~6~
Food. It was all I could think about. It was worse because I knew there was food just outside this room. It was worse because I knew Joseph was out there enjoying it, had endless power over me, and there was nothing I could do about it.
As the weeks wore on, it got more and more difficult to keep my walls up. He continued to sleep in here, come here to pray beside me, but he rarely brought food, never brought a distraction, and he kept staring at me as though expecting me to put on a show. And he would say things. Toxic things. Goading me with constant reminders of whose fault this entire predicament was. I had never felt less inclined to react in my life. I stopped talking. I only looked up when he entered the room because that primitive beast in me was so damn hungry and sometimes that squeak of the door hinges meant sustenance.
I was disappointed yet again this morning. Thought I could smell bacon as the door opened but the bastard came in empty-handed. I almost wailed in dismay. I lowered my head and ignored him, counting the twitching tendons in my hands. Amazing how much of the anatomy one could observe once starved long enough.
Everything was slow, cognitive functions lagging. It took me a few moments to realize Joseph was observing me a little too closely. He was raising my arms, pushing up my shirt, checking my vitals. I only resisted when he started poking at my face, lifting my eyelids and examining my teeth. I was so weak he felt like stone against my hand.
"Be still."
So calm. So gentle. I wanted to obey. He wasn't hurting me. It was the most attention he'd given me in weeks, and I was craving company almost as much as food.
I let him roll my lips, but winced. Turns out I get canker sores when stressed. I'd taken to nibbling at them unconsciously and some had festered. Watch out, ladies.
Joseph grunted, as though he'd found out everything he needed to, and went to stand. He only got halfway up before stopping. I stared at him curiously, then realized it was me who'd stopped him – my hand had locked around his wrist.
I was begging. Fuck me sideways, I was begging.
He stared down at me, only half lit in the glow of a lantern. And I saw the same hunger in his face that I felt through my entire body.
He knelt, eyes inches from my own.
"It must be this way. You must know what you've done."
I frowned, question unspoken but heard.
"It's your fault, Isaac. All of it. You must know this. You must understand and accept..."
I was shaking my head, throat constricted. I could scarcely breathe.
"N-no..."
"Yes." He stroked the side of my head. "Yours is a spirit of violence. God gave you his love by giving you life. And look what you've done with that gift. Look where your actions have led you."
"No. No, no, no, no—"
"Look at me. Look at me, Deputy."
The poisonous thoughts that had been haunting the outskirts of my mind were closing in. My defences were wavering. The Wall, built years ago to keep insanity at bay, was cracking, seeping memories I did not want to remember, feelings I did not want to feel. Some old, some very, very new.
I was jerking around. My focus turned outward and I realized Joseph was shaking me.
"Let it happen. Let it out. Let your soul be cleansed—"
Suddenly Joseph was flat on his back. My mind took a few seconds to catch up. I was on my feet, my fist balled, throbbing from the strike on the Father's mouth.
"No. No." Every word was agony in my dry throat. "It's not my fault. It was you. You."
He got up slowly, rubbing his jaw, eyes locked on mine. Blood trickled down from his lip. I braced myself, knowing he would try to cuff both my hands again and that I would fight to prevent it.
"Deputy—"
"It's not my fault!"
I thought my throat would bleed. Joseph shook his head.
"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"
I lunged, wanting to hit him again, to hurt him. My whole body jolted as the cuff stopped me cold. The bed remained bolted to the floor. I turned towards it and yanked at it anyway. I was sick of this room. Sick of this place! I wanted OUT!
"You're going to hurt yourself." He was behind me, touching my upper arms. I swung my free elbow back as hard as I could, striking his face, then twisted the other way, leg coming up to kick him in the hip. The strength both surprised and emboldened me. I turned to see where Joseph landed – he'd crashed into the radio stand, wincing as a corner jabbed his back. He straightened, that infuriatingly compassionate look on his face again as he raised his hands, trying to calm the situation.
"Peace, Deputy." He stepped in range. I tried to grab him but he pulled back, reaching behind himself.
"Your sin feeds you, and your denial is destroying you. You must relinquish it. You must—"
The radio was flying at my head. I ducked under my arm, felt the radio bounce off, and in that moment of blindness Joseph lunged, kicking the back of my leg while hooking his arms up under mine and locking his hands behind my neck in a full nelson. I thrashed, trying to get off my knees but he held on, forcing my head forward until it hurt.
"Kill me," I gasped, teeth bared. "Fucking coward, kill me! You had chances before. You failed, and it cost you your family." The pressure on my neck tightened, my chin so tight to my chest I could scarcely breathe. I heard his words as though from the other end of a tunnel.
"I'm not going to kill you, Isaac." He resisted my efforts to stand with ease. "You do not get to take the easy road."
The prospect of surviving scared me more than dying now. I was embarrassed at the dampness on my cheeks. Suddenly the pressure on my neck vanished and my head came up, opening my airway. My mind cleared with the lungful of air. His arms were around my chest. Hugging me.
"You can do this, Deputy. You can purge the darkness inside you." He let go, kneeling beside me, leaving one arm across my shoulders. I had nothing left, nothing to fight with.
"You are a ship, adrift in a storm. I am the lighthouse, warning of danger, promising sanctuary. You must brave the storm alone. But I will always be here, waiting, guiding the way."
I didn't even have the energy to roll my eyes. Joseph pressed his head against mine.
"Pray with me."
I did not pray. I didn't move, but spent the next several minutes cursing Joseph to every foul fate I could imagine, wishing he could see what I was thinking, and then maybe he wouldn't act so goddamn nice all the time.
When he left me alone, he left a man beaten. Defeated once more by Joseph Seed.
Day 374
He is behaving as I foresaw. Violent. Stubborn. Denying his guilt and venting his frustrations on me. Although I admit his attack had taken me by surprise, I was able to subdue him, to calm the beast he has allowed to control him. He wept. Not out of gratitude I'm sure, but he wept.
He sees me as the monster. He does not know I only eat when he eats, drink when he drinks. He does not know my own suffering, the darkness I feel even when bathed in light, how I long for company, even that of the man who murdered my family. I am alone. God is with me, of course, but since the bombs fell the Voice has said nothing, and I thought He would give me guidance. He is the all-forgiver, I am merely His hand on earth.
...
An hour has passed, I wrote nothing. The new Word is proving elusive and without God's whispers I am at a loss. I would lay down what is on my mind here in this journal but I feel that it would be unwise. Perhaps a later date...
I checked on the deputy. He remains huddled in his corner, perhaps asleep. He looks as bad as he smells but I do not have the heart to disturb him again, even to herd him to the shower.
Not for the first time, I wonder if I should not simply allow him the freedom of his own space, to look after himself. But I harden my heart. He is my child, and I must care for him, whether he wishes it or not. I cannot trust him to be able to resist temptation; he does not know how little food there is down here. The old man – Dutch, Isaac called him – had stored enough for one person to last for years, but not only are there two of us down here, we are younger and naturally need more food to sustain a functioning body.
But I know I cannot be stringent forever. In addition to bags of vegetables, fruit, and fish, there are two deer and half a moose split between two deep freezes, according to Dutch's inventory list, all divided in vacuum-sealed packages for scores of single meals. While an excellent way to store food, not only will it become of poor quality in a few months, but the freezers required a lot of power to sustain them, power that should be concentrating on keeping the bunker warm and lit, the air and water filtered.
I think I will pull out a portion for us to share tonight. The meat will do Isaac some good. We will be chewing on freeze-dried food for most of our stay here, so we might as well enjoy the frozen goods before they burn.
"Not very good at just paying attention. Not very good at remembering things. I'm not very good at pursuing redemption. Not very good at concealing the hand that I play when I'm trying so hard just to beat you. I'm not really good at controlling my fate. I'm not really good at controlling my anger! I'm not really good at subduing my hate! I'm not really good, I'm not really good, I'm not really good!"
The Way I Am, Staind