Two naked bodies mush together sticky from drooling over the freedom of it all. There’s so much of him I want. His dirty mouth his absent eyes bruises left behind as a reminder of what we’ve walked away from. But when he leans over and whispers those three words our acts of freedom turn into an establishment. So I wriggle out and dump his tobacco all over the floor. I told you to fucking quit. He sits up erect and stroking and still coming back from our sexual high. I throw my five dollar dress on and gather my little green friends into a bag because they are mine and I don’t feel like sharing. You promised it wouldn’t get like this. I swipe his deodorant under each pit before I slip on my flip flops. He’s sweeping up his tobacco by hand. And I stare on shaking my head at his slavery. You just tell me shit don’t you. He curses at me and leans against the wall to light a cigarette he rolled earlier but avoids eye contact. A breeze rolls in between the curtains making one wrap around his body. He moves his smoke to the other hand and turns his head. It smells. I don’t really want to go and I don’t want to stay either. But to drive the point home I leave. It’s not the fear of leading myself it’s the fear of losing control again. Of not knowing when some other world will collide into my own. I know I’m capable of great things but I also know great things are capable of destroying me with the flip of a switch or the twitch of an eye. I just never know when it’s going to drag me down. Like it does. Like it has. Maybe this time I’ll have more control. Yea, this time it won’t.