40 - Epilogue

I live in a large apartment, where I used to search for men online and attempt to try new hobbies, as I work as a psychiatrist to add to the loads of money I already have.

My past was an inadequate representation of me, of who I am. I enter this life in a new form, a new personality. And in the next life, I'll be new again.

To be this pure, to have a solemn virtue underlying my features as I walk and pray, is exhilarating. It serves me love and lust and it gave me a man I am currently in a relationship with.

In this life, I am still a virgin, and he is to unwrap my purity in quiet presence. I am ready, already luring him into my cage and hoping for an ultimate thrill. Even though I am not to be the person I was, I always think of Eric, my past, dead lover.

He was uniquely a big representation of exhilaration.  He served pain & pleasure simultaneously, whilst also driving me to hurt him, to gradually kill him. He was proof of my stupidity in the past, in my previous life.

In the life before Eric, I had a boyfriend for a long while who caused me to get an abortion at sixteen. I still stayed with him and acted as if I loved him even though all I wanted to do was drive him to death. He didn't die. He hated his life by the time he was eighteen, though, because of what I did to him.

Nobody knew I did it, nobody knew I released various videos and photos of his torturous BDSM ways. He strapped women to furniture and walls without their consent and tortured them to please his sexual appetites.

After his exposé turned into a widely-talked subject, I lurked beneath the shadows as his reputation broke apart and ruined him. He was a joke because of that, and nobody wanted to be associated with him.

Time passed afterwards and I found Eric, his brown-black hair shifting between colours in the dim moonlight where the car crash happened. He smiled at me and we walked, talked, and loved.

And the rest is history.

I am in a joyous state now, content with my new life. I am now ordering black coffee in front of a counter, checking my phone to scan for newly-sent texts. Did he check for me today? Does he care about me?

A small sound vibrated my device and I checked to see that he answered my good morning call, a happy greeting. He continued to type, transmitting various messages about how I should meet him later today.

When we did meet, he attempted to break up with me. But through small ways of manipulation, through mentioning my tragic past and heroic recovery, he apologized and kissed me, taking me to his large, expensive apartment and finally - oh, finally - unwrapping my virginal cover.

He was good, to say the most. He was quite uncomfortable, though, and sometimes missed a few spots in the process. But overall, I knew he'd get better over time. And so we married.

Thus, here I stand, staring at myself in an enormous mirror as women fit a large, expensive gown into my slim body. Here I am, waiting for a new beginning to fester into forms of various pleasures.

Here I am, stating a message so loud and booming, for everyone to hear, to encrypt, and to take note of.

To all my past and future lovers, whoever you wish and seek to become, you were born to die.