Emotional Masochist

She sat on the stool, head in her hands, elbows to knees.

There were two.

The one on the left had all the potential. He was magnetic. He’d studied her. He knew how to get inside her head and take what he wanted from her. He would live off her tears. She might be everything he wanted.

The other had all the history. He knew how she thought and how she squeaked. He’d frequently been the cause of her tears; though he’d never witnessed them himself. She knew she wasn’t enough for him.

They would both hurt her. They could both own her. But she could only choose one.

It was time for them to make their case.

The one on the left leaned in. “I’m going to hurt you,” he whispered. “I’m going to hurt you over, and over.” He caressed the back of her neck softly before threading his strong fingers through her hair and pulling back hard. His lips centimeters from her face. “You’ll beg me for it.”

He let go and took a step back.

The one on the right didn’t lean forward. He didn’t reach out to touch her. He just stood there, arms at his side.

She finally looked up and into his eyes.

He said just two words: “Come now.”

Both could own her, but one already did.

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