The Unholy Masochist
I paced the floor scrambling sentences and fumbling words in my head. I must have briefly contemplated learning a different language several hundred times just so words would sound more glorious. I glanced into the mirror as I passed it for the tenth time in five minutes. My eyes met their reflection. I looked crazy. I was crazy in that moment. I stopped pacing and stared hard, narrowing my eyes trying to ascertain that was indeed me in the mirror. I didn't recognize myself, but not because I looked different; I felt so different that I expected my appearance would have changed somehow. He walked into the room.
He took my dizzy head under his palm and held me gently as I swayed from side to side instantly drunk from his presence. Then, he pushed me under his words until I was on my knees before him. My eyes were closed because I was so woozy I feared I'd become sick with the intoxication. Words shattered inside my mind and I wasn't sure if I still swayed while kneeling. I felt as if I vibrated no matter what I did. His hand was still on top of my head, probably keeping me from falling over in a stupor.
“What do you long to say to me?” He asked quietly. His voice was so soft I wouldn't have heard him had there been any other noise. Maybe there was noise but I filtered it out and just heard him. I can't know. His fingertips dug into my scalp just a bit as if attempting to get my attention though he had it completely already.
“I don't know,” I whispered. Silence hung in the tiny space of air between us. I questioned if he had heard my answer, but then I heard him chuckle under his breath. I was in quite a state, I was aware. How hard I wished to find the right words in that moment I'd have expected them to pop out of my head in a bubble like in the comics. The thought made me chuckle and I opened my eyes. I began to lift my head up to see him but he forced my head to stay in position.
“You can look up when you've answered my question,” he said. Instant tears. I just knew I'd never figure out these words I was so desperate to say. I couldn't even speak to plead my case because my throat went numb with pain. I shifted my eyes down to look at my fingernails digging into the rounds of my knees. How hard was he baring down on my head? I then realized he was pushing me down further and I couldn't sustain my position much longer. “Down you go, girl,” he said.
I felt him step back as my upper body lowered to the floor. His hand disappeared and was replaced with his knee in my upper back. He applied enough weight to make breathing a chore but not to pass me out. I laid there on the cold floor as he gently turned my head away from him, facing the far wall. I felt him run his fingers through my hair petting me, trying to coax these words out from my mind.
“How long can you cut yourself off from me like this?” He asked.
“I'm not trying to,” I whispered, “I don't have the words I need. You said I'd find them in time.” I hoped that reminder would encourage him to allow me reprieve from his demand. I heard the most vulgar laugh in response.
“Time's up,” he said increasing the pressure on my back and grinding his knee a bit.
If I could have moved, he'd have felt me tremble underneath him. Perhaps he did as my muscles involuntarily cascaded in spasm; invisible to the eye but likely felt radiating up into his body from mine. I knew nothing could be hidden from him. I stammered out some gibberish in response that he didn't bother to acknowledge.
“You're either an unholy masochist here or you really don't know what you want to say,” he muttered after a few minutes, “How is it that I know what you want to say but you've no clue?” He lifted his knee up from my back and grabbed me by the hair to yank me off of the floor.
He let go of my bunched up hair and just stared at me. Disheveled, I merely fidgeted in front of him attempting to 'feel right' thinking if my clothing and hair were in their places, somehow things would click and I'd be able to speak again. I looked at him questioning what he said. If he knew what I wanted to say, why didn't he just tell me? Did he understand how not knowing what I felt so compelled to say was driving me insane?
“Help?” I asked meekly. Afraid to say any more lest my voice falter and crack, I fell silent before him. He sighed and reached out to brush a tuft of hair away from my right eye. His finger traced down against my cheek to my chin which he gripped between his finger and thumb. He physically shook my head from left to right. He grinned at me- that was his answer, telling me 'no' with my own movements. I scowled for a second as he walked away from me.
“Perhaps you need more time indeed,” he called back at me and laughed. He was going to let me sit in my craziness a bit longer. I wondered if he knew what he had done that he had further confused my mind and I'd struggle even more with finding these words now. I smiled just then. Oh, he knew. He knew.
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