Hunger

The hunger I feel starts low. Almost like a hum in the dark waiting. Wanting. But nothing ever fills it.

It’s been two years since him.

Him.

My finance of six years.

The man whom I thought I was going to marry. He was your typical man. Good looking. Great smile. Perfect personality. A smile to die for. Sex was…okay.

But he loved me for my flaws. For all that encompass me. Being plus size in this day and age is harder now, than in my younger years. You don’t know who wants you to want you or to be a fetish. Or an OF model.

I wanted nothing more than for this to work between us. For the love we had to grow and blossom even more.

But, the one night I had asked for intimacy - physical or otherwise, I was rejected. Then again. Again. And again. Until the point we didn’t do anything with each other for six months. I still made sure his clothes were clean, food was cooked, money in his pocket and anything else to help him.

Not once did he ever say thank you. Never once looked at me and said anything. I was ignored. For months. So I decided, I’m done. I can no longer be with someone who treats me like this.

One month before our 7th year anniversary, I decided to cut it off. He came home as usual. Perfect outfit. Perfect smile. Just so fucking perfect. But me? My heart was in pieces. My smile no longer bright. The once always laughing and smiling person - gone.

“Hey honey.” He said, walking thru the front door, with his smile. I looked over at him and didn’t say anything. “Why do you always look like that? Can’t you be happy I’m home?” He said, turning around to lock the door behind him.

“I think we should break up.” I said, looking at this back. The words came out like vomit. As if they were waiting to come out but never could before. I stood there. Staring at this back.

“What did you say?” His back was still turned to me and he didn’t move from his spot. I looked down, playing with the hem of my shirt. “I think we should break up Nick. You clearly aren’t happy and-“ Before another word left my mouth, I felt his finger lift my chin and kiss me. The first real physical interaction we’ve had in weeks, no months. The kiss was rough, needy and not wanted.

I pushed him away from me and rubbed my lips with the back of my hand. “What the fuck?” I said out of anger. “Now! Now you want to actually kiss me? Because I want to leave?!” I spat at him. He looked at me with a smirk and started laughing.

“Who the fuck is gonna fuck you huh? Your mine. You will always be mine Demi! No one can have you? You understand me! No one!” He yelled, while coming closer to me. Yelling in my face.

I don’t know if I was holding in all my anger in or if it was sheer pure luck. But my fist connected to his face and he was out like a light.

“Motherfucker…” I whispered, while shaking my hand. I could feel my hand already start to bruise and get swollen.

He fell back a few feet and he didn’t hit his hand or anything. We have carpet. He’s okay.

Staring at the person I thought I would spend my life with, on the floor, knocked out because I placed my hands on him, it’s time for us to leave. Never to come back.

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