you said you had a poltergeist. hot on your heels, ready to strike. he had you by the throat, you said. you said.
and so we lit some candles, and held hands in a circle, and i heard him speak through you, ugly and twisted and sharp. your tongue was dripping crimson when he gave it back. you never noticed the blood in my hair. i never mentioned the slit in my spine.
and when he left you, you came home. like you’d never been gone, like those words never came from your throat. like they never came for me. and i cut your nails and we got drunk and dyed our hair and it almost went away, almost crept by undetected.
but poltergeists don’t disappear; not the first time. not in this story. so when he started throwing knives, you threw them right back and they went straight through him. it isn’t your fault there are holes in me now. but you never even asked if it hurt.
and it hurt. some days it still hurts. some nights it aches. some mornings i forget until i don’t and you caused that. but you were always going to break my heart, you know. and i knew it all along.
poltergeists can cause damage, yeah. but the marks in my shoulders match your teeth. how selfish to think you’re the only one deserving of an apology.
