Faster. Harder. Rougher.
His grip locks around two hips to mount himself.
He’s done watching his cock thrust into the hole,
now he’s just using what’s left.
And I feel nothing.
I'm not crying or shaking, I'm gone?—
a door quietly closing behind me,
an absence, and he doesn’t notice.
He keeps going anyway,
like all that’s left behind is my corpse,
and he’s still using it.
After some time goes by, he slips out,
and the room fills back in.
I hear his breathing, loud and human.
I hear metal screaming through the speakers.
I hear the shrieking electric guitars,
the walls rattling.
Room 613 knows what just happened.
It’s over.
Over. Over. Over.
I should feel something.
Relief. Release. Rage.
But I’m a closed door,
locked from the inside?—
the slam of a lid over a scream.
He unbuckles the cuffs.
One, and then the other.
The spreader bar slips off the mattress
andclattersagainst the marble.
I’m free.
