Bruises are my crack.

Lest anyone think that misery stick doesn’t live up to its name.

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Last night, we were lying in bed. I was curled up on my side facing Him, with one leg tossed over His. His hand, that had been softly stroking my bare thigh suddenly curled into a claw, digging in to my skin, and He dragged His nails from my hip to my bended knee.

My mouth opened in a silent “oh” of pain and I looked at Him, my eyes probably as round as my mouth. He grinned rather sheepishly, and shrugged. “I can’t help it!” He said. “I just like hurting you.”

“So I’ve noticed!” I said, laughing and poking Him in the side.

I fell silent, watching as my leg colored itself with four red rivers along the path left by His fingernails. “Look.” I said softly, runnng my hand over the burning trails.

I hitched my leg up a little higher and smiled. “Again?”

He did. And again. And again.

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