Broken
I always thought it was about power, control, domination.
But that was only to camouflage your true intent.
We were never lovers because you cannot love.
Each time I tried to walk away you belittled me. You reminded me how weak I really was, how little I really knew.
And I believed you. Not because I wanted to, not because I thought you were correct, I believed the things you said because I did not know what else to believe.
Little cruelties, barbs, small tortures: I delighted in them. I embraced my torment, my tormentor. That pain was often all I had to remind me that I was still alive, still human.
You taught me well in our years together. I learned to be merciless and cold. Calculated cruelty comes so easily now. The stinging words that pass from my lips no longer taste bitter. They are rich and beautiful. They are an art.
I rarely think about loss anymore. The war is a distant memory. The names of the dead are reference material for an assignment, a smudge of ink on an essay.
I chop. I pour. I stir. I speak only when necessary. I have forgotten how to cry.
I loved you and you broke me.
You made me what I am. You made me like you.
I was not your lover; I was your successor.
Even a life of sorrow might have been better than this emptiness.
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He closed his eyes against the fading rays of sunlight that invaded the Infirmary. He wanted to ask the disgustingly cheerful young nurse to pull down the shades, but his voice seemed to have deserted him once again. His entire body felt like a ripe bruise. It was a familiar ache; it had kept him company in his few conscious hours these past- how many days had it been now? He didn't know and he didn't care. The end was nearer every day. He wondered idly about what he might encounter when it was all over. He wondered if he should care. He wondered if she would ever come to visit.
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The night was warm and humid. The air in the dungeons was close and damp against her skin. She turned over in bed and kicked away the sheets that were clinging to her legs. Dull, faceless nightmares tried in vain to pull her back from consciousness. Leaving sleep behind entirely, she rose, listlessly, from the bed to begin her day.
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I will never know why it was to me you turned.
Perhaps you had no one else.
Perhaps you thought a greater sorrow hid beneath my sneer.
Perhaps I should have tried harder to make you understand.
I had grown accustomed to my solitude, my unfeeling sphere of existence. I hold no illusions. I am cold. I am cruel. I chose this life, this way. I needed this escape.
So did you.
You came to me in pain and I released you. I took away that burden of grief and taught you a way to live without it. I taught you how to forget. I showed you how to escape that pain forever. I gave you the only consolation I could give.
And you resent me for it.
You have become what you despised. You have become like me.
You do not know the sacrifice I made to give you peace. I did this for you. It was the only way I knew to save you from yourself.
And yet you hate me.
One day you may understand.
I loved you in the only way I could.
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In the dungeons, she prepared for a new day of classes. Her scowl was not yet set but the lines were already permanently embedded on her countenance. She moved with quiet efficiency. Weary but always wary, she straightened her meticulous classroom.
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The sun had not yet risen. The infirmary was still bathed in moonlight as a lone nurse covered the body of the man who had been the room's sole occupant for many days. This woman, who had been his attendant throughout his illness, averted her eyes as she passed the sheet over his head, more out of revulsion than reverence. Even in death, his features were harsh.
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The Headmaster came to the dungeons to notify her personally of his passing. She nodded briskly and returned to her task, pausing only briefly to mark the funeral date in her schedule.
END