Containment Arc
It’s been three nights now.
He stands out there in the dark, looking up at my window. I know that I should tell the others. I know that I should shut the curtains. I know all the things that I should do.
But.
But I stand there and I just ache. I remember what happened and I feel it and I abandon myself to it, drown in it, knowing that he is doing the same thing. It was insane of me to think that this was over. You can’t un-live passion and, while you can, perhaps, control your actions, you can’t control what you want. You just want. I can’t forget his mouth and the taste of him. I can’t forget the salt sweat of his skin on my tongue. I can’t forget the way he felt.
It’s two in the morning and the streets are empty, except for him. I know that he is out there, partly concealed in a street doorway, the occasional cigarette lighting his face. I am lying on my bed with my eyes tight shut but I can still feel him out there. I pretend to myself that I don’t know what he is waiting for. I have got quite skilled lately at pretending not to know things. It’s a lie of course. I know exactly why he is out there.
He wants me. He wants me, without drugs, without coercion, without the fear of death.
Schuldig wants me.
And, God help me, I want him.
It had been two weeks since the night when Schuldig and I were trapped in that room together and Ken and Omi were stoically failing to mention it. They would have rather died. Yohji never spoke of it either but then, he didn’t have to. It was in his eyes whenever he looked at me, that silent expression of betrayal and rage. His look followed me everywhere, mirrored my own incredulity that something like this could have happened to Aya Fujimiya. I had been so sure, so incredibly certain of the world and my place in it. And my place did not have me standing next to a man like Schuldig, except perhaps to send him out of it. The impossibility of it gnawed at me, like squirming rats that left me raw and agonised. I tried everything to wake up to myself. I embarked on a regimen of self denial, mediation and panic. I reminded myself of exactly who Schuldig was by reading his files for hours, hunched over the computer, glaring at the screen. The more I read the more I loathed myself.
I prayed for a chance to fight him. I thought that if I could just hurt him somehow then I would be me again and all of this darkness swirling around me would...go away. I would be able to see who he was. I would regain control.
However things at Weiss had been perversely quiet and there hadn’t been a single chance to prove my theory, no chance to cut through this tangle with humming steel, to bathe myself in blood and be clean again.
And now he was watching me. I felt it in the shop, in my room, in the streets. I couldn’t always see him but I sensed his twisted mind out there like a street lamp glowing. I even missed the sensation when he wasn’t there. I liked to feel his thoughts slipping amongst mine, pressing gently, awkwardly as if he wasn’t used to gentleness. He lived inside of me like a warm, dirty secret.
So, here I am at two in the morning, cracking up. I must be because I don’t recognise myself anymore. Those wide, hungry eyes in the mirror can’t possibly be mine. This mind that won’t settle to normal thoughts can’t be mine. I used to be so dedicated to revenge, she was a satisfactory lover and it never occurred to me that anything was lacking. The world had been dark but it had made a sort of sense. I thought that I knew right from wrong, good from evil. But right at this moment all I can think is how much I want him. My skin wants his mouth. My body wants his hands.
I have never been this man before.
Perhaps I am being punished for my arrogance, my thoughtlessness. Maybe this is because of Yohji, because of the hell that he is living in because of me. I ought to want Yohji. He is a good man and he is beautiful and he loves me.
Something is wrong with the script.
I stand up and I go to the window. Yes, there he is, a shadow.
‘Can you hear me?’ I think, wildly.
‘Yes’, there is his voice inside my head. It makes me shiver. My fingers grip the window sill so hard that bits of damp paint dig under my nails.
‘Tell me to go,’ he says, brokenly, ‘You have to tell me to go.’
I can almost feel him shaking. It seems that I am not the only one cracking up. I should obey his request, it would help us both, but I can’t make myself think the words. I can’t bear the thought of losing his touch, the breath of his presence. The idea that it may never be more than this makes me cold inside.
So I give into the warmth of wanting him, of wanting to make him burn. I slowly unbutton my shirt. I can hear him inhale sharply as though someone just hit him. His mind, inside mine, takes on an edge of desperation. This is madness. I feel like laughing. It would be less crazy if I were to run out in into the path of speeding traffic but the thrill of this is mounting in my stomach, ordering me on.
I stand there, half naked and I know that he is watching me. I can almost feel his eyes stroking my skin. I need to show myself to him. I slide a hand over my collarbone, the flesh prickles with excitement. I trail my fingers down my chest, across a hard nipple. I am intensely aware of his sigh of hunger when it whispers over my thoughts.
I want to let him in, bring him to my bed and give into this but it would be suicidal, in one way or another. Either Weiss would find out and kill us both or the sickness of this would destroy me anyway.
‘Touch yourself,’ he whispers.
My breath becomes ragged. His words nearly shatter my spine, they leave me gasping for tatters of control. Unconsciously I let my hand trail lower.
Abruptly it all comes crashing down. At the same instant there is a knock on my door, and outside a drunk appears, weaving contentedly toward Schuldig. I turn and open my door. It’s Yohji. Just for a moment his eyes flicker over my bare chest. I suddenly feel cold and very, very ashamed.
“Do you have any aspirin?” Yohji says, at last, biting his lip, “Omi is ill.”
“Sure,” I mumble, cringing inside with every fibre of my being. I root around in my bedside drawer and hand over the packet. The thought of Omi, who looks up to me, who still thinks that I am a good man, makes me crumble with self loathing. I return to the doorway and hand the pills to Yohji; he looks like he could eat me alive. I wonder briefly if I could rid myself of Schuldig by giving in to Yohji. Only a blind fool wouldn’t want Yohji. But I know that playing with him like that would really push me past redemption. It would be beyond cruelty.
“What’s wrong with Omi?” I ask, eventually.
“Toothache,” Yohji replies, shortly, “I’ll take him to the dentist tomorrow.”
He hesitates for a moment and adds, “You should close your curtains you know. Anyone could see in.”
With that Yohji is gone and I have to steady myself against the door as I close it. I wonder if it was a random observation or if he knows something, suspects something.
I go back to the window.
Schuldig is gone.
The next day we finally got a mission. The Yakuza had moved into a building worryingly close to one of Weiss’ safe houses and they needed to be cleared out. We were one man down what with Omi being doped up to the eyeballs after three fillings, but it was hardly something that the three of us couldn’t handle. Adrenaline flowed through my blood like battery acid as we approached the warehouse in question. This was my world again. I half hoped that the gangsters would put up a good fight.
We burst through the doors and surprised about thirty gang members. They were unpacking and sorting packets of drugs and had probably relied on their lookouts to keep their privacy. The lookouts had taken us approximately thirty seconds to deal with. I was feeling better already. The Yakuza recovered quickly from their shock and weapons appeared as if by magic, as if they had been conjured from thin air. There was a storm of steel, blood and the sound of grunting and yelling. Before long Ken and Yohji were pursuing some stragglers up the rickety metal stairs into the back of the building and I was advancing on three final men.
Their eyes were narrowed. They showed no sign of fear. It had probably been years since they had felt it. Despite the fact that we had slaughtered most of their brethren, they were still happy to confront me. I was reluctantly impressed but I killed them anyway.
As the last body slumped on to the concrete floor I sighed and was about to leave and find Yohji and Ken when a knife came out of nowhere and sliced into my cheek. I hissed with the stinging pain and with anger at myself for not realising that I was not alone.
“You killed all my employees,” A voice purred into my ear. I was pinned by two huge muscled arms. The man behind me must have been a giant. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breath. I couldn’t even raise my Katana. It was like being in a vice. I closed my eyes, expecting the inevitable.
Then the Yakuza was torn away and I fell forward from the force of it. There was a crunch and then the enormous body folded up onto the ground next to me. I looked up and saw Schuldig. His red hair was a tangle of fury, his eyes glowing.
“If anyone is going to kill you, it’s going to be me.” He said.
He yanked me up from the floor and pushed me violently up against a stone pillar. Part of me knew that I should force him off me. But somehow that wasn’t what was happening. Normally I am not lacking in instinctive self defence but for once I didn’t want to hurl him across the room. I wanted him to stay like this, pressed against me. I couldn’t think, couldn’t look at anything but his green eyes, the curve of his mouth, the sardonic tilt of it. I wanted to run my tongue over it. He leaned forward, his expression doubtful suddenly. We were both silent, staring.
In the distance we heard Yohji and Ken coming back towards us, their task completed. Schuldig glanced briefly towards the stairs and then he looked at me. He slid his tongue slowly up the cut on my face, licking away the blood. I closed my eyes and gasped.
Then he turned, ran and was gone into the alleyway. My knees gave and I sank onto the ground.
I dream of him. He is in my room, in my bed, he is kissing my mouth and my body is arching up against his, joyful and desperate. His hands run over my body and I am obsessed with need. I am in heaven, I am in hell. He strokes a hand across my skin, over my heart and I sigh with desire. He smiles, his teeth very white in the dark, and then he digs into my chest and tears my heart out. He laughs.
Three days after the warehouse, late at night, Yohji and I returned from a mission. It had been a very tedious evening, there had been lots of waiting around and then the kill had taken only an instant. I don’t like to string these things out (I am not Schuldig after all) but I do like to have to make some effort. Any stupid punk could have managed tonight’s mission. Instead I had had to spend much of the day with Yohji which had been uncomfortable for both of us. I always felt like Yohji knew what was happening inside my head, the filth and horror of it.
A voice came out of the rain wet street ahead of us and we tensed.
“Still stapled to his side, aren’t you Yohji. It must just kill you that he doesn’t care.”
Schuldig appeared in the light of a streetlamp. He was grinning wolfishly. My heart hit my feet.
“I thought I would try something,” Schuldig drawled. I could almost feel his accent running over my flesh. “I thought that I would see if your lord and master is still capable of fighting me.” Schuldig glared at me, defiant, and he threw his arms wide as though he should be on a cross, “Go on,” he jeered, “I won’t defend myself.”
He was so convinced that I wouldn’t be able to do it but before anyone could even inhale I had kicked his feet out from under him, hurled him to the ground onto wet paving stones, and I was soon stood over him, with my sword tip pressing into his neck. At first he looked surprised and then...relieved. My heart was deafening me. He lay there with his long coat thrown open, staring up at me.
“Do it!” Yohji exclaimed, his voice full of unholy joy for which I couldn’t blame him.
Schuldig looked as though he wouldn’t care much if I did kill him.
I remembered him angrily rubbing tears from his face, remembered the way he curled up in my arms, remembered that horrifying realisation that we should have been together, that he could have been another man, and that something had gone wrong. I remembered seeing the hopelessness, the flicker of horror, the need in him. If I could I would have ripped those memories out of my head, along with that grinding, terrible feeling in my chest that came with them.
“Aya?” Yohji’s voice was hollow with disgust and jealousy, “Why him? Why did it have to be him?”
“I...don’t know,” I said, suffocating in shame, unable to look at my friend, “I think it’s out of my control.”
For a second none of us spoke. I felt like my words had fallen onto the road and rolled into the gutter, where they belonged. Yohji leaned into my neck and whispered in my ear,
“I hope he tears your heart out.”
With that he walked up the street and was soon no longer visible. I wanted to cry, for the first time in years. A good man would have left Schuldig, gone after Yohji.
I don’t think that I am a good man anymore.
I stood back and Schuldig stood up. Then he was in my arms, hitting me hard so that I swayed. I held him tight, burying my face in his shoulder, feeling his heart banging against mine. The shattered sensation in my chest intensified. I felt like I was watching this from miles away.
He groaned and pulled away from me.
“I can’t change.” He spat, “I can’t be who you want and I don’t want to be. There is no way back.”
“There is always a way back,” I told him.
“You think that you can save me?” He sneered, “You can’t even save yourself!”
I shrugged. I was sick of fighting this and had decided that fatalism was my only option. It was that or throw myself off a bridge.
“I read your files,” I said.
Schuldig tensed almost imperceptibly but his air was blasé.
“I’m not ashamed of any of it.”
“Liar.”
“You are deluding yourself,” he sighed, theatrically.
“I want you,” I told him.
“Even after reading my files? You really are in trouble, aren’t you.” He remarked.
I couldn’t disagree with that. I reached out and ran a finger gently over his angry mouth. His skin was warm and soft. I thought he might do anything now, fuck me blind or beat me to death in the street. I waited for his response with a calm curiosity. At last he took my hand and set off quickly. His fingers dug viciously into my skin. I didn’t speak, what was there left to say? I had stopped searching for sanity and just given in. It was a blessed relief.
[censored content - adult access must be enabled to view it]
Afterwards I wondered what, in the name of God, I was going to do now?
He came out of the bathroom and stood by the bed, damp and naked and entirely too perfect for my sanity to survive. He looked down at me. I realised that I was holding my breath.
He got into bed and kissed my mouth, gently, sweetly.
It was the most shocking thing that I had ever known him do.
He stands out there in the dark, looking up at my window. I know that I should tell the others. I know that I should shut the curtains. I know all the things that I should do.
But.
But I stand there and I just ache. I remember what happened and I feel it and I abandon myself to it, drown in it, knowing that he is doing the same thing. It was insane of me to think that this was over. You can’t un-live passion and, while you can, perhaps, control your actions, you can’t control what you want. You just want. I can’t forget his mouth and the taste of him. I can’t forget the salt sweat of his skin on my tongue. I can’t forget the way he felt.
It’s two in the morning and the streets are empty, except for him. I know that he is out there, partly concealed in a street doorway, the occasional cigarette lighting his face. I am lying on my bed with my eyes tight shut but I can still feel him out there. I pretend to myself that I don’t know what he is waiting for. I have got quite skilled lately at pretending not to know things. It’s a lie of course. I know exactly why he is out there.
He wants me. He wants me, without drugs, without coercion, without the fear of death.
Schuldig wants me.
And, God help me, I want him.
It had been two weeks since the night when Schuldig and I were trapped in that room together and Ken and Omi were stoically failing to mention it. They would have rather died. Yohji never spoke of it either but then, he didn’t have to. It was in his eyes whenever he looked at me, that silent expression of betrayal and rage. His look followed me everywhere, mirrored my own incredulity that something like this could have happened to Aya Fujimiya. I had been so sure, so incredibly certain of the world and my place in it. And my place did not have me standing next to a man like Schuldig, except perhaps to send him out of it. The impossibility of it gnawed at me, like squirming rats that left me raw and agonised. I tried everything to wake up to myself. I embarked on a regimen of self denial, mediation and panic. I reminded myself of exactly who Schuldig was by reading his files for hours, hunched over the computer, glaring at the screen. The more I read the more I loathed myself.
I prayed for a chance to fight him. I thought that if I could just hurt him somehow then I would be me again and all of this darkness swirling around me would...go away. I would be able to see who he was. I would regain control.
However things at Weiss had been perversely quiet and there hadn’t been a single chance to prove my theory, no chance to cut through this tangle with humming steel, to bathe myself in blood and be clean again.
And now he was watching me. I felt it in the shop, in my room, in the streets. I couldn’t always see him but I sensed his twisted mind out there like a street lamp glowing. I even missed the sensation when he wasn’t there. I liked to feel his thoughts slipping amongst mine, pressing gently, awkwardly as if he wasn’t used to gentleness. He lived inside of me like a warm, dirty secret.
So, here I am at two in the morning, cracking up. I must be because I don’t recognise myself anymore. Those wide, hungry eyes in the mirror can’t possibly be mine. This mind that won’t settle to normal thoughts can’t be mine. I used to be so dedicated to revenge, she was a satisfactory lover and it never occurred to me that anything was lacking. The world had been dark but it had made a sort of sense. I thought that I knew right from wrong, good from evil. But right at this moment all I can think is how much I want him. My skin wants his mouth. My body wants his hands.
I have never been this man before.
Perhaps I am being punished for my arrogance, my thoughtlessness. Maybe this is because of Yohji, because of the hell that he is living in because of me. I ought to want Yohji. He is a good man and he is beautiful and he loves me.
Something is wrong with the script.
I stand up and I go to the window. Yes, there he is, a shadow.
‘Can you hear me?’ I think, wildly.
‘Yes’, there is his voice inside my head. It makes me shiver. My fingers grip the window sill so hard that bits of damp paint dig under my nails.
‘Tell me to go,’ he says, brokenly, ‘You have to tell me to go.’
I can almost feel him shaking. It seems that I am not the only one cracking up. I should obey his request, it would help us both, but I can’t make myself think the words. I can’t bear the thought of losing his touch, the breath of his presence. The idea that it may never be more than this makes me cold inside.
So I give into the warmth of wanting him, of wanting to make him burn. I slowly unbutton my shirt. I can hear him inhale sharply as though someone just hit him. His mind, inside mine, takes on an edge of desperation. This is madness. I feel like laughing. It would be less crazy if I were to run out in into the path of speeding traffic but the thrill of this is mounting in my stomach, ordering me on.
I stand there, half naked and I know that he is watching me. I can almost feel his eyes stroking my skin. I need to show myself to him. I slide a hand over my collarbone, the flesh prickles with excitement. I trail my fingers down my chest, across a hard nipple. I am intensely aware of his sigh of hunger when it whispers over my thoughts.
I want to let him in, bring him to my bed and give into this but it would be suicidal, in one way or another. Either Weiss would find out and kill us both or the sickness of this would destroy me anyway.
‘Touch yourself,’ he whispers.
My breath becomes ragged. His words nearly shatter my spine, they leave me gasping for tatters of control. Unconsciously I let my hand trail lower.
Abruptly it all comes crashing down. At the same instant there is a knock on my door, and outside a drunk appears, weaving contentedly toward Schuldig. I turn and open my door. It’s Yohji. Just for a moment his eyes flicker over my bare chest. I suddenly feel cold and very, very ashamed.
“Do you have any aspirin?” Yohji says, at last, biting his lip, “Omi is ill.”
“Sure,” I mumble, cringing inside with every fibre of my being. I root around in my bedside drawer and hand over the packet. The thought of Omi, who looks up to me, who still thinks that I am a good man, makes me crumble with self loathing. I return to the doorway and hand the pills to Yohji; he looks like he could eat me alive. I wonder briefly if I could rid myself of Schuldig by giving in to Yohji. Only a blind fool wouldn’t want Yohji. But I know that playing with him like that would really push me past redemption. It would be beyond cruelty.
“What’s wrong with Omi?” I ask, eventually.
“Toothache,” Yohji replies, shortly, “I’ll take him to the dentist tomorrow.”
He hesitates for a moment and adds, “You should close your curtains you know. Anyone could see in.”
With that Yohji is gone and I have to steady myself against the door as I close it. I wonder if it was a random observation or if he knows something, suspects something.
I go back to the window.
Schuldig is gone.
The next day we finally got a mission. The Yakuza had moved into a building worryingly close to one of Weiss’ safe houses and they needed to be cleared out. We were one man down what with Omi being doped up to the eyeballs after three fillings, but it was hardly something that the three of us couldn’t handle. Adrenaline flowed through my blood like battery acid as we approached the warehouse in question. This was my world again. I half hoped that the gangsters would put up a good fight.
We burst through the doors and surprised about thirty gang members. They were unpacking and sorting packets of drugs and had probably relied on their lookouts to keep their privacy. The lookouts had taken us approximately thirty seconds to deal with. I was feeling better already. The Yakuza recovered quickly from their shock and weapons appeared as if by magic, as if they had been conjured from thin air. There was a storm of steel, blood and the sound of grunting and yelling. Before long Ken and Yohji were pursuing some stragglers up the rickety metal stairs into the back of the building and I was advancing on three final men.
Their eyes were narrowed. They showed no sign of fear. It had probably been years since they had felt it. Despite the fact that we had slaughtered most of their brethren, they were still happy to confront me. I was reluctantly impressed but I killed them anyway.
As the last body slumped on to the concrete floor I sighed and was about to leave and find Yohji and Ken when a knife came out of nowhere and sliced into my cheek. I hissed with the stinging pain and with anger at myself for not realising that I was not alone.
“You killed all my employees,” A voice purred into my ear. I was pinned by two huge muscled arms. The man behind me must have been a giant. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breath. I couldn’t even raise my Katana. It was like being in a vice. I closed my eyes, expecting the inevitable.
Then the Yakuza was torn away and I fell forward from the force of it. There was a crunch and then the enormous body folded up onto the ground next to me. I looked up and saw Schuldig. His red hair was a tangle of fury, his eyes glowing.
“If anyone is going to kill you, it’s going to be me.” He said.
He yanked me up from the floor and pushed me violently up against a stone pillar. Part of me knew that I should force him off me. But somehow that wasn’t what was happening. Normally I am not lacking in instinctive self defence but for once I didn’t want to hurl him across the room. I wanted him to stay like this, pressed against me. I couldn’t think, couldn’t look at anything but his green eyes, the curve of his mouth, the sardonic tilt of it. I wanted to run my tongue over it. He leaned forward, his expression doubtful suddenly. We were both silent, staring.
In the distance we heard Yohji and Ken coming back towards us, their task completed. Schuldig glanced briefly towards the stairs and then he looked at me. He slid his tongue slowly up the cut on my face, licking away the blood. I closed my eyes and gasped.
Then he turned, ran and was gone into the alleyway. My knees gave and I sank onto the ground.
I dream of him. He is in my room, in my bed, he is kissing my mouth and my body is arching up against his, joyful and desperate. His hands run over my body and I am obsessed with need. I am in heaven, I am in hell. He strokes a hand across my skin, over my heart and I sigh with desire. He smiles, his teeth very white in the dark, and then he digs into my chest and tears my heart out. He laughs.
Three days after the warehouse, late at night, Yohji and I returned from a mission. It had been a very tedious evening, there had been lots of waiting around and then the kill had taken only an instant. I don’t like to string these things out (I am not Schuldig after all) but I do like to have to make some effort. Any stupid punk could have managed tonight’s mission. Instead I had had to spend much of the day with Yohji which had been uncomfortable for both of us. I always felt like Yohji knew what was happening inside my head, the filth and horror of it.
A voice came out of the rain wet street ahead of us and we tensed.
“Still stapled to his side, aren’t you Yohji. It must just kill you that he doesn’t care.”
Schuldig appeared in the light of a streetlamp. He was grinning wolfishly. My heart hit my feet.
“I thought I would try something,” Schuldig drawled. I could almost feel his accent running over my flesh. “I thought that I would see if your lord and master is still capable of fighting me.” Schuldig glared at me, defiant, and he threw his arms wide as though he should be on a cross, “Go on,” he jeered, “I won’t defend myself.”
He was so convinced that I wouldn’t be able to do it but before anyone could even inhale I had kicked his feet out from under him, hurled him to the ground onto wet paving stones, and I was soon stood over him, with my sword tip pressing into his neck. At first he looked surprised and then...relieved. My heart was deafening me. He lay there with his long coat thrown open, staring up at me.
“Do it!” Yohji exclaimed, his voice full of unholy joy for which I couldn’t blame him.
Schuldig looked as though he wouldn’t care much if I did kill him.
I remembered him angrily rubbing tears from his face, remembered the way he curled up in my arms, remembered that horrifying realisation that we should have been together, that he could have been another man, and that something had gone wrong. I remembered seeing the hopelessness, the flicker of horror, the need in him. If I could I would have ripped those memories out of my head, along with that grinding, terrible feeling in my chest that came with them.
“Aya?” Yohji’s voice was hollow with disgust and jealousy, “Why him? Why did it have to be him?”
“I...don’t know,” I said, suffocating in shame, unable to look at my friend, “I think it’s out of my control.”
For a second none of us spoke. I felt like my words had fallen onto the road and rolled into the gutter, where they belonged. Yohji leaned into my neck and whispered in my ear,
“I hope he tears your heart out.”
With that he walked up the street and was soon no longer visible. I wanted to cry, for the first time in years. A good man would have left Schuldig, gone after Yohji.
I don’t think that I am a good man anymore.
I stood back and Schuldig stood up. Then he was in my arms, hitting me hard so that I swayed. I held him tight, burying my face in his shoulder, feeling his heart banging against mine. The shattered sensation in my chest intensified. I felt like I was watching this from miles away.
He groaned and pulled away from me.
“I can’t change.” He spat, “I can’t be who you want and I don’t want to be. There is no way back.”
“There is always a way back,” I told him.
“You think that you can save me?” He sneered, “You can’t even save yourself!”
I shrugged. I was sick of fighting this and had decided that fatalism was my only option. It was that or throw myself off a bridge.
“I read your files,” I said.
Schuldig tensed almost imperceptibly but his air was blasé.
“I’m not ashamed of any of it.”
“Liar.”
“You are deluding yourself,” he sighed, theatrically.
“I want you,” I told him.
“Even after reading my files? You really are in trouble, aren’t you.” He remarked.
I couldn’t disagree with that. I reached out and ran a finger gently over his angry mouth. His skin was warm and soft. I thought he might do anything now, fuck me blind or beat me to death in the street. I waited for his response with a calm curiosity. At last he took my hand and set off quickly. His fingers dug viciously into my skin. I didn’t speak, what was there left to say? I had stopped searching for sanity and just given in. It was a blessed relief.
[censored content - adult access must be enabled to view it]
Afterwards I wondered what, in the name of God, I was going to do now?
He came out of the bathroom and stood by the bed, damp and naked and entirely too perfect for my sanity to survive. He looked down at me. I realised that I was holding my breath.
He got into bed and kissed my mouth, gently, sweetly.
It was the most shocking thing that I had ever known him do.
