Wow, this is difficult. I feel as though I am in a confessional booth
but I know with absolute certainty that no-one will believe my confession. I
will try my best to describe what happened yesterday afternoon, to preserve the
memory for my own posterity if nothing else (incidentally, I realise that by
saying this I have become the hoarder of memories that I despised so intensely only
a few months ago, but please forgive me for my transgression because this is a memory
that I do not wish to quickly forget).
I asked no questions as Luke set
the pipe down on the table once again and then leapt out of his chair, took a
firm grasp of my wrist and wrenched me out of my seat, partly because I was
excited by the nervous anticipation that swirled around inside my stomach and
partly because I had grown impatient that he was taking so long to act on the
obvious chemistry between us. And he didn't waste any time. The pomegranate
bounced off my lap and rolled across the floor and my heels clattered on the
wooden floorboards as he dragged me out of the room, both of us giggling like
children at our over-eagerness. The very second that we entered into the darkness
of the hallway his face took on a stern expression and his eyes became incredibly
dark, which prompted me to giggle nervously and twist my hand in an attempt to
loosen his grip on my wrist. He gently pushed me backwards until my back hit
the wall and I felt the soft huff of his breath against my face as he repeated
"it’s ok, it’s ok" to calm and reassure me.
“Do you like riddles?” he
whispered as he began to unbutton his shirt with his free hand.
I smiled. He was more like
Leonard than he realised.
“Has Leonard ever asked you
what unites the hunter and his prey?” he enquired.
“Yes, he has...”
“And do you know the
answer?"
“No” I replied, shaking a
little as his grip squeezed even tighter on my wrist.
“The answer is desire. The hunter
has a desire to catch the prey and the prey has a desire to escape the hunter. Actually,
if you ask me, I would say that the sentiment is stronger than ‘desire’ since
both ‘desires’ are absolutely fundamental to their survival. I would prefer to call
it a vital need. Besides, it’s astonishing what the human body is capable of
when it needs something badly enough…”
He smiled mischievously as he
said this, which reassured me a little and prompted a shy smile in response. I
steeled my nerves and braced myself for the inevitable, but I had not prepared
myself for the unthinkable that was to come.
I was transfixed by the mesmeric
allure of Luke’s dark brown eyes, but I saw a flicker of nervousness in them
that was entirely unexpected given his normally robust self-confidence and I
knew that something was seriously amiss. He was doubting himself for some
reason, or maybe he was just exposing his vulnerable side for once. We stood
only inches away from each other but by chance I happened to glance down and a
glint of white light caught my eye. At first I thought that Luke held one of
Leonard’s blunt palette knives in his hand, but then I recognised the
reflective blade of Leonard's sharp penknife. A weight fell in the pit of my
stomach and a cold wave of sickening nausea swept over me. What did he intend
to do with it? Panic flooded through my body but before I could struggle or
scream he lifted the penknife up to his chest and pushed it into his own skin.
I looked away, repulsed, and tried to step away from him, but his hand kept a
firm grip of my wrist and the shock of the moment had frozen me to the spot.
My silent approval is what continues
to haunt me the most; the way in which we both waited patiently in silence
until it was done. When I looked back I saw that he had made a small incision
below his left collar bone and there were no questions and nothing was spoken
between us as he dropped the knife and released his grip on my wrist, then snaked
his right hand around the back of my neck and pulled me slowly towards him. At
first I rested my head against his shoulder in order to give myself time to
gather my thoughts, but I knew what he wanted. In fact the whole process felt surprisingly
natural and I moved instinctively as though I had been in the same situation thousands
of times before.
Resting my cheek against the
warmth of his chest, I allowed my lower lip to graze across the small incision.
It was not deep enough to weep profusely but tiny droplets were starting to
blister from it and when I pressed my lips against the wound a coppery taste
smeared across my tongue. A dull ache formed in the centre of my forehead and
it quickly swelled into an unbearable pain and so I paused and waited for it to
pass, but rather than abate the pain seemed to intensify and the sound of
rushing blood began to pound through my ears. No matter how many times I rerun
the scene in my mind - and I have replayed it every second of every hour that
has passed ever since - I cannot describe the intensity of the uncontrollable
and violent rage that possessed me at that moment. A surge of aggression and
unnatural strength coursed through me and in a desperate attempt to increase
the pressure of his body against my mouth I took hold of Luke’s arms and pushed
hard against him until he fell backwards against the opposite wall. He
protested a little, but I would have used every last ounce of my strength to
hold him down if necessary. The complete loss of self-control was terrifying
and never before had I felt such a capacity for cruel brutality - I just wanted
to keep pushing, pushing, pushing until I had pushed him right through the
wall.
Luke was entirely submissive
to my violent assault and he tried his hardest to accommodate my wild attempts
to find a comfortable position against him and then, once we had secured
ourselves awkwardly in a corner, an intense feeling of relief washed over me
like the consolation of running into the arms of a lover. It was a womb-like
sense of envelopment, certainly not a sensation that I expected to experience
with Luke, and I would do anything - anything at all - to recreate that feeling
again. Every muscle in my body relaxed to the point of surrender, all sounds
were reduced to a dull and distant vibration and my vision blurred to the
extent that it was difficult to focus on my fingernails as they scratched
against his chest. The air in the hallway became noticeably thin and I began to
withdraw into myself as though drifting off into sleep (I can only imagine that
the gradual loss of consciousness and feeling of ‘slipping away’ could be compared
to the early stages of drowning, but without the accompanying sense of terror).
We held each other in that
passionless embrace for what must have been only a matter of minutes but felt
like hours. Luke’s breathing was shallow and laboured and stealing a glance up
at his face I saw that his eyes were tightly closed, his brow was knitted in
concentration and he was repeating “I’m sorry” over and over in a barely audible
whisper. However I wasn’t listening. I was filled with a selfish and utter
disregard for his thoughts, emotions and safety, but at the same time there was
a warm dampness against my cheek and I knew that I was crying because I cared
so incredibly deeply for him.
We stayed that way until the
wound had stopped weeping, the anger inside me had subsided and a heavy sense
of dread was starting to permeate through me. It was a feeling of extreme
physical vulnerability and I honestly felt as though my skin had been flayed
away and my internal organs were exposed to every germ that was floating in the
air around me. I found myself clinging to Luke no longer out of selfish desire
but for the safety of his protection and, although this might sound strange, I was
convinced that I had alerted someone or something terrifying to my presence and
I had an overpowering urge to run away and hide until the sound of the alarm
that I had triggered had died away. And, all the while, as I clung tightly to
Luke’s body I was afraid that at any moment I would be consumed by the overwhelming
surges of aggression that were still buzzing through my veins and I would lose
control once again. I was afraid, but for once I was not afraid of Luke, I was
afraid of myself.
As these fears passed and I
gradually became aware of my surroundings once again, Luke peeled me away from
his chest and held me shakily by the shoulders, peering deep into my eyes as
though searching for something. I remember my extreme embarrassment and how I desperately
tried to avoid his stare. “Do something for me, Helen,” he whispered in a trembling
and breathless voice, “ask Leonard about the faith teaching. You are more than
ready for it and it would be a shame to keep it from you.” I had no idea what
he was talking about but I was in such a state of shock and confusion that I
nodded in agreement without fully understanding what he was asking of me.
Leonard returned to the house
only minutes later to find Luke and I sat at opposite ends of the workroom like
exhausted and bloodied contenders in the aftermath of a fight. The situation
felt very surreal and I would have questioned the reality of our intimate
encounter myself had it not been for the taste of Luke’s aftershave, salt and
old pennies in my mouth. I had expected congratulatory celebrations for my exam
results that day, but instead the three of us worked for the remainder of the afternoon
in a knowing silence like some kind of guilt-ridden trinity.
