Darkness

His hands clenched into fists, and he said quietly, "You don't understand."

"Nor will I, unless you tell me," she responded. She did not try to touch him, to comfort him. Her gaze was steady and compassionate.

Ashamed, he could not tolerate her compassion. He wanted to hurt her suddenly, to make her hate him, to drive her away before she came too close. He knew it was only a defensive reaction, though, and he tightened his fists as he tightened his resolve. He looked away, unable to bear watch as the compassion changed to contempt. "There is evil in me," he whispered, and then choked, unable to speak another word.

Watching his clenched fists, she knew why he couldn't speak. The fear radiated from him in sickening waves. If she only said something comforting, he could retreat. But it was not in her nature to accept the easy solution. "What kind of evil?" she asked softly. She watched him try to answer, and fail. She waited. He tried to look at her, and failed, but in the brief glimpse of his face she knew the answer.

"Such angerÉ" she whispered, touching the knuckles of his fists briefly. He twitched at her touch, and she nodded to herself. "It's all right. You don't have to tell me." She paused, waiting for him to begin to relax, to take down the walls preventing him from speech, and continued, "I'll tell you."

In surprise, he looked fully at her, and her eyes caught his and held them, effortless. "You dream of rape," she said calmly, watching his reactions. "Waking dreams tinged with the sick fear that one day you may not be able to keep them within you.

"You stop her screams with kisses hard enough to bruise. You tear at her clothes, and slam into her like a battering ram, harder and deeper with each thrust. She tries to kick, pulls an arm free and hits you, scratches you, and it only adds to your excitement. You sense she enjoys it, that it is her own darkness she is flailing against rather than you, and you force her to face it. Not until she is broken on her own humiliation do you find release."

For a long, stunned moment he only looked at her, then tore his gaze from her and buried his face in his hands. "Yes."

She was not here for his comfort, but for his healing. "Who is she?"

He shook his head, hating himself.

"Don't tell me you don't know, because you do." Reluctantly, he nodded. "Who?" He looked at her again, and tears had risen in his eyes. She examined his face for several minutes before she understood. "It's me." Pause. "Isn't it?"

A tear spilled onto his cheek as he looked away again. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He waited for her to leave, to draw away in horror, in fear, in disgust and loathing.

Her hand rested on his shoulder. "Look at me. Please." She waited, then spoke his name. "Please."

He sighed, resigned, and did as she demanded. She remained calm, compassionate... A tiny smile hovered around the corners of her lips.

She chose her words with care. "Whether... or not, you... choose to restrain this fantasy... I am not afraid. Of it, or of you." Watching, she lifted a hand to touch his face. "Evil is grey," she told him softly. "This is... only darkness. Shine light upon it, and it is... nothing." She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips, and then again on the forehead. With a last mild, almost teasing smile, she stood, and left.

Copyright 2001 by Elizabeth L. Brooks. Not to be reprinted without written permission of the author.