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THE HOUSE OF PAINE
TRANSITION-8
She could always tell when he came to her after visiting the House of Pain. He had invariably washed himself carefully and changed his clothes but the stench of death clung to him in spite of his efforts. It was as though it had permeated into his very pores. When he embraced her at these times, she had to steel herself against pulling away and had to school her face to hide her disgust.
He drew her to him and bent to kiss her. When he raised his head to nuzzle the soft bristles of her pewter hair, he murmured almost too quietly for her to hear, "I've been thinking about you all day."
In spite of herself, she shuddered. Had he been thinking about her when he did those things she could only dimly imagine in that rumored place of horrors? She had no desire to know just what deeds he habitually performed in that infamous House; she only knew that afterwards he was calmer, his demons seemingly at rest for a little time. So she accepted his caresses, willing herself to bear the unbearable in exchange for his continuing to live.
"Is that why he loves me, because my name is Paine?" she wondered to herself as she cradled him against her breast, feeling his warm breath on her skin. During these times, she could not call him by name. In her heart of hearts, she thought to do so would be to define him as nothing more than the sadist, the habitue of that dark establishment. After they had made love she could finally bring herself to speak his name.
Following his sojourn in the House of Pain, he would be uncommonly gentle with her, touching her with care and respect, seeking her pleasure over his own. He would fondle her with his hands and lips and tongue until she was gasping from waves of sensation which swept her like a tsunami. Only when she was at last limp and trembling with completion would he seek his own release. She understood this was because he had found something similar earlier in that other place but still she embraced him and felt for the beat of his heart.
In a strange and not quite understood manner, she despised herself for her implied complicity, her silent consent to his madness. She told herself she should demand that he choose - either her or his derangement. In the end, she could not because she was caught in her own addiction and could no longer consider a life without him. Not yet, anyway. If he succeeded in lying down with Death, she would have to confess herself defeated but until then, she would hold him and hope for his redemption.
"Nooj. Nooj. I love you." She whispered into the coils of his dark hair and was content to have him in her arms, safe and sweetly sleeping.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
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