Sunday, March 14, 2010

Monster Love

Category: Issue 18

“Ours is a stormy kind of love, wouldn’t you agree?”  And then, as if to prove right her own question, she tightened the tourniquet around my throat.  It was obvious to the both of us that I would be unable to answer, to agree or disagree, so I did what I thought was the next best thing: I smiled.

Satisfied, she danced across the room, towards the ancient record player.  She leant down, lifted up the red box, rested it on her knee and searched the contents for a vinyl disc she felt was suitable for this occasion.  After several tutts, oohs and aahs, she dropped the box (spilling the contents across the floor) and then stuck her desired choice onto the turntable.

I forced myself to let out a little moan.  Of course I wanted to scream and shout to the rafters, but there was little chance of that.  I took a couple of moments to take in my predicament, not that any of it made any sense.  Neither did the other wounds:  the razor slashes across my body, the nails from both my feet and hands that had been removed, the crown of screws that had been hammered into my skull.  The strips of flesh that had been peeled away from my legs and arms where she had (deliberately) poured that very, very hot water (made worse of course by the thin breeze from the air conditioning that blew across my skin like electric shocks).

As the orchestra began to kick in and the speakers vibrated from the instruments, she started to sing aloud, kicking out her feet in some kind of macabre danse.  Mid step she turned to me and mouthed the words: “Everything comes around, bringing us back again, here is where we start and end.” She got the words right to a tee, I was impressed in an ironic sort of way.  She’d obviously done this sort of thing before.

Thinking that she was distracted by the music, I did my best to try and loosen my bonds, even if it achieved nothing more than allowing me to breathe a little more easily.  But, it was no good, she was an expert.  I was tried naked (natch!) to the wooden chair and there was going to be no escape for me unless she suddenly relented and let me go.  And of that, I hated to admit it, I didn’t think was going to happen anytime soon.  We’d moved way past first base.

Yet, while she danced and sung, I also thought that she’d lost interest in me.  Again, I couldn’t have been so wrong – she always had at least one eye on watching me and when she saw that I was shifting and squirming in the chair, trying to fashion a way out, well, she quickly pounced upon me.  I couldn’t hear exactly (she had completely mangled one of my ears anyway) and I had closed my eyes (didn’t want to see the onslaught) but she must have landed with quite a heavy thud because it disturbed the needle on the player causing it to scratch the record and it relentlessly played the same lyric over and over again: “everything comes around…everything comes around…everything comes around.”  For my insubordination I received a slap across my face.  It should have smarted and probably deep within it did, but she had hit me so many times since my incarceration that the pain receptors in my cheek had more than dulled.

However, and here’s the rub.  Whilst the receptors in my cheeks no longer responded, that didn’t mean that my whole body was disgusted by her touch.  After all, she had been right about one thing at least – ours indeed was a stormy kind of love.  She couldn’t help herself when she looked down between my legs, then stepped back a pace and licked her lips.  She had been successful in her goals, even if it meant that she had had to put me through so much suffering.

The thing was though, I didn’t want my body (and in particular that part of my body) to react in such an obvious way, but I couldn’t help it.  It goes without saying that I was embarrassed, tried to think of anything, of anything that would make it go down, to crawl back to where it had been hiding all this time – but even that course of action seemed to have the opposite affect and make its emergence into the fray even more bolder.

“Well, well, well.”  She whispered.  “Now there’s something I wasn’t expecting.  But then I guess you’ve always had eyes for me.”  I didn’t know about that, right then I couldn’t even look at her.  Didn’t at all like the physical reaction she was getting out of me, especially at a time such as this.

“I honestly don’t know what to say.” She said, eventually raising her eyes to look at me.  “I’m impressed though, I didn’t realise you had it in you.  From tiny acorns, such mighty oaks grow hey?”  I had no idea what she was talking about, not really, but I could get the gist.  She was mocking me.

As she nodded her head (in agreement with herself?), she did something even I wasn’t expecting: she sat down on my thighs.  Something moved inside my belly, right there in the pit of my gut.  Again, I tried to move, but where was there to go? With her hands she managed to widen the gap between my legs.  She moved closer to my stomach so now I was pressing right up against her.  She squirmed in some kind of delight as she started to rock backwards and forwards on my thighs.  My breathing quickened and I knew that my body (particularly my deadened cheeks) flushed.

She put her hands behind my neck, leant down and whispered into my ear.  “Do you like it?  Isn’t this what you always dreamt of?”  I wanted to shake my head, to scream no, I couldn’t think of anything worse – this wasn’t right, this shouldn’t have been happening, this definitely shouldn’t be happening with her, but as her movements became more and more intense and as she tugged on that clamp that was tightly squeezed around my nipple, all I could do was scrunch up my face in further pain.  Somehow though, she was getting through to me and I eventually went with it.  Started to move (as best I could anyway) in unison with her.

So, to be expected, that pain swiftly became pleasure and in my ecstasy, the inevitable happened and my body reacted precisely the way she intended, even if I did try to hold it back the explosion as long as humanly possible. There was a look of shock on her face, but that was there for just a fleeting moment.  She climbed off my legs, looked down at her own thighs and started to wipe away the fluids I had secreted.  She shook her head in disgust.  “Typical man, no staying power, all style and no substance.”

As my breathing slowed and my pulse returned close to normal, I felt more than embarrassed.  My body felt sticky, sweaty and whilst I wilted (thank God!), I was very distraught by what had just occurred between her and me.  “Stop crying!”  She ordered.  Though how she knew this was beyond me as she was now standing with her back to me.  She was over by the table.  She was going through a pile of metal objects.  There was something glistening in her hand, it reflected in the light.  But when she turned around and faced me, I could see that I wasn’t the only one shedding tears.

Though she had changed the track on the record player, she didn’t dance when she came back at me with the knife in her hand.  There wasn’t a smile on her lips and she certainly wasn’t laughing.  There was obviously only one way this was going to end.  She even subscribed herself to this theory when she cried: “Can’t you see what our love has done?”

Madly I shook my head, there was no way I was going to agree with her.  With only my eyes to communicate, I tried to implore that she should stop now.  For a moment I thought I got through to her, but it was gone so quickly, I was sure that I had imagined it.  She even shook her head and said. “I’m sorry, but I’m all out of emotion.”

And for the second time she pounced upon me.  This time however, her idea of love was very, very different.  As the knife plunged into me, not once nor twice, but three, four, five times, an ocean of blood flowed between us.  She seemed to revel in the redness as it showered upon her.  She drunk it down as fast as I could pour it into her mouth.  Her violence knew no bounds, there was no stopping her.  She was no longer human.  She was a creature.  She was a beast.
As the light began to fade around me and my breathing slowed almost to a standstill, I couldn’t help but think I was only 12 years old and whilst I had to painfully accept she was a monster, she was still my mother and I loved her.  I guessed she loved me just the same.  We just had different ways of showing it.