He shoves my face down into the pillow, one hand knotted tight in my hair, the other hooked around my thigh. Thinks he's a big man, thinks he plays rough. He likes to hurt me because it's the only way I'll make any noise when he's fucking me, and when I scream it makes him feel like he's rocking my world. I barely feel it anymore. I've taught myself not to. It's the only way I can stand it when he stumbles into my room, stoned off his balls on mushrooms and looking for some action. I tell him I like it best doggy style, in the ass, whatever. As long as I don't have to look at him. I just focus on my stuffed animals, or the stars outside my window, and pretend I'm somewhere else. Anywhere else.
"Say my name," he drools between gritted teeth, his speech slurred and his movements nearly epileptic, "Say it's-a me, Mario. Say it, whore. Say you're my dirty whore."
I say it, just like I always do. I've said it enough that he even believes it now. Even I believe it, which is why I've got to do something about it. I can't do this anymore.
Finally he freezes, lets out a shuddering sigh and rolls off my back, asleep before he's hit the pillow. He smells like sweat and fouled meat. I have to get away from him before I retch. My skin feels sticky and cold as I stumble painfully to the toilet, hand clamped over my mouth to keep from throwing up. I'm not sure which is more nauseating: the junk he makes me take or the thought of him inside me.
I avoid the mirror. I can't even look at myself anymore because of how dirty I feel. Greasy hair, sunken pink eyes, breath like a sewer. And that was days ago. For the last week I've been so strung out I only left my bed to take a shit before passing out over the toilet. I woke up sixteen hours later realizing I'd never even flushed, and he hadn't bothered to check on me. Too busy driving his fucking go-carts or playing tennis with that whore next door. What's her name...Daisy?
I down a cap full of mouthwash to drown out the taste of him, spit it out into a sink full of cigarette butts. I light another one and sink onto the toilet seat to cry for a while. I need a drink, but Toad won't hit the liquor store, not since he got caught running my morning-after pills out of the pharmacy for me. It's my fault all this happened. I let it get this bad, and damn me for it. I'm supposed to be in charge, but after all these years I'm still just his dirty whore.
But I can't leave. You don't leave him. You don't tell him "no." On instinct, I raise my hand to my eye, still half-swollen shut. Probably turned into that sickly yellow-blue color by now, but it doesn't hurt much anymore. I can't run. Can't trust his brother. Part of me wishes I was still kidnapped, being fucked by that monster instead of being trapped in this ivory tower. At least Bowser doesn't hide what he is. At least he doesn't need a mushroom to make himself big enough to make me feel it. At least I know he'd keep me safe.
I'd never make it out of the gate, and even if I did, he'd find me.
I step up to the window and look out over my kingdom. It looks so beautiful, so peaceful, so innocent. He's got all of them fooled, doesn't he? I wish I could just fly away from here, away from him. My own kingdom is so far away.
But there's one way to get there. I step over the threshold, into the biting night air. The clouds rush up to surround me in a chill embrace, the rush of wind dancing through my hair. I'll never be Queen. But I have this one thing. I made a choice of my own. At last, I'm free.
Sorry Mario, but I'm not your fucking whore anymore. She's in another castle.
"Say my name," he drools between gritted teeth, his speech slurred and his movements nearly epileptic, "Say it's-a me, Mario. Say it, whore. Say you're my dirty whore."
I say it, just like I always do. I've said it enough that he even believes it now. Even I believe it, which is why I've got to do something about it. I can't do this anymore.
Finally he freezes, lets out a shuddering sigh and rolls off my back, asleep before he's hit the pillow. He smells like sweat and fouled meat. I have to get away from him before I retch. My skin feels sticky and cold as I stumble painfully to the toilet, hand clamped over my mouth to keep from throwing up. I'm not sure which is more nauseating: the junk he makes me take or the thought of him inside me.
I avoid the mirror. I can't even look at myself anymore because of how dirty I feel. Greasy hair, sunken pink eyes, breath like a sewer. And that was days ago. For the last week I've been so strung out I only left my bed to take a shit before passing out over the toilet. I woke up sixteen hours later realizing I'd never even flushed, and he hadn't bothered to check on me. Too busy driving his fucking go-carts or playing tennis with that whore next door. What's her name...Daisy?
I down a cap full of mouthwash to drown out the taste of him, spit it out into a sink full of cigarette butts. I light another one and sink onto the toilet seat to cry for a while. I need a drink, but Toad won't hit the liquor store, not since he got caught running my morning-after pills out of the pharmacy for me. It's my fault all this happened. I let it get this bad, and damn me for it. I'm supposed to be in charge, but after all these years I'm still just his dirty whore.
But I can't leave. You don't leave him. You don't tell him "no." On instinct, I raise my hand to my eye, still half-swollen shut. Probably turned into that sickly yellow-blue color by now, but it doesn't hurt much anymore. I can't run. Can't trust his brother. Part of me wishes I was still kidnapped, being fucked by that monster instead of being trapped in this ivory tower. At least Bowser doesn't hide what he is. At least he doesn't need a mushroom to make himself big enough to make me feel it. At least I know he'd keep me safe.
I'd never make it out of the gate, and even if I did, he'd find me.
I step up to the window and look out over my kingdom. It looks so beautiful, so peaceful, so innocent. He's got all of them fooled, doesn't he? I wish I could just fly away from here, away from him. My own kingdom is so far away.
But there's one way to get there. I step over the threshold, into the biting night air. The clouds rush up to surround me in a chill embrace, the rush of wind dancing through my hair. I'll never be Queen. But I have this one thing. I made a choice of my own. At last, I'm free.
Sorry Mario, but I'm not your fucking whore anymore. She's in another castle.
