Disclaimer: Drizzt, Catti-brie and his other friends all do not belong to me. No profit made.
A/N: When I started writing I intended this to be a one shot, but somehow the story took on a life of its own. I just hope I'm not spoiling everything by continuing and twisting Drizzt too much. Please tell me if you think I should stop or make suggestions for improvements.
Doubts
I know where his problem lies. He does not want to admit to himself how much he actually enjoys not being in control, not being responsible, because it scares him that he would be capable of doing so. Instead he wants to obliterate me, the one who confronts him with this unwanted side of his personality and in turn he could become something he hates even more. I can see it now, the look which says "You will die." I have seen it before on the battle field, in the eyes of other Drow, of killers.
"If you accept yourself you won't have to hate me, you know."
He seems to have lost his voice and just takes a step back, his head shaking in silent denial.
This time I don't close the distance, we've been here for too long already, out in the open and visible to everyone who cares to see. I must bring this to an end now and leave before someone comes along and discovers us together.
"I will try to send her back tomorrow." I offer.
"And for that you expect me to come with you tonight." He spits out the sentence like something foul and abhorrent, but I can hear the underlying resignation, once again I laugh. It won't be that easy.
"No not tonight. There are other things I must do. You will come when I call."
A wordless hiss of pure fury follows my arrogant statement. He doesn't like being ordered around, which is the exact reason for my doing so. This game is one I love to play, the game of control. The feeling of power is an exceptional aphrodisiac and I can already feel the tingle of excitement running down my spine.
"You…" It is amazing how much hatred and anger can be conveyed in a single word and belatedly I notice that I am licking my lips. He has seen it too this slip of composure and stares as if hypnotized for a few seconds before awareness returns. Does he remember how these lips felt on his? Does he feel the ghostly touch of my thoughts?
"You will not make me your slave!"
With that he brusquely turns and walks away so fast he's almost running. My slave… I never wanted that. The whole appeal of this lies in his struggle, his defiance. Submission is only the conclusion of a game well played and while I crave it, I cannot deny the equally alluring excitement of the hunt, which precedes the completion. It seems to be my fate to wish for things that are forbidden, but I will have him even if it kills me.
***
You start running as soon as you are sure he won't hear your quickened steps. How could this happen? Your mind is in turmoil and your face burning with shame and apprehension. You could have wailed in despair when your body betrayed you once again, shivering under his touch as if it was a trusted lovers tender caress. If you let this continue he will eventually break you with soft words, touches and kisses. Even now you are doubting yourself, could you secretly want this? Why else would you react so strongly?
You stop your aimless flight and rest one cheek against the cool stone of a plain wall in the desperate attempt to gain some measure of calmness. You need to think, to find a solution, but everything tumbles through your head in total disarray.
Why did she have to follow you? What can you tell her, nothing really, for she must never know. You don't want her to carry the burden of the guilt you are certain she will feel when she learns about the ugly truth which lies behind her suspicions. And yet you won't be able to deceive her. She will see through every lie as she did when deciding to come here. She is too familiar with your way of thinking to be fooled and you don't think he will convince her to leave the city without searching for answers.
The only way to keep this secret would be to leave her forever. And still you'll need his help, his silence, but you are very aware that this assistance will come at a high cost. With the realisation a cold, hollow sensation starts spreading in your body. If you run away though she will follow and inevitably the others will become involved too. You can't let that happen! They would find out everything and see what a tainted being you are, for how could they possibly understand and accept what you can't even fully comprehend yourself? No, the only thing you could do is to make her believe in your death; let her keep the clean, caring image she has of you now.
Through the distorting haze of self-loathing you picture their disgusted faces turning away from you, the slut who begs to be taken, who has neither pride nor morals. And yet you are unable to kill him, because if you revelled in his suffering that would make you something even worse. You have killed in revenge before, but it was different then, not in cold blood. You had no reason to question yourself and felt that your deeds were justified. But he managed to make you doubt yourself, your motivations.
You feel like a trapped and cornered animal and in blind anger you lash out at the nearest thing welcoming the blossoming pain when your knuckles hit the wall. For a short, blissful moment you don't have to think, concentrating only on the sharp sting pulsing through your hand, but then you have to face the brutal reality once more.
As much as you hate to admit it, you will have to go to him when he calls. You need his cooperation to push her away, for wouldn't this be better, to hurt her once, but in a way she which will enable her to forget you eventually, to continue her life and find happiness again? Only when you feel the slight, involuntary tingle, which runs down your back at the thought of his touch, it occurs to you that there might be no turning back once this route is taken. Maybe it is too late even now.