The Mating Run by Leeka

Pain

Pain. It’s not a stranger to me.

I’ve danced with it, embraced it like an old friend. You see, I’ve never been one to tiptoe through life. As a kid, I was like a force of nature, a hurricane in sneakers, always running, always pushing the boundaries that my parents set. “No, Alina, don’t run!” they would say, but I ran anyway. I couldn’t be bothered by the cautious whispers of adulthood.

I was a boisterous kid, full of life and energy. My laughter echoed like a melody, a symphony of joy that filled the air. I ran because the world seemed too vast to walk through, and every step was a promise of adventure. I climbed trees, scraped my knees, and collected bruises like they were badges of honor. The pain was a companion, a reminder that I was alive, that I could feel.

My parents worried, of course. They saw me as this bundle of energy, a whirlwind of chaos that could collide with the sharp edges of reality at any moment. But I was invincible or so I thought. The world was my playground, and I was determined to explore every nook and cranny, consequences be damned.

I have scars on my knees and arms to prove it. Each scar tells a story, a tale of childhood recklessness and the resilience of youth. I can trace the lines with my fingertips, feel the uneven texture beneath my skin. They are like chapters in a book, a visual narrative of a time when pain was a constant companion, and I wore it proudly.

The thing about pain is that it’s versatile. It comes in different shapes and sizes, sometimes a fleeting sting, other times a persistent ache. As a kid, pain was a rite of passage, a confirmation that I was pushing against the boundaries of what was deemed safe.

I remember the first time I fell off my bike. It was a rusty old thing, with peeling paint and wobbly wheels. I insisted on riding it despite my parents‘ reservations. “You’ll hurt yourself,” they warned. But I was fearless, or at least, I pretended to be. The wind in my hair, the rush of speed beneath my wheels–it was intoxicating.

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Pain

Until it wasn’t.

I hit a pothole, and the world flipped upside down. The pain was immediate, a sharp jolt that reverberated through my body. I lay there, dazed and bruised, my once invincible spirit humbled by the asphalt beneath me. But even as tears welled up in my eyes, there was a strange exhilaration, a realization that pain was just a temporary visitor.

My parents rushed to my side, their worried faces a blur. “I told you to be careful,” my mom scolded, but her stern words couldn’t mask the concern in her eyes. I grinned through the tears, feeling the warmth of their embrace. Pain, you see, was a language we all spoke, a common ground that connected us in the shared experience of being human.

As the years rolled by, I grew out of my boisterous phase. The scars on my knees faded, the bruises became distant memories. I traded my running shoes for a more measured stride, navigating the world with a newfound awareness of its sharp edges. Adulthood brought its own set of challenges, and I learned that pain wasn’t always physical.

Heartbreaks, disappointments, the sting of failure–these were the new facets of pain that I discovered. They didn’t leave visible marks, but their impact was just as profound. The invincible girl who once laughed in the face of scraped knees now faced the complexities of a world that couldn’t be outrun.

Yet, in the midst of these grown–up pains, I found myself looking back at the reckless girl I used to be. The kid who thought she could conquer the world with scraped knees and a defiant grin.

I wondered if she had known what lay ahead, would she have run any slower?

Would she have chosen a more cautious path?

Pain. I thought I knew pain, understood its various shades and nuances. Scraped knees, bruised elbows, the sting of a broken heart–I’ve danced with these forms of pain before. They were familiar companions, teachers in the school of life.

But what happened with Victor, that was a different kind of pain.

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08:36 Sat, 9 Mar N

Until it wasn’t.

world flipped upside down. The pain was immediate, a sharp jolt that reverberated through my body. I lay there, dazed and bruised, my once invincible spirit

mask the concern in her eyes. I grinned through the

memories. I traded my running shoes for a more measured stride, navigating the world with a newfound awareness of its sharp edges. Adulthood brought its own set of

marks, but their impact was just as profound. The invincible girl who once

I used to be. The kid

known what lay ahead, would she have run

have chosen a

Scraped knees, bruised elbows, the sting of a broken heart–I’ve danced with these forms of pain before.

was a different kind of pain.

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9

Pain

tore through my defenses, leaving me breathless and shattered.

did you do?!”

never asked to be

marked as if I were some territory to be conquered. Victor, with his primal instincts and possessive desires, didn’t bother with consent. He sank his teeth into the vulnerable skin of my neck,

a violation that left me reeling.

“Shit!”

shut up and take

vision blurred by the darkness creeping at the edges. If it weren’t for Victor holding me up, I would have crumbled to the ground, at fragile vessel

wasn’t a stranger; he was a familiar face, a presence that had become woven into the fabric of my existence. And yet, in that moment, he

like a

I never wanted this, never asked for his claim on me. But there I was, bearing the physical and emotional weight

sink into my neck, a gasp escaped my lips, and I tried to push him away. But Victor’s grip was like a vise, unyielding and possessive. I felt his hot breath on my skin, heard the low growl that reverberated through the air. In that

was a sharp, stabbing sensation, as if he was carving his ownership

L

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tang of blood, feel the warmth trickling down my neck. It was

personal space. But the pain was overwhelming, a tidal wave that threatened to drown me. I closed my eyes, not wanting to

tears came unbidden, silent witnesses to the pain that tore through me. I never thought I would cry in the face of pain. I was the girl who ran with scraped knees, laughed in the face of adversity. But this

“Fuck!”

lifting. If it

no,

the violation I had just experienced. I never wanted this, never wanted to be marked like some possession. And the

ache that pulsed with each beat of my heart. It wasn’t just the physical wounds; it was the emotional scars that cut deeper. I felt dirty, tainted

from him, trying to put distance between us. The air felt heavy with the weight of what had just transpired. I could taste the bitterness of

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Sat, 9

Pam

pill that I struggled to swallow. Victor looked at me with a mixture of satisfaction and possessiveness, as if he had just accomplished something

I thought