a/n: I do not own Silent Hill, James, Mary or Heaven's Night. I do, however, own Genie and the Barman. Not that I'm very proud of that. This story sprouted from things I'd heard other Silent Hill fans say about James's shallowness and how they thought he probably visited strip clubs and prostitutes while Mary was sick. I wanted to expand on that whilst also showing the torment he suffered because of his own weakness. Please Read and Review, anonymous or not xxx

NOTE: I posted this story a while ago, then deleted it. Now I'm reposting. If you favourited it last time, as I know a few of you lovely people did, would you please do it again? Thanks.

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You're a coward, James...

- Kate Bush, James and the Cold Gun

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From the Journal of James Sunderland, 17th August 1991-

I have never felt so guilty in all my life.

My beloved wife, Mary, is sick. She has a terrible disease that eats away at her, little by little, day by day, making her little more than a living skeleton. She hasn't the strength to move around without my help, so she stays in bed at all times. Unseen but heard. Lying there helplessly, coughing and coughing until I swear I'll go insane. It isn't her fault. Not really. I know that I should devote more time to caring for her, making her feel comfortable. Mary would probably like that. Despite her unpredictable tantrums I think she enjoys there beside her. I used to like it too. We'd spend hours chatting and joking together.

But not any more. Every time I look at her now I see the ghost of the beautiful woman she used to be. I can't stand it. I know she's ill. I know it hurts her as much as it hurts me. I know I should be faithful and patient, waiting like a saint for her to get better.

Deep down, however, I'm certain that she isn't going to recover. But meanwhile what am I supposed to do with myself? I'm a man, a human being with needs and bodily desires like everybody else. Though it's not like I haven't attempted to resist to them. I've tried so hard to abstain myself the sensual world. It isn't fair to Mary for me to look at other women when she is my wife. But then it'd also be cruel to expect her to engage in anything sexual. She's too fragile. She must understand that. Yet whenever I mention one of my women colleagues from work, Mary becomes wildly jealous. She even accuses me of cheating on her, although I know that she doesn't really believe I'd do something like that.

She's wrong, though. I wish now that she wasn't, but there's no way to go back on what I did. Not now. You see, last night as I was watching some seedy old movie on the downstairs TV, I began to realise quite how much I needed a release. Every time a woman appeared on screen I longed to touch her. After an hour or so of torturous yearning I shifted. My hand reached down towards the zipper of my pants. Then it fell back limply onto the arm of the chair. I felt dirty. What was I doing, fantasising over these pixelated 2-D women? I had a wife: a loyal, loving wife. She must be feeling the strain as much as me.

I went upstairs and entered Mary's room. It smelled of vomit, sickly flowers, dank sweat. But I didn't care. I strolled across to the bed and knelt beside it. Mary's glanced up listlessly. She didn't seem particularly pleased to see me.

"Hello, Mary," I said softly, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. She turned away from me. "How're you doing? Do you need anything?"

"No," she muttered. Her eyes flickered suspiciously. "I'm fine. Rotting up here, alone, without any company… You don't care about me anymore, do you? You'd prefer to stay downstairs with those filthy magazines than come and talk to me for a little while. You probably wish I was dead."

The words hurt, but as usual I pretended she hadn't said them. Rather than reacting, I simply moved on with the conversation.

"Actually, honey, I was wondering if you'd, uh, like to, um…"

I stumbled over the sentence. Before her illness, I'd barely need to say a thing before Mary pulled me down onto the bed with her. Now she glared with those lifeless brown eyes and curled her lip, as if the very thought turned her stomach. She was red with rage.

"Oh, that's very considerate, James," said Mary sarcastically. Her body jerked out of reach. "I'm sick and hurting and you ask me to lower myself to something like that for your own pleasure? What the hell do you think I am? A doll? I am a person, James, although right now I probably don't look like one."

Her voice quivered, as if she was about to cry. I felt like a complete jerk.

"Mary, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just thought that since it's been so long you might… want to. I was thinking of you, honey. That's all."

I outstretched a hand to comfort her. Mary let out an enraged growl and slapped it away. One of her long nails tore a deep scratch into the flesh. I cried out, tugging my arm out of the way. Blood was welling up in the wound. Some of it spilled onto the white bedclothes. Scarlet upon snow.

"Go away! Get out of here! I don't want your filthy hands anywhere near my body!" screamed Mary. Her cheeks were puce. "Why can't you go find somebody else to… to abuse, huh?"

"Alright!" I found myself yelling back. "If that's what you want, I !"

And in a wild temper I stormed out of the room and slammed the door hard behind me. I marched downstairs, whisking my jacket from the coat hook as I passed it. Then, without another thought, I stalked straight out of the house and got into the car. My head was buzzing with frustration. I couldn't understand why Mary was being so prickly- so selfish- about the idea of the pair of us making love. For all she knew, it might help ease the pain. But no. She had to be stupid and stubborn as usual. I missed the old, gentle Mary who would never have dreamed of lashing out. Whilst thinking this, I rubbed the bleeding line on my palm. It stung like hell. Just like Mary's bitter accusations.

But now I decided her cruelty didn't matter. I was going to do as she advised and find somebody else to screw. I knew exactly where to go. In all of the magazines in my secret stash there were adverts for numerous strip clubs where loose women spent their nights. They listed places far away- like Heaven's Night- to places close by, such as Behind Bars. I decided to drive past the sleazy area of South Ashfield to see which place looked classiest. I didn't want to pick something up, after all. When I finally arrived, I realised quite how many places there were for a desperate man to go. There was a very long line of dives outside of which stood several hookers, smoking and talking casually. My eyes scanned over short skirts and low-cut tops, allowing me to feel a dirty thrill. This was wrong, a terrible betrayal. But I was so mad at Mary and starved of feminine contact that I drove right up to the fifth strip club along and parked outside.

It looked like the safest of all of the seedy joints nearby. Not only was it less crowded than the others, it also looked a hell of a lot cleaner. The standards of women were likely to be a lot better than those I'd seen milling in the streets. I sat down a little nervously on a lonely bar stool and ordered myself a drink. While I waited, I took a look around. There were plenty of pretty girls around to choose from. None of them quite caught my fancy. Interest piqued, I glanced around at the other end of the club. I was decidedly nervous. But after a moment or so, this was replaced with a flush of unexpected arousal. Not far away was a dimly lit stage on which was a long, silver pole. As music played in the background, a highly attractive blonde slid down it provocatively. Her sinuous shape twisted about it, gorgeous and beguiling, capturing my heart in moments. I gulped dryly. I could feel myself growing hard. I had no eyes from the other whores in the joint- only her.

And no wonder. She was a spectacular beauty.

The dancer was much younger than Mary- curvier, too. Her hips were wider, softer. Her tight top showed an impressive cleavage, which Mary's own couldn't possibly hope to match. Her eyes were stunning too- sparkling sea green. But most striking of all was the dancer's mouth. She had plump, crimson lips that glistened in the low light of the strip club. They were wide, inviting, perfect. My gaze became riveted on them. I couldn't help imagining how it would feel on me, sucking, licking, pursing, tasting… I mopped my brow rapidly on my sleeve. It was amazing how quickly the thought reduced me to a shivering, sweating mass.

"You ain't had a woman in a while, pal?" the Barman asked abruptly. I shrugged a little, trying to leave it ambiguous. He seemed to know the truth anyway and winked coarsely. I guessed that he was a regular fixer, used to setting people up with men or women just for the fun of it. I knew what he was going to say before the words left his tongue. "Y'know, I can see you have your eye on Genie. I could get her down here for ya, no problem. She ain't got anybody else lined up for tonight. She'd love a little company."

"But…" I waved a hand at the other men watching the blonde girl dance. I'd been going to protest that there were plenty of other guys for her to attend to when I noticed a few whores slipping subtly between them. The Barman had spoken the truth; nobody wanted Genie but me. Even so, I searched for an excuse not to meet with her. Although I wanted her badly, my mind was still fixed on Mary. Maybe it was wrong to come out after all, I thought glumly. She hadn't been able to help what she'd said. She was sick, delirious…

But even so, she couldn't satisfy me. Genie could. Nevertheless, it was immoral to allow her to.

My thoughts were in turmoil. I didn't know which way to turn.

"I'm married," I blurted desperately. The Barman grasped the situation in moments and leaned forward to grasp my shoulder.

"Look, you're gonna spend just one hour with Genie. Confidential, discreet, whatever. You can forget it ever happened. Pretend it was a wet dream or something. But now I'll get her here and you can have the time of your life, no worries. That do ya, pal?"

I didn't have a chance to say another word, for the man had already called Genie over. The woman heard him and smiled curiously. She blew sumptuous kisses to her audience before stepping down from the stage, one hand fluffing her hair confidently. I could see that she was utterly at ease with who she was, and I found that strangely attractive. Mary had always been badly worried about her appearance. There wasn't a day that went by without her frowning deeply into the mirror. This lady, however, was a different matter. She sailed towards me with her head held high, beaming like an angel. She knew she was beautiful. So did I. And to be honest, that both excited and intimidated me simultaneously.

"Hey, handsome," purred Genie, gliding a slender hand up the inside of my thigh. "What's a guy of your type doing in a dive like this, huh? You could do so much better. And trust me, honey, I know."

I couldn't bring myself to answer her. A lump had filled my throat, preventing any words from escaping. I merely watched powerlessly as Genie's fingers eased across my hardened crotch and slipped inside my pants. A low grunt escaped my lips. I heard her soft laughter in my ear, felt her warm breath on the nape of my neck. I was already so close to ecstasy and she'd barely even begun.

"Now," Genie continued, lips brushing the rim of my ear. "You're real tense. You need to relax, loosen up. You're in luck, baby. I know exactly how to ease all those little worries. You'd like them to go away, wouldn't you? I can tell. You're so stiff. Aren't you?"

With every word, Genie tenderly stroked my aching flesh. I gasped and grabbed her wrist, insides churning with humiliation and desire. I could feel the several pairs of jealous eyes trained on me. Genie was obviously a prized catch- and no wonder. Even her slightest touch sent my head reeling with pleasure. I knew now that there was no going back, that I was going to sleep with her. But I knew that I couldn't do it here. Not in front of everybody.

I clenched my teeth and leaned forward so that I didn't have to raise my voice over the music.

"Is there anywhere less… crowded we can go?" I asked tightly. Genie tilted her head to one side and considered me with those heart-breaking eyes. The corner of her mouth quirked endearingly. I wanted to kiss her so badly- yet I didn't quite dare to. In a way I felt that this wasn't real, that this was a wonderful dream that would break if I touched her. I knew it wasn't ofcourse… but I kept my distance, just in case.

"There's a little place upstairs if you wanna check it out," said Genie. She removed her hand from my person and wandered towards an unnoticed doorway. She glanced back at me over her shoulder. "Just follow me and I'll take you there. No extra charge."

She gave me a coy wink and disappeared within. I got to my feet with a clatter. With a devilish grin, the Barman pushed the final dregs of my drink towards me.

"Come back anytime," he said cheerily. I nodded, downed the last of the alcohol and tossed him a few notes. I figured he deserved them for what he'd done.

It didn't take long for me to reach Genie's room. After ascending a grubby staircase and turning a couple of times, I came across a door that was hanging slightly ajar on its hinges. When I went inside I caught sight of her reclining, half-naked, on a large bed. The room around her was dark, lit only by a few clichéd candles on the windowsill. The tackiness of this gesture didn't perturb me as it might have once done. I was far too preoccupied with Genie to care anymore. I stared at her, overwhelmed by the raw sensuality of her being. I found her almost intoxicating. It was unbearable being so close, yet still unable to touch her. But I remained stood in the doorway, gawking like a perverted child. Genie arched an elegant eyebrow at me. One of her slims legs crossed over the other invitingly.

"Genie, I…" My words jumbled in my mouth. "You're just…"

Within the space of ten seconds, I had slammed the door behind me and was entwined with the woman on the bed. I showered her face and breasts in wild, hungry kisses, caressing every inch of her with my wanting lips. Whilst doing so I stripped away the last of her clothing and tossed it away. I saw Genie smile in sly satisfaction. She rapidly responded to my eagerness. Her skilled tongue and fingers teased my flesh, rubbing, licking, stroking where needed. The coyness in her approach was very familiar. Too familiar. But, all the same, it drove me wild.

After she placed a love bite on my throat, things became an indistinct blur of sexual desire. Kisses, thousands of vehement kisses, passed with violent passion between us from chest to thigh. Tentative touches of matched with sadistic scratches and bites. Flesh, breath, hair, more. Harsh pants, soft grunts, high moans like a vixens cries. I gripped her waist, head thrown back in ecstasy, thrusting into the tight, wet warmth within. Her face pink with pleasure, eyes rolled back in her head as she reached her peak. Rocking, bucking, chafing, screaming. Sweat and semen and tears. Resting, minds awhirl with bliss, starting again. She mounted me, grinning like a seductress. She drew a nail like a talon saucily across my chest. Spilling blood. It dripped onto the sheets, staining them.

Scarlet on snow.

In the end, as I collapsed against the bed in exhaustion, I asked in a hoarse voice how much payment she required. I have plenty of cash in my wallet, and I was willing to give it all for what I had just experienced. But Genie shook her head and sashayed, stark naked, over to the window where the candles were still burning. Her shadow leapt across the wall like a sexual demon.

"No charge this time, honey," she murmured softly. "That was a special favour. I could tell you needed it. But you've gotta promise me one thing, mister."

I blinked at her groggily.

"Come back the same time next week. I'll be waiting."

Too tired to argue, I nodded in agreement. To be honest, I was so high with the sheer joy of our sex that I would've done anything for her at that moment. Even whilst driving home an hour later I was still charged with it. The woman, I thought to myself, was some kind of goddess in stripper-form. Either that or some lustful angel.

Now, however, as I sit up in bed writing this journal entry, I wonder if perhaps she's a demon instead. The symbol of sin and temptation. Well, so far I've succumbed to at least one sin.

Lust.

I'm so sorry, Mary.

But what's done is done.