Are you fidel? you asked. I still don't know if you were sober at that time. I don't know if it's worth the question, but I wondered. So the last time you spent in my bed, you were so fucking drunk. You were smoking while you were holding me still against my will. You were smoking and laughing while hitting me from time to time just to remember me I couldn't stop. You couldn't stop. It couldn't stop. I felt restless and helpless over the tears I shed and which I continued shading. I was taking you in but I wanted to hurt you and I couldn't. I couldn't. You hit me again and I did everything you wanted. You were satisfied. I told you I was. I was fidel. Yes. I could be it only to you, I'm quite sure- you said. I didn't care too much. I listened without answering. You didn't listen when I told you you were hurting me. I was begging you to stop. You hit me and I did everything you wanted. You were satisfied I guess. I couldn't be cariniosa. Not to you. Neither to anyone else. Not anymore. I told you goodbye and never answered on your callings again. Even though I saw you in the square last night, and you were drunk- again.

(nataliandwarnings factory)