Break Her Page 4

  “You know, you’re wrong. I don’t have to think of anything but what’s happening. The last thing I’m feeling is sexually stimulated,” she said. “I am soooo not in the mood.”

  “Really?” he said. “Then forcing you to be in the mood should make you suffer more.”

  “Well, obviously.”

  “But you disagree with my premise.”

  She scowled at him.

  “Which is,” he clarified, with accompanying hand gestures, “that this situation is itself sexually exciting, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

  “You’re wrong. You just want to believe that.”

  “It’s no reflection on me,” he assured her. “It’s a fact – though not a widely known one – that fear, stress, even the prospect of death can be physically arousing. Human nature is perverse. When it comes to sex, what’s right isn’t always what’s exciting. And what’s wrong isn’t always a drag.”

  She said nothing. She just lay there.

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Your ordinary, garden-variety rape – not exciting. For the victim, that is. Fast, furious, brutal, violent. That’s not most people’s cup of tea.” He paused. “But you and I – we – have a relationship now.”

  She made a pffft sound.

  “We do. And just purely physically, what I’m doing has to feel good.”

  “Will you feel like a failure if it doesn’t?”

  “I know that it does. I’ll just consider you a great actress.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now, let’s see you ‘act’ aroused. Let’s see you ‘act’ like you enjoy this. Go ahead. I want to see you come again.”

  Her head shook a little and her eyes began the lightest of twitching. “Fine,” she bit off.

  “And keep your eyes open.”

  “I hate you,” she screamed suddenly. It was stunning, he thought, coming from her. It made him feel good.

  “I know, but right now you also hate your own body.” He took another taste of her. “Even though I love it,” he added, before focusing again solely on her pleasure, which was, under his ministrations, simultaneously her humiliation.

  He felt the difference where his hands were, as she released her control. It was like a wave of water. In fact, it only took a few seconds before she succumbed and let her body rock with arousal and release. When she had finished her contortions and lay still, he smiled, removed his fingers, licked them ostentatiously, and pushed her off the couch onto the carpeted floor.

  “Stay on your back. Hands above your head, clasped together. Legs spread.” She followed his orders, but that didn’t shut her up.

  “Great,” she said, unpleasantly. “Ok. So what have you proved? My body has its own ideas. It will, I guess, occasionally betray my brain’s higher ideals. So what? It doesn’t mean I liked what just happened or you. You’re just trying to make yourself feel better.”

  “I feel just fine as it is. You know, if you didn’t feel anything, then that would have been that. And I would have expected that. For all you know, no other woman in the world would have, under these circumstances, felt sexually stimulated no matter what I was doing to her. Everybody else would have been thinking about ways to escape. But not you. Maybe there’s something wrong with you. Maybe you do like this. And you just don’t want to admit it. Why don’t you admit it?”

  She shook her head slightly as if he had slapped her, and almost sputtered in reply. And then she stopped and looked up at him from the floor with a glance that was pure ice. And she plastered a grin on her face.

  “Honey,” she said. “With all the grief you’re causing me, I’ll let you jerk me off anytime. It’s the least you can do.”

  And she glared at him through her smile. He just nodded slightly and leaned back on the couch.

  “You know why you’re going to lose this?” he asked.

  He didn’t wait for a reply.

  “Because you always have to show that you’re not. You always have to get me back. And that’s going to make this endless. And very, very frustrating for you. You’re the only one with a dog in this fight.”

  “Right. You’re just a neutral observer. And if I lie down, if I just stop fighting, whatever that means, then will I have won? You’ll just call me a quitter and tell me that it shows I’m weak.”

  “And if you were smart, you’d accept that, and move on.”

  “Maybe what I’m doing right now is the facade, to keep you from seeing that I know I only win by losing.”

  “But just saying that proves it’s not,” he said, with the tiniest bit of irritation.

  “Double bluff,” she said. And stared at him. And strangely, very strangely, they both burst into laughter. Hers bitter, his genuine. It was only for a few seconds, then he picked up the remote again and turned the TV back on.

  “Let’s see if we’re in the news,” he said.

  She’d never heard of anyone like this. He really was about more than dominating her sexually. He wanted to drive her crazy. She hadn’t quite grasped what he had really had in mind until he decided to focus on her sexual pleasure. She had to admit, that was truly diabolical, and she wasn’t immediately sure what response would be best. Her mind quickly ran through the options, fixing almost instantaneously on the one she chose: appearing to fight her own impulses, doing what he expected her to do, demanded that she do, until she could turn it around on him.

  He was right, actually. She was excited. Not by him. It was the battle that excited her – on every level, in a way she hadn’t felt for years. She hated what was happening, and she hated him without question. But every minute of this situation mattered; every second, every action, every reaction, made her feel fully alive, and that meant sexually, too. At least at this early stage, when he hadn’t yet done any real damage. It wasn’t his sexual skills that turned her on, although he knew what he was doing; it was fighting for her life. She’d thought she’d never feel this way again. It was part of what she’d been aiming at with the games she’d played in the last few years with whatever partner she could dredge up – on those rare occasions when she could be bothered. A little B&D, a little S&M. The stimulation of pain, the titillation of threat, and, of course, the pathetic attempt to recreate, in some small way, what she and her husband had had. But none of that was real. And this was. Everything in her was firing on all cylinders. Best not to mention that to this guy. With his ego, he might get the wrong idea.

  He played with the TV for a while, clicking through the channels, watching something for a few minutes, then searching for something else. Cartoons were on all the broadcast channels, but the offerings didn’t interest him.

  “Where’s the Pink Panther?” he asked, to the air. “Where’s the Ant and the Aardvark? Where’s Sylvester and Tweety?”

  “I’ll bet that would be your favorite. That or Pepe LePew,” she said from the floor.

  “You forgot the Road Runner,” he said. “I like to think of myself as a more successful Wile E. Coyote.”

  “I guess you couldn’t be a less successful one. But I see you more as Sylvester J. Pussycat, no offense to him. Because he never shuts up either.”

  “Your cats don’t do very much, do they?” He nodded in their direction. They were both curled up, not far apart, on a brown, velvet loveseat across the room. They had been there for some time.

  “They’re very, very, very old. Ancient, in fact, for pussycats,” she said, a bit defensively.

  “Really? How old?”

  “Twenty.”

  “And how long do cats generally live?”

  “Less than that.”

  “So they’re pretty much on the verge of death, as it is.”

  “I guess. I try not to think about it. I just enjoy them as much as I can.”

  “But they could die tomorrow.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Then why wouldn’t you give up the minuscule amount that’s left of their lives to possibly save your own?”

  “Huh?”
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  “They could die tomorrow for nothing. If you attacked me and somehow managed to escape, they’d die for something. And it wouldn’t make much difference in the scheme of things, would it?”

  She looked at him. “And you say I’m not human.”

  “I stand by that.”

  “It’s not an equation,” she said slowly. “I. Love. Them. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. And who’s to say my survival is more important than theirs?”

  “They’re a lesser species.”

  “Oh, right. Looking at you right now, I’m supposed to prefer their demise? I’m supposed to accept your superior right to life? You gotta be shittin’ me.”

  “A child and a cat – your cat – are on the street. There’s a car coming, and it will run them down. You can save one or the other, not both. Which do you choose?”

  She scowled again. “Yes. You’re right. Under that circumstance, I guess I’d have to go with my species and save the child. Even though the child could be rotten and grow up to be you. And the cat has given me nothing but love. And don’t even argue with me about whether they feel love or not. You’re uniquely unqualified to judge. And I’m telling you that they do.”

  “Fine. Fine. I just wanted you to admit it. So why isn’t your life worth more than theirs?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “I believe I’ll get out of this alive without having to sacrifice anybody else. Isn’t that what you promised me?”

  He smiled. “That’s true. I didn’t think you believed me.”

  “Why would you lie?”

  Now, he grinned. “I can’t think of a reason in the world.” He paused. “So I guess we can leave your cats to rest in peace.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  “But not you.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Get up on all fours.”

  Groaning, she did.

  He entered her from behind, doggie-style, forcing her to fight against his weight to stay in position, as he continued to demand. He could, in fact, tell from the sounds she was making, that she was experiencing absolutely no pleasure from what he was doing. But that made him happy.

  “You know. There is one thing I love,” he grunted as he pounded against her. She said nothing. “I love talking with you. I really do. There are so few people I find worth talking to.” He stopped to pant a few times. “What is it Hannibal Lecter says? ‘The world is more interesting with you in it.’ Right?”

  “Well, yeah, I think so,” she managed to get out. After at least twenty minutes of brutal thrusting, he pulled out without coming and let her fall to the floor.

  He leaned back and squatted on his haunches for a few seconds, enjoying the sight of her.

  “So let me just get this straight,” she said, in an exhausted tone. “Did you just bust out the Hannibal Lecter on me? I mean, come on, how fucking lame is that?”

  His eyebrows rose up and he opened his mouth as if to speak. Then he just shook his head and let it fall forward.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Given the situation, it’s too obvious. Too much of a cliche. You see, I can admit it when I’m wrong.”

  “Really? Then go home and hang yourself ‘cause this is all wrong.”

  “I can admit it, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to do anything about it.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  “You have to stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  “‘Ha. Ha.’ You’re overdoing it.”

  “Everybody’s a critic. Please submit a list of acceptable words and phrases I can use to show you that I hate your guts.”

  “I think you’ve made that point. My point is, why should that stop us from having a good time?”

  “I didn’t think it was stopping you.”

  “It’s more fun to share.”

  “Oh, please.”

  He grinned his inappropriate grin yet again. She turned away and looked at the wall across from her. There was a painting on it of a courtyard surrounded by flowers and a stone walkway. She and her husband had brought it back from a trip to Mexico. It could have been hokey. But the painter, someone that they’d never heard of, had added something more, some intimation of darkness, of something imminently threatening. There was no sun, but there was shade. It was a beautiful, but not a happy scene. Somehow, they had both loved that.

  Without looking back at him, she said, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Again?”

  “Well, actually, I should go after every time. If I want to avoid a urinary tract infection.”

  “You kill me.”

  “I wish.”

  “That you can even think of this sort of thing in the midst of this, for you, nightmare.”

  “Why is it so hard to believe that someone can be pragmatic and focus on these types of things. For some people, maybe that’s the best way to keep sane, to get through something like this. Or maybe my mind continues to function because you’re just not capable of affecting me deep down.”

  “Don’t challenge me,” he said in a cold tone. It gave her chills. “That doesn’t help your situation. Although I’m beginning to seriously wonder which of us is the least human.”

  “Arrrrgggghhhhhh.” She sat up, rubbing her upper arms with her hands. “I always get that. Simply because I can’t help keeping my head in situations. Jesus. Even when I was a kid.” She stopped and looked away.

  “What?”

  “What what? I was finished.”

  “No, you weren’t. What happened when you were a kid?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Someone said you weren’t human?”

  She looked at him, exasperated. “No. I was just always like this. And people don’t understand it. Maybe my way of dealing with shit is to be rational. And that, apparently, is the only unacceptable approach.” For a moment, she looked irritated at something other than what was going on around her, he thought. “Apparently, to be ‘human,’ is to be an idiot.”

  He looked at her with recognition. “Now, that’s how I’ve always felt.”

  “You’re one of the idiots,” she said, sharply.

  His expression began to cloud up, so she added, “Oh, god. Go ahead, hit me, fuck me, I don’t care. I’m going to pee, here or somewhere else, and then I’m going to get some sleep. I’m exhausted. If you don’t want me to drop dead, I need some rest.”

  “Please. You could go a lot longer without sleep and still survive – physically. I know this from personal experience. But I don’t have a problem with a nice, snuggly nap. Go ahead. But I want you to crawl to the bathroom. And I’ll be right behind you.”

  She crawled. Off the carpet and over the hard wooden floor of the dining room, the linoleum of the kitchen, and down the hardwood floor of the hallway until she reached the bathroom. He stood again at the doorway while she urinated. Thus, it was inevitable that he heard her fart several times. She tried not to look embarrassed when he laughed.

  “That’s from air inside me, air that you put inside me with your actions, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t care. It’s still funny.”

  She just grumbled something to herself while she wiped, then she flushed and washed her hands.

  “Yes, by all means,” he said, as she did. “We don’t want germs to hurt you.”

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “You see? How naturally you accept my leadership now. I like that.”

  She made a face at him.

  “Ridicule. The last resort of the powerless,” he said quietly. Then he took her hand and pulled her back into her bedroom, pushed her onto the bed, and arranged himself and her so that she was curled up inside his arms and legs, pretty much immobilized, and he was comfortable. She didn’t help, but she didn’t obstruct his efforts. She just waited until he had her exactly as he wanted her, and then she closed her eyes.

  “No, not yet,” he said softly. “I want to talk some more.”

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nbsp; “Grrrrr.”

  “Be grateful. This is a break for you.”

  She said nothing.

  He waited.

  “What do you want to talk about?” she finally asked.

  “You.”

  “I’m bored of me. What about you?”

  “No interest.”

  “Politics?”

  “Funny.”

  “Then what? Jesus. Don’t think for a minute that I’m not aware of the absurdity of this situation.”

  “Now you’re beginning to understand me. I live for the absurdity of this situation.”

  “But you said this doesn’t happen most of the time.”

  “Oh. Not just the way you’re behaving. That’s true. I just find this situation always absurd.”

  “The situation that you create.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “People think they’re so great. So smart, so powerful, so dignified. Not when I’m around, they’re not. Except for you, minus the dignity and power. You are smart. You don’t give up your reason. Most people will give up anything.” He gave her a little squeeze. “Anything to survive. In all honesty, I think your cats probably are infinitely superior.”

  “Well, I’ll agree with you on that one.” Her head was cushioned on one of his arms. “But you know? The other part. No. It’s not absurd, and it’s not pathetic. Did you ever read 1984?”

  He looked puzzled. “Yes. In school.”

  “Ok. There’s that Room 101 or whatever number it was. Where, threatened with the thing he is most afraid of, he says ‘do it to her, not to me.’ Right?”

  “Um huh.”

  “And that apparently signals the utter destruction of his soul, of his concept of himself as a human being. He’s destroyed because he did that.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, I never understood that.”

  “What?”

  “Why did he expect so much of himself? He expected himself to be superhuman, not human. If you don’t expect what is beyond any human to do, then you won’t be disappointed or destroyed because an unrealistic picture you had of yourself is shattered. Do you know what I mean?”