A tiny parrot snippet

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

"Don't you want a hero?" he asked.

He, by the way, was the man in my bed. I can't remember his name. Big guy, looked like a cat half the time. I wasn't sure if I wanted to fuck him or poison him. Maybe both. But anyway, he was there, mostly naked, with his hands all over me talking about heroism.

I wanted to scream at him. I almost did. I don't know what I'd say, but Jesus I wanted to say it. What is there to say?

"I had a hero, and I threw him away. I kicked him out of my house because he felt like a threat to the man I loved, and then he went away and died on me. So what would I do with another?

No, that's not what I wanted to say.

The man was still touching me. His hands were warm and his touch soft, but last night he choked me almost to unconsciousness, like Rex used to do. Rex was the reason I got rid of my hero, of course. Because nothing was allowed to compare with him.

"Don't you want a hero?" he had asked and now he was looking at me like he expected an answer. What else could I say?

"Of course I want a hero! I want my hero, big and stupid and gorgeous. I want him to call me his princess, and make me feel bright and clean and fresh and new. I want a hero - no - I want one particular hero and I want him so badly it hurts."

I wanted to scream and I wanted to cry and I wanted to do and say all the things I never said to Moorcroft when he was alive, because I was too damn stupid and too damn scared. Of course, I didn't.

The man - the scary-sexy-horrible man in my bed ran a hand up my thigh without thinking about it. His eyes were still on me so I gave him one of my brightest and most dazzling smiles.

"What on earth would I do with a hero?" I said.