He appeared unmoved. He let his feet walk down from her shoulders over her breasts to settle on her upper thighs. His heels began to dig into her flesh. He could tell that she wanted to shift her position, but he wasn’t letting her.
“And your mom?” he continued.
“Nice, but weak.”
“And you?”
“I lived in a fantasy world.”
“What kind of fantasy world?”
“I don’t know. All kinds. I was important. I was cool. I was adored.”
“Bullshit.”
“I was not adored in my own fantasy world?”
“This is boilerplate crap. Adulterated for domestic consumption.”
“Really.”
“What were your sexual fantasies?” he pressed her.
“Who says I had sexual fantasies? I was just a kid.”
“Did I neglect to mention that I’ve studied quite a bit of psychology? I find it helpful in my work. So I happen to be aware of the fact that if your dad wanted to sleep with you, you had sexual fantasies.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because a sexualized childhood has that effect. Which I think you know.”
“So you tell me? What were my fantasies about?”
He was happy to oblige. “They were about power. In them, you either had it over others or others had it over you.”
“I had it over others.”
“I knew it. In fact, they had it over you, didn’t they?” He tugged on the leash. He let her choke for at least 30 seconds this time.
“That’s why I’m having such a good time now,” she sputtered when he stopped.
“I know you’re not having a good time now. But,” he said, seriously for a rare moment, “that kind of fantasizing might have prepared you, in a way, psychologically, I mean, for something like this.”
“Well, that’s an interesting theory, Herr Doctor Professor,” she said. Her voice was cool, but he noticed something odd. “I don’t even think of my fantasies anymore. I can barely remember them.”
“Just the same.” He leaned his head back against the sofa seat, as if momentarily satisfied. “Did you ever read
The Remains of the Day
?” he asked suddenly.
“Why on earth?”
“Are you aware that you’re crying?” he followed up.
“I am not crying.”
“Did you read it?”
“No. I don’t think so. The other one.
Never Let Me Go.
Ha. Ha.” He fingered the chain. “Why?”
“He doesn’t know either.” He pulled the chain taut, then let it go slack. She began to hyperventilate.
“What do you call what you’re doing now?” he asked calmly.
“I must be allergic to something,” she answered, trying to catch her breath.
“Do you have any idea how terrified you are?”
“I think maybe.” She hadn’t quite caught her breath yet.
“No,” he said. “You don’t. You can’t even process it.”
“Then stop scaring me,” she screamed or tried to.
“But that’s my job,” he said mildly.
She closed her eyes and focused on calming her breathing. He watched her. When she had begun to calm down, he pulled on the chain for nearly 45 seconds this time. When she was able to breathe again, she said, “Forget it. I’m just going to hold my breath until I turn blue and then you’ll be sorry.”
He laughed. “Ok, ok. Don’t do that. It’s only fun when
I
do it.”
“Not for me.”
“Ok,” he said. “Breathe. I’ll let you. For a bit.” He ostentatiously lay the leash down for the time being.
“Sure you don’t want to share any childhood memories of your own?” she gasped.
“Yes. I’m sure,” he said.
“It’s loads of fun.”
“Let’s just keep going with you.”
She groaned, sitting there at the end of his chain with her mouth open, her brows furrowed, and her face drawn. She was breathing heavily. She looked beat.
“Did you have lots of friends?”
“No.”
“Did you have enemies?”
“Yes.”
“You see? This is the kind of thing that would toughen you,” he speculated.
“Ok,” she said, gathering the strength to talk in more than monosyllables. “I’m going to tell you something. None of those things toughened me. I was a very soft, wimpy, trusting person. And I never really stopped being that way for my whole childhood. I wasn’t tough. I just barely made it through. And things got better when I got away. Nothing that happened then prepared me for this.”
“I don’t agree.”
“You’ve really got a lot of nerve.”
“Maybe you started out innocent and soft, but you had to have gotten tougher.”
“And I’m telling you, I didn’t. I just got... flexible.”
“Flexible,” he said, turning the word over in his mind. “That’s right,” he added, “that’s exactly what you are. Isn’t it? Flexible is better than tough, when the shit hits the fan, I imagine.”
She said nothing.
“Now that’s interesting,” he said, picking up the leash again and holding it. “I like the way you talk to me,” he said, after looking at her averted head for a couple of minutes. “Even when you’re angry or uncooperative. You talk to me like I’m just another person. Like I’m somebody who can understand what you say. Not like somebody beneath you or above you.” He paused. “Or a monster.”
“I guess I’m treating you like a human in hopes that you’ll behave like one.”
“No. That’s not it. It’s something else.” He thought. “I’m a terrible person, threatening your life and sanity. But somehow, you’re
comfortable
with me. As if you can understand me, or relate to me. I’m somehow not a shock to you.”
“What are you babbling about?”
He pulled her toward him with the leash and slapped her face quickly, hard. “Just like Daddy?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. She was wheezing again.
Then he smiled. “You’re trying to distract me. Because I’m getting close to something, aren’t I? Something about the kind of person you are. Or the kind of person you’re used to dealing with?”
“Whatever you say,” she hissed.
“Aww. Don’t be mad. You knew I’d do that. You were counting on it. Make me angry, and I won’t pursue this line of thought.”
She just sighed and focused on her breathing.
“It’s ok. I don’t mind taking a little break for a little abuse. But I’ll come back to this anyway.”
She sighed again. “I’ll answer your questions,” she finally said.
“Thank you.”
“
De nada
.”
“What kind of person was your husband?” he asked.
“Why do you want to talk about him?”
“What kind?”
“‘He was some kind of man. What does it matter what you say about people?’”
He cocked an ear. “Wait, I know that one.”
She didn’t wait. “
Touch of Evil
.”
“Hmm. Was he evil?”
“I thought he was good.”
“Interestingly phrased.”
“You’re too sensitive,” she said. “You’re reading a little too much into things.”
“You let me be the judge of that.”
“You think you’ll find something that will help you to destroy me? Hey! What if I’m already destroyed? Maybe that’s why this isn’t working.”
“I’m not ruling that out,” he said. He tugged ever so gently on the chain. “Where is he, anyway? Did you split up after your son’s death?”
“To answer your first question, I couldn’t tell you. And yes, I think you could say we did.”
“Cut the mystery. What happened?”
“He killed himself.”
“Jesus. What a pussy!”
“You almost make
me
laugh sometimes, too,” she said, with a snort.
“See? A normal person would have been offended.”
“Well. I think we’ve established that I’m not exactly normal. If anybody is.”
“He really did? Because of your son?”
“No, he had a hangnail. Of course, because of our son.” Her voice got a little louder. “After two years of watching him die. Of being powerless. Maybe you should have done this to him. He might have responded more to your expectations.”
“Were you the one who found him?”
She looked uncomprehending at first. “Oh, he didn’t do this behind my back. There were arrangements to be discussed. He did invite me to join him. I felt that there were still things to be done in this world, even if I was resigned to being sad for the rest of my life. I knew exactly what, where, when, and how. There were no surprises.”
“He was weak.”
“On the contrary,” she said, watching him rub the chain between his fingers, not quite pulling on it. “He was a very strong man, but he was also one of those people I talked about earlier. The ones who have to have a reason to live?”
“Weren’t you enough?”
“That’s the obvious question, isn’t it? No. I guess I wasn’t.” She said it sadly, but calmly.
“You would have been for me.”
“Well, that’s very flattering. He loved me very much. But some people love their children more. Or maybe he couldn’t bear the prospect of losing anyone else that he loved. Or maybe he just couldn’t bear to outlive his child. Believe me, we discussed it pretty fucking thoroughly.” He could hear something in her voice that she usually managed to suppress. “There was no one reason. For some people, there have to be enough reasons merely to stick around.”
“That’s insane.”
“Really.”
“You discussed it? How very civilized. No wonder you can ‘discuss’ things with me. You’re beyond belief.”
She shrugged and her voice was back under her control. But she was weeping again. It was not clear to him if she was aware of it. “They were not easy discussions. ‘Whether to kill yourself or not is one of the most important decisions a teenager can make.’”
Her companion raised his eyebrows. “So you two had some deep conversations, and then he offed himself. May I ask how?”
“Morbid, aren’t you?”
“How?”
“He drove himself off a cliff.”
“Again. Pussy.”
“Why is that?”
“He should have blown his brains out. That’s what I’d do.”
“If I, or someone else, hadn’t had to find him, I’m sure he would have. He didn’t want someone else to have to deal with his mess.”