The White Sheets

A few or so fingernails clawed

Along with the cold mattress,

As they continued to screech

And scratch neath the white velvety sheets.

A soft thud echoed in the canals of my ears

As the back of my head met

The frigid headboard of the bed,

While the tips of those nails

Now trailed along the forearms of mine

Until I wrenched my eye open

With my very own fingers clasped

Around both of my bare arms.

The crook of my neck,

Writhed with patches of stiffness

As I stretched out my limbs

Only to wince at the horrid creaking

That erupted out of them.

My shoulder blades turned and twisted,

As I caught the blotches of vivid redness

Lingering upon them before frowning

At the absence of the straps of my lingerie

That were ought to be there.

Twitches of numbness exploded

Along the spine of my back

As I propped onto my elbows

To lean against the headboard

When a sudden soreness

Bolted through the hips of mine.

And I wondered,

What were those srcaps of harshness

That I felt running back and forth

Upon the flesh of my thighs.

My head hurt with the abrupt

Unknownness of my surroundings

While tides of debilitation and

An overwhelmingly inexplicable fatigue

Hardly ebbed away as they ceaselessly

Wrecked through the nooks of my mind

Along with every inch of my every limb -

Until my gaze found what it had been

Seeking out all this while.

I saw you, slumbering away beside me

While the sheets shuffled and shrieked inaudibly

As I inched closer and closer

To the haven of familiarity that I lacked till now.

And everything, slowly and steadily

Crept back to its place,

The instant I tucked myself to your chest

As the placidly kempt heaving of it

Began to lull me back to sleep

Until I couldn't help but see it -

No, not the ripped off buttons of your shirt

But the long and dried scratches, resulting -

From these sharply clipped fingernails of mine,

That glistened across your very chest.

And indeed, each of them

Never once failed to resemble

Futile endeavours of resistance,

Perhaps from last night, which I absolutely

Seemed to have forgotten.

I trailed the tips of my fingers

Along with the long gashes,

At times tentatively

And at times tenderly

While sheer blankness

Seemed to have kept

Every corner of my head

In its captive as I tried my best

To recall what exactly had

Caused them in the first place.

I pondered and pondered

As I pulled myself away

From your sleeping embrace

And to the my side of the bed

Until the sprinkles of what,

Perhaps blood - caught my gaze.

And until, every bit of last night came surging

Back to the depths of my numbing mind.

I remembered,

Jumping ever so slightly upon my heels

As I heard the door bell sending judders of delight

Through the feverish body of mine.

You slammed the door shut,

Gruellingly untying the knot of your tie

As I slipped into your arms

Only to halt for a while

When you buried yourself

In this very crook of my neck

Before biting your way through the flesh of it

With your lower lip and I wondered

Where was the usual delicate peck

That you always planted atop my head

Soon after coming back home, and to me.

I remembered,

The glint of unadulterated mischief

Flashing across your lids

As you caged me between your arms

Before twirling me around

Just the way I usually liked

But not that night for my head

Felt light and giddy

While you said with a tinge

Of disappointment lacing your voice

That I was perhaps, merely feeling under the weather.

I remembered,

Placing two cups of piping hot coffee on the sill

As you stood by the closed window,

While those orbs of yours eyed

Every movement of mine with

One known gleam of ardency

Which always caused those tweeny weeny butterflies

To flounder and flutter in the pits of my belly

But just not that night

For it was the nasty bouts of migraine

And innundating sickness

That had held the reins of mine.

I remembered,

Heading for the bed only to be pulled back

As you pinned me to the pane of the window,

Pressing the tip of your nose onto that of mine

While the fervid fingers of yours callously toyed

With the hem of my camisole

In the same old soothing manner

That I undeniably adored

But just not that night

For the fits of unwellness

That raged through the bones of my being.

I remembered,

The deep grunts of sheer disapproval

Dissolving upon my lips

As my palms curled into fists

Around the small of your shirt

Asking for you to stop while you -

Demanded to partly open my lips,

Giving you the rightful entrance through them,

But I couldn't help but desist

As waves of dizziness crashed onto me

And if it weren't for you I must had lost my footing,

However, I did wonder,

Where was the usual gentleness

Of your arms around my waist

For what I felt was one

The impeccably tightened grip that

I never seemed to have felt before.

I remembered,

To be lifted of my feet and placed

Right at the heart of your embrace

In such passionate swiftness

That I always doted upon

But not in that instance

For all that engulfed me

Was one heavily sense of superiority

Rather the accustomed sense of safety

That you had always known to give me.

I remembered,

Being plopped down almost in a split second

Onto the mattress as it creaked beneath me

With every diminishing distance amidst you and me.

You hid your face somewhere

In some cranny of my neck once again,

Ravishing every tad of it with a fervour of a kind,

That usually enlivened those moans and murmurs

Of utter pleasantness upon the edges of my mouth,

But I'd only heard the yelps of

A nameless revolt breaking out of my throat.

I remembered,

Whispering to you to stop

But I couldn't remember

When had my whispers transmuted

Into shouts and shrills,

And when at last transfigured

Into whines and whimpers

Before molding and melting away

As mere mumbles and mutters

Against the brutality of your mouth

That kept cutting through my skin

With the shallowly shroud of caressing.

And as my love,

You thrusted inside me without relenting once

While that palm of yours fixated atop the mouth of mine,

Clogging up and clamping down

Every coherant or incoherant cry

Of uttermost protest and pleasureless pain,

I couldn't help but resist

Every that gesture of yours

In the name of making love to me

With every scratching and scathing

Of these fingernails of mine

Across your chest

Rather than enclasping them around your neck

Like every other time before breaking out

Into serenely giggles that ricoheted

In one harmonious lilt of our togetherness.

And as, you kissed me hard

For one last time before

Slouching down right against

My sickeningly heaving chest

While sighs of contentment

Fanning my clothless skin,

I couldn't help but writhe and wrench

Without any motion,

For the euphoric blissfulness

That always filled these insides of mine

The very moment every bodily part

Of yours and mine

Met and morphed

Into one entity of exquisite wholeness -

Never once seeped into me,

For all that soaked up my insides

In that fraction of a second

Was one nasty repulsion

On the whole and all together.

The mattress dipped down beside me

While I laid static with the loathesome

White sheets pulled over my head.

The clicking of the door resounded

Across the empty space around me

As I yanked off the sheets

Hurling them all the way

Onto the floor before staring hard

At the other side of the bed,

That remained tranquilly vacant now.

And now what would I do?

Would I clean these sheets

Or would I just remain laid

Clutching my chest

With the back of my hands

For it hurt so bad, not for

The heart that throbbed

So viciously underneath it

But for the crippling helplessness

That rippled across it.

For I remembered

What they had said,

That there could never be any rape

Between a husband and a wife.

What would I do?

Would I bleach these sheets

For a day or two

Before the stains of blood

That had been the only vestiges

Of every defiance of mine

Completely pulverised

Or would I just stay put

Right in the middle of this bed

Running my fingers across my temples

For they ached so bad

Not for the migraine from last night

But with the hideous recollections

Of my very own husband

Violating every inch of me

Without my consent,

And also for the words

That whirled back and forth

Behind my lids

Screaming out loud

That there could never be any rape

Between a husband and a wife.

What would I do?

Would I wash myself off

These traces of such devoting love

That now felt nothing less

Than splashes of rancour

Upon my skin

For being abused and assaulted

In the guise of lovemaking

By the hands of my own lover

But not once

With the virtue of consensus

Or would I just immerse myself

In one detestable oblivion

While this body,

With the very being of mine

Burned and blazed with devastation,

Not for recovering from the remnants

Of last night

But for its core

Continued to enervate

With a numbness budding in it

As it profusely bled

With whatsoever they had said -

That there could never be any rape

Between a husband and a wife.

"and what would I do..." -

I must had mumbled out loud

As a blaring thud this time,

Boomed in the canals of my ears

Repressing every those mauls

From last night and

Also the calming chuckles

From all the other times,

As the back of my head

Met the plainly wooden headboard

Yet again -

While I lapsed into some soothing

And safely realm of unconciousness,

Or perhaps momentary exhaustion

That drenched me wholly

Only to flutter my eyes open

The instant I heard the door bell,

And there those were,

The white sheets

Crumpled and shrivelled

Beneath and beside me

Seething and sneering

Ever so audibly

That yes,

There could be a rape

Between a husband and a wife.