Casualty Part four -- Obsessive Endeavors from The Chair

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Date Posted: 13:58:41 06/08/02 Sat
Author: voodoodolly
Subject: Casualty Part four
In reply to: VoodooDolly 's message, "Casualty" on 20:20:15 06/02/02 Sun

Part Four

The next night was the same - conversations and conquest. Between them, the two nights seemed to last forever � yet also seemed to be gone in an instant. Her ability to accurately perceive time in the common sense was gradually starting to slip from her.

The conversation covered an assortment of topics. He could churn them around, as if trying to collect little pieces of information. Polite, always attentive, as if every word she spoke, he heard and understood.

Afterwards, his conquest, she was hesitant to call it, to even think of it as lovemaking. Sure that such a word could not fully encompass their exchange Granted, he was the most unique and exotic lover she had ever had � not that she had had that many. Binding her to the bed was but a minor fraction of the particulars of their time together. But she relished in each deed and venture. He could draw out one moment, making it last an eternity. Completely draining the senses, only to lash out another round.

Alone, without him she felt half, she felt starved. Even when she thought he�d killed her. When estuation and pain made her insane, she hoped it would never come to an end. They had awakened some sleeping part of her. As if, deep inside, she had always longed for this, yet had never been aware of it. Always she had been locked in some dismal closet of normality, and he had come, opened the door and led her to oblivion. The more she feared, the more he pushed, and in the doing, drew out of her renewed passion and lust. There were no limits, no bounds; the term normal had been swept under the bed.

Then, in the end, he would bring her down gently, cooing, courting her with warm words and intimate verbal intercourse.

The third day was her weekend. Without the distraction of work, she was at the mercy of the thoughts she had stifled throughout the week. Oddly, the fact that Irons had taken her mother as a lover before didn�t bother her the way she had expected. It simply didn�t feel real, as though it were unrelated to her all. Slowly, she thought, she was dismissing anything she didn�t want to face.

That didn�t bother her either, even though she thought, for a brief moment, that it should.

But she and her mother had never been close; she had spent most of her time in boarding schools. As an adolescent, they had grown even farther apart, moving in different worlds. By the time of her death, nothing much remained of her to bound with.

In those last years, her mother had lost touch with reality, slipping into a sort of dream world, a place known only to herself. She had never mentioned her life with Irons, as though she were ashamed or regretted it. In truth, her mother had never spoken to her of anything concerning her life, other than to say once or twice that she had once been in a love that had been corrupted.

In the last months of her life, her mother slipped more deeply into her dream world. Sometimes in the night, she would scream out things, words that had no meaning to her daughter: �I don�t want this! It�s not for me! No, I will not, you can�t carry me into your hell! Never again!�

At first, the outbursts had been terrifying, especially when her mother would awaken in a fever and grip her arm, calling out, �Don�t go there! Don�t wield it! Broodmare!�

But she became accustomed to it, never consciously connecting the words to this house, to him. The memory of her mother�s words, the prophecy, faded from her like the bruises from her mother�s grip.

Without work, she occupied herself with bookstores and cafes, running errands and taking walks in the park � anything to fill the space in her created by his absence.

Several nights went by with no word from him. The mood in the house seemed to have changes as well. It was as if some phase had past, as if a new era was unfolding.

Maybe it was that woman, she thought to herself, maybe Sara had come back, forgiven him. As if he would ever need to be forgiven. He had simply warned her � it was her own fault if she had chosen not to listen, not his.

In her room late at night, alone, it was hard to keep that anger. She walked around in bare feet, on the cold hardwood floor, the smell of the later winter blowing in through her partly open window. She ignored the discomfort, all of her senses focused on his absence, the signs of himself he had left behind: the empty vase, the wilting flower.

Signs of her failing hope.

On one such night, as the last petal fell from the darkened stem, she rose. She glanced at the clock � it was a few minutes after eleven. Grabbing her robe, she tightened it around herself then took a deep, calming breath before striding from the room.

Like a sixth sense, she knew where he was. When she reached the elevated section of his library, she stood outside the door, leaning on the doorframe and listening to his voice, coming from the stars below.

�A sweet man, I�ll miss him.� The disgust was obvious.

Pausing, taking in what was coming though the other end of the line, he seemed to be chewing something, not quite finished before he spoke again, �Hmm. Hurry home to your percent Sara, someone�s waiting for you.�

Always Sara, she thought and some pang of jealousy bit at her; a viper waiting in the shadows. What was so fascinating about her? The brief view she�d had of her didn�t make any sort of striking impression. Fear of his attentions to her, but comforted by the distant note of sarcasm in his tone. She tried to dismiss her resentment. Leaning on the railing she looked down on him.

He noticed her immediately. �Eeva, darling, wandering around the house in the middle of the night is not healthy. Come here.� His voice was pleasant, soothing some of her doubts.

Examining him as she descended, she took in his light gray suit; his pale shirt assented nicely by the dark tie. But something more, the dark lines under his eyes made her face turn down. She stopped at the bottom step waiting while he finished off the last of his small meal.

He sat down in his large, ornate chair. Sighing heavily, he motioned for her, and she moved to sit on the floor beside him. �Feeling neglected, my dear?� he asked, tugging at a strand of her light brown hair from her face. He pushed it behind her ear, then his fingers continued to stroke gently down the back of her head to her neck.

She tilted her head up, pouting her full lips, and he brushed across them with his index finger until he came to their center. She kissed him lightly, parting her lips just a bit.

He shook his head. �No, dear. I�m weary tonight. Be content to simply sit with me.�

Gently, he guided her head so that it rested on his lap. �Let us talk now of the power of will,� he said softly. He did, then, going on about the link of the will to the universe, the power of control. It was a causal tutorial, she thought, a lesson.

Eventually, he tired, his voice growing thin, his breathing becoming shallow. With effort, she rose, her body stiff from sitting too long in that position. With a sad smile, she kissed him on his sleeping brow, and retired, alone, to her cold room.

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Replies:

Part FIVE Casualty -- voodoodolly, 14:01:31 06/08/02 Sat

Re: Part FIVE Casualty -- Miculawitch1, 13:31:35 06/10/02 Mon