I only danced for him. Not because he was so rich, and not because he scared me into it, but because he was a challenge. He wanted what he couldn't have, and didn't know what he had until it was gone. Underneath that mask, and that costume he was like every other twenty year old boy I knew, an absolute pig, and proud of it. But the problem with pigs are all too common. The slaughter house is where they end up, and if your not careful its where you will end up too.

That's how I got here. My pig brought me to be made into bacon. I'm sure it wasn't his first intention, but you can only fear the future. And we were living to fast in the moment to realize where it was taking us. I gave up my life for him. He manipulated me into what he wanted, and I went right along with the program. He turned me into my idolization. I became the perfect woman, not only to him, but to myself as well...and funny enough, I didn't hate him for that...I loved him for it.

But now as I felt the brass knuckles pound the side of my face I don't know if I was really that happy after all. I can feel the skin peel away from me with every blow, and I can feel us unapologetic eyes on me as he screams for them to stop. He says he loves me, and to kill him instead. Liars get me wet.

I think back to those days. They days that ate me up. I was waiting for life to present itself to me, and then he walked in. The red lights made the black on his costume glow purple. He sat in the front row, he came by himself, his black hard eyes staring at me as I danced. I looked him in the eye.

Ever girl is told that they have to make eye contact, make them feel like you are only dancing for them...but I really was only dancing for him. He had me. Not a single dollar was dropped on the stage by any other man. His side smile made me wild, and just as I flipped upside down on the pole at the end of my routine, he laid seven one hundred dollar bills on stage.

I dismounted, and walked over to say thank you to him. As I leaned over he grabbed my wrist and pulled me in. he whispered to me, but all I can feel now against my ear aren't his words or his lips, just the terrifying feeling of blood oozing from my head.

I open my eyes and look over. My lover is staring at me. Tears streaming down his face. The black of his eye make up had left marks on his face. I spit a trail of blood from my mouth. My costume was stained with blood now. It was torn and ripped. I gave out a big sigh.

He was still screaming. But now he was screaming that he loved me. I don't know if it was the head trauma, but his screams made my ears bleed. I cried...I cried like I never had before. But my tears were false, they were instinctual, I didn't mean them. I couldn't handle him anymore. The terrified nature that his screams took would send a chill down any normal human being's spine, but for me, I was numb to it. I was numb to fear now, I was numb to the humanity of fear. I had given up my fear, my one vice, ages ago.

It was necessary to give it up if I was to become the me of today. I could barely remember what it felt like to not be on an adrenaline high. I had become so numb, that fear was just a theory now, it was what was supposed to happen to me in this situation, but it just wasn't happening, and I knew it never would. The only thing that would happen is anger. I tried to scream, or talk or anything, but I couldn't say a fucking word. I refused to acknowledge that I wasn't human anymore.

I was a corpse. I was a zombie, dancing along. My craving for pain and suffering, the lust for blood was comparable of a hunger for brains. But instead of being the undead, I was living, I wasn't a zombie, just a sociopath. It was my curse, my 'infection'.

My arm was broken now. But like it mattered. We would be out of here soon...in body bags, or from their own stupidity, I was guessing the latter, but as of right now, he and I were here...but then I saw an opening as a green baton hit me in the face.

Skin ripping off, blood pouring out...and I cant feel a thing.