, creased from days on the floor, odoured with cigarette smoke and stained with regret and mistake.

 

The compound was small, a studio room with a small kitchen and bathroom. The walls were papered with records of songs, their lyrics singing melodies of love and worship. On the floor, gas canisters and balloons littered the carpet, overflown from the bin I had kicked over the night prior. I feel a warmth around my hips, his arms reaching around me, and the safety harness strapped back over my chest as he hands me back my collar. I fasten it around my neck and turn to meet his eyes. They stare through me, deep blue and drowning the voice telling me to leave. I suffocate the voice and latch onto his lips, the only place I know will always be waiting for me. The taste of ambrosia brings life to my dying body and rejuvenates me. I bite down and pull taught the flesh in my mouth. The sweet butterscotch with hints of rum and smoke intoxicates my body, pumping it with a false sense of security. The stubble on his chin carves into my skin as I push harder, inflicting battle scars against my face. I cut myself on the sharp angle of his jaw as I breathe in his voice.

“My sweet”.

 

I reach my hand lower and let my fingers dance around the stove as I turn it on. I bring myself to the ground as he pushes my head down. My knees reacquaint with the carpet as I unpackage him carefully from his wrapper. My mouth waters at the sweet candy as I begin to delve into the meal before me. I feel his velvet hands against my cheek and cupped behind my head as he feeds me, a small infant sucking on the teat of its creator. He calls out to me. 

“My sweet”. It sounds so good on his lips.

 

Then I taste it.

 

The sweet honey produced is warm, coating my mouth, and my throat. It pours into me, spilling from my mouth and trickling down the side of my quivering lips. He wipes it from my face, and I lick it from his fingers like syrup, ensuring none of him is wasted. He comes down to meet me. My eyes, filled with tears, investigate his. A brief moment reveals a kind and innocent man looking back at me. I blink the tears out of my eyes and the deep blue returns. He smiles as he kisses my forehead and walks towards the kitchen. I lay collapsed and lifeless next to the bed, hope drained from my body and the sour taste of regret left in my mouth. For now, the butterscotch has dissolved and all I am left with is toothache.

 

I force my hands to my neck to loosen the collar, wrapped tightly and chafing the skin. I pull hard but the collar pulls back harder. The leather presses against the burn of stubble, setting fire to me. It enclosed around my throat, sealed closed by honey. I scream for help yet the words falter. They bubble at the tip of my tongue, dancing, taunting me until they pop, and the faint sound of helplessness trickles out.

“I love you”.

 

My captor walks towards me and places a glass into my hand, alcohol with the smell of rum and the taste of sorrow. I sip as I watch him stumble to the bathroom and rest his arms on the sink. He stands there, looking at himself for an eternity. I watch as he takes a razor to his head and clumps of thick dark hair fall to the ground. Each hair and memory is shorn away, coating his shoulders in a dusting of dinner dates and arguments. The floor becomes a warzone, filled with unexploded grenades, waiting for me to delicately step on them. He puts down the razor and stares at his shorn head. Gone are the memories of our first encounter, the shared laughter and trauma. In the reflection, a stoic killer.

​

My killer.

 

I blink and the reflection becomes broken shards on the floor, staining memories with crimson chunks of reality. I run to my captor, holding his fist in my hands, kissing the blood like an obedient pet should do. He sobs.

“My sweet,” trembles painfully from his lips. The words are different this time. They dress themselves in black, mourning the loss of a loved one. His fist recoils from my hands as he strikes me across the face. I fall to the ground, becoming one with the memories, fractured with reality. I shall not leave him. I cannot.

 

Day breaks through the window looking into the complex. She is warm on my skin as she welcomes me back to the land of the living. She rests her cheek upon my chest as the last of the darkness scampers away. She hands me my clothes, neatly pressed and uncreased and pours my coffee to go. I glimpse at the satin sheets, glowing bright in her aura, showing the body of a broken man. He lies, motionless and docile, obedient to the sun.

 

I walk to the door and rub the collar around my neck, hidden by the collar I show the world outside. A chill runs down my spine and continues to the ground below me. It lays dormant in the shadow cast by the sweet sunlight, and I know that it will wait within the bitter cold until she sleeps again.

 

“Goodbye, my sweet”.