Warning: The chaper contains clues that sexual abuse has taken place. If you don't want to read that, wait for the next chapter to be posted. It's not required to read it to follow the story.
It aligns with a part of my other story 'Power' (chapters 30, 31, 32), if you want a further view on what happened nine years ago, in China.

.

lunedì sera

.

.

.

There was a black bag over my head. It made everything dark… actually a lot like now, at night. The darkness of the night and the memories of those days always easily melt into each other. China. Russia. Sengala. Sometimes there wasn't even a black bag, whenever they didn't care if I'd see who the one was, who laid his hands on me. Didn't matter anyway. Only once, the first time it happened, I left my eyes open and watched what was coming. Thereafter I shut them, voluntarily, because I didn't want to see it. They wouldn't have ever needed that bag when they led me to a table, to such a special bench or just the hood of a car. It always started out the same. It always ended the same.
Damn it.
My whole body cringes at the simple memory.
I never wanted to share that with anyone, let alone a woman I slept with. It's humiliating, disgusting. Even though it doesn't leave a scar, compared to all the other things that they've done to me, there is still a scar somewhere, invisible, but carved deeply into your body. The pain was nowhere near the one from getting lashed, beaten or electrocuted. But that doesn't make it better. It's just a different kind of pain. All these other things were over, once they let up on me. Maybe there was a superficial wound that needed a few days or weeks to heal.
The pain of those other days never goes away. Your body hurts for a few hours – or a few days, if they were exceptionally brutal, but that physical pain is nothing. The first few days thereafter you're just glad it's over and you don't spend much thought on what happened.
The real pain comes later. It never goes away. It doesn't get less. Any time you think back, you're there again, feeling the same helplessness, the humiliation, the degradation.
You won't let anyone get close to you, ever again.
Any other time, when they ripped my clothes off and dragged me along my whole body writhed with disgust again. Is it insane to say I was even a little bit glad when I realized that the Chinese weren't about to do that, a few months ago, when I ended up there again? That they 'only' started using pain-inducing pharmaceuticals, burns, beatings? How can you only say that you're glad to go through that. I must be insane.
Russia was awful. The guards would let anyone put their hands on me, if they paid them well enough.
It didn't leave any obvious traces.
They could do it again and again, nobody would ever put a stop to it. Maybe their superiors even knew and got a fair share of the money. Who knows. I'll never know. The thing that occupies my mind isn't revenge or to guess who ended up with a profit from my suffering. They shall have it. They're just little wheels in that big corrupt machinery, trying to make a living for themselves.

Audrey's hand lies at my naked stomach. She's fast asleep.
I'm again lying wide awake, like so often during the past two weeks. I can't believe I'm here now, with her, sharing that kind of intimacy. The one who sat in that Russian prison cell would have sworn never to let anyone get so close again. The simple thought of anyone's hand on my naked skin was unbearable, sickening. A long time the conscious part of my mind just put it on the scars. That you don't want anyone to get closer and to see what happened. Having to explain. I hate the pity. They all mean well, but I don't want their pitiful looks and the compassion. Don't you get it that your compassion will just prolong the suffering? You're pitying someone and you put them right back into being the victim. Pity is not the thing that helps anyone move away from the pain.

She looks so peaceful, sleeping there, next to me. I've been up so many times during the past few weeks but I'll never tire of watching her peaceful features. She's consummate. Every part of her is simply perfect.
When the world comes tumbling down, you'll still hold my hand, you would never let go and be right behind me. How did I ever deserve to meet someone like you, Audrey?

I'd really want to place a kiss at her forehead, but I'm afraid she'll wake up if I move too much.

Two weeks ago, when we kissed for the first time, I completely forgot about the things that I had sworn to myself: never let anyone get close again.
I don't know how it happened. Suddenly I had forgotten what had happened in the months before… nine years ago…. even longer ago… basically all of that dark red line which spans through my whole life.

Something else had taken control of the both of us. We didn't think. Our minds were off, when we stumbled down in to the cabin and ended up in each other's arms.
It took a tremendous portion of trust to let her come so close. There were no second thoughts. Never.

It was much harder in the days thereafter.
The morning after, we both woke up and couldn't believe how far we had gone the past night. Then there were these African guys, the border patrol… we had no time back then to really process our decisions of the past night.

It came later.
That first night the passion had just shut off our heads.
Two days later, it caught up with us. The situation suddenly became awkward for no reason, as we stood at the entrance to the cabin in the bow of the boat, which she had used alone, up to then.
We suddenly realized what we were about to do. I remembered what I had sworn myself earlier – and suddenly it didn't make any sense any more to keep up the walls which she had already easily jumped over, two days ago.

I don't want your pity, she said to me.

Those could have been my words.

She felt the same. From the way she was standing there, afraid to enter into the cabin, everybody could have realized what she was talking about. It had happened to her, too.
It hurt so much to realize that she had gone through the same.

She said she didn't want me to be angry at whoever had done that to her. It wouldn't make our lives better.

Years ago, I would have only thought of revenge in a moment she tells me what she had had to go through. There was somebody out there, who had done that to her. My mind would have been occupied with just one thought: I made so many wrong decisions in my life. Everything could have turned out differently, if I hadn't left you. This is my goddamn duty, to take revenge. I need to put it right.

Let it go, she said, and softly cupped my cheeks with her hands, it was not your fault that it happened.

I stepped closer and took her into my arms, our foreheads touching. Okay. Such a small word. I'm not used to forgiveness. The burden that it takes off one's shoulders is something I'm not used to.

I don't want you pity either, I said, using the same words to say just as much as was needed to make her understand. I wouldn't even have needed to.

I know, she slightly nodded her head, I was there and saw it.

She's talking about China, obviously. She knew about it, all the way.
It happened again. I don't want to hide that from her. Quite a few times. Damn it, maybe it wasn't even that blood transfusion in Sengala, that gave me the HIV infection. Maybe I already caught it in the months before that. Who knows. What does it matter. Definitely not nine years ago. I had myself tested in the meantime.

It happened again, she told me, using my words.
So they had done that to her, nine years ago, and again, during the past eight months. I could have guessed so, even without her saying it.

Hesitatingly we finally made that step into the cabin. Every single one of our movements was ten times slower than two days ago. Between the kisses we wordlessly asked for permission, for every small movement that we about to make, every button that got opened, every piece of clothing that came off, every new part of each other's bodies, our hands moved to.

It was probably the most passionate night I've ever spent, in my whole life, though we basically couldn't do much.

In most countries, I don't even fall under the definition of a 'man' anymore. One who's not able to procreate – one who's not even able to get it up. That's not a man anymore. One doesn't necessarily need the boys to get it up. But they've cut so deep and stitched up the wound so amateurishly that everything starts to hurt as soon as I get aroused.

Who thought that it would ever turn out to have a good side.
She knew which things were impossible for me because I had told her that day. Probably that even helped her gain enough trust to step into the cabin with me.

I've spent the most beautiful two weeks of my life with her. It's impossible to compare this time now to the relationship that we had, twelve years ago. It lies so far in the past that it is only a distant memory.

She lies here, next to me, right now.

Outside, it already started to get bright. The sky first turned grey, then light red, then white. How long have I been lying here, thinking? Maybe a few hours. Couldn't sleep. Had to watch her face.
Had to fight the demons that are still out there.

An hour later, she wakes up.

Good morning.

She smiles. Good morning.

The hand that has lain on my chest moves up to my cheek and she comes closer for a kiss.

I pull her into a tight embrace. She lies at my side, having wrapped one arm and leg around me. It's quite chilly in the morning, since we left the door to the living room and to the balcony open.
I pull the blanket over her shoulders.

I don't need to tell you that I love you, Audrey. Already said it I don't know how often. You know.

The walls that I've built to protect myself from this world and its pity are still there, unbroken. It's just…. you're not outside these walls. There's enough space within, just for the two of us.

.

.