Break Her Read online

  “Tired of this?” He pushed her off of him and pulled her down onto the bed again. Then he climbed on top of her, kneeling with his penis inches from her mouth. “Are you kidding? This is The Show. I never get tired of this. Most of my life is spent not doing this – believe it or not. I live for this. And when I’m not doing this, I live on the memory and the anticipation. This won’t feel like days, or even hours. It feels like minutes. And it goes too fast.”

  She said nothing for a moment, lying there beneath him. “You should have been a poet.”

  “This is better,” he said. He held his penis in his hand, as if trying to decide what to do with it. Then he shoved it into her mouth and fucked her mouth. She gagged and choked, struggling to breathe. He enjoyed this for a while, with his face unusually still and expressionless. She could see him through her tears. His knees were pressing down on the tops of her arms. He looked at her calmly, and she thought she might die right then.

  Which is when he pulled out. And shook his head.

  “Not yet,” was all he said.

  She was choking and trying to catch her breath.

  “I’ll bet you’ll never be able to think about sex again without thinking of me,” he said. “If you can bear to ever think about sex at all.”

  She tried. She really tried. But she found herself sputtering. “It’s me you’ll never stop thinking about.”

  “Ahh. Is she back? Or was that the last gasp?” He laughed.

  She just looked sad. And frustrated. “You just don’t understand,” she said at last.

  “What?”

  “I don’t break. That’s the problem.”

  He looked puzzled for a moment. “The problem? You mean, you can’t, but you wish you could.”

  “Yes.”

  “You will.”

  “No,” she said. “I won’t. I never have. I wish I could. This is never going to end.”

  “Really. Let me assure you, you will.”

  “I know you think you’re right, and in most cases, I’m sure you are. But not this time. And it’s going to mean we’ll both be locked into this forever.” She stopped. “Like that black/white guy and that white/black guy on that old Star Trek episode.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Star Trek?”

  “Come on,” she said, looking up at him. “You know. The one with Frank Gorshin. Where they’re fighting and they’re never going to stop. Locked in mortal combat forever.”

  “Please,” he said. “Let me assure you. It won’t be like that. You will break. Everybody does.”

  She just shook her head and looked disgusted.

  “If I could fake it for you, I would. But you’re too smart for that,” she said. “I know you can tell. You’re a natural genius at this. So you’d know. So it’s just never going to stop.”

  “Well, if worst comes to worst,” he said. “That’s ok with me.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “You need to put a little food down your throat, “ he said with a chuckle. “A woman cannot live on penis alone.”

  She gave him a look.

  He jumped off of her and the bed and then pulled her out as well. “Let’s see what we can find to give you some sustenance. Get your spirits back up for the next round.”

  She just groaned.

  He dragged her to the kitchen and pushed her toward the refrigerator.

  “What time is it, anyway?” she asked.

  “Who cares?” he said. “I feel like an omelette.”

  She muttered something from inside the refrigerator. She emerged with eggs, cream, and some other items.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “I said, ‘you don’t look like one.’”

  He smiled. Then he motioned her away from the cooking implements, instructing her to sit on the floor with her hands behind her back and her legs crossed while he prepared the food. He made two good-sized omelettes, filled with ham and cheese that she had on hand. He also made coffee, not letting her near that device either.

  “I thought you knew I wasn’t going to try anything,” she said, “because of the hostages.”

  “Desperate people are not always wise,” he said.

  He gave her a little kick to encourage her to move to the dining room, and he put the food on the rectangular pine table, seating her at one end, himself at the other. There was nothing but a wall behind her.

  “Maybe I’m not being quite fair,” he admitted. “Eat and we’ll talk about this. Maybe you can explain to me how you know that you’ll never break.”

  She just nodded and began to eat.

  “How is it?” he asked.

  “Great,” she conceded, deadpan. “You make a great omelette. I guess that’s because you know how to break eggs.”

  He burst into laughter. “That’s a really good one,” he said. He looked at her fondly.

  “Please don’t look at me fondly.”

  “But I really feel fondly towards you.”

  “Well, that’s your particular pathology. If you weren’t morally insane, you’d realize that you can’t feel fondly toward someone and then hurt them.”

  “I thought you said you did have a family, growing up.”

  “Touché.”

  He continued to look at her with fondness.

  She focused on her food. “Is that what they did to you?” she asked.

  “We’re not here to talk about me,” he said.

  “Well, I can’t help wondering.”

  “I’m sure you can’t.”

  “Trying to figure out how someone like you is created.”

  “I’ve told you. That’s a waste of your time.”

  “It’s my time.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s mine.”

  “Right.”

  “You just can’t stay defeated now, can you?”

  “I’ll try harder.”

  He smiled at her.

  “So how do you know that you can’t be broken?” he asked.

  “It’s just never happened yet. And there were several times in my life when I really wanted it to.” She took another bite, but didn’t wait to finish chewing. “I mean, I thought, if I just cracked, then somehow, I wouldn’t have to be there anymore. If I could just crack.”

  He looked at her. “And what could make you feel that bad?”

  “You’re not the only bad thing that can happen to a person, you know.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “It doesn’t matter what the specifics are.”

  “I’d like to hear them.”

  “I don’t know if I want to go into all that.”

  “What if I say that you must?”

  “Yeah. That doesn’t really work because you don’t know the details of my history. Whether what I say is true or not.”

  He nodded.

  “Anyway,” she said, spearing and swallowing the last bite. “Boy, that was good. Yeah, anyway, I was very young. I don’t even remember a lot of the details. Just the feeling sometimes.” And now she spoke as if he wasn’t there. Or wasn’t him. “I remember it sometimes in dreams. Unending tension and the air thick with fear and anticipation of the next awful thing. Disappointment after disappointment. No possibility of escape. No. I can’t remember the details. Just wishing that I could lose my mind. That I could go away that way. But bad as I felt, crushed, hopeless, angry, I was always right there. Thinking of the next thing to do or say or not say. To survive. Never could stop thinking.” She brought her eyes back from the middle distance to focus on his. “Do you really think you can hurt me more than somebody who loved me did?”

  “Now, I think I’m one of the few people who can actually understand that question. Without the element of betrayal, how could I hope to destroy you?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But you’re not a child anymore. You’re a grownup. And, even assuming that lovely story is true, breaking a grownup is different from breaking a child.”

  “Really. You must be quite the expert.”

/>   “I am. A child is helpless; I think it is the betrayal that destroys them. But a grownup is – usually – not helpless. Grownups expect betrayal. What they can’t stand to be is powerless. That’s what destroys them.”

  “Very neat.”

  “People aren’t that complicated,” he said smoothly.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “We’d all like to think so.” He chuckled.

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “Careful.”

  “You know, your warning voice is kind of chilling.”

  “You’ve learned why. That’s all.”

  “But I am powerless here. I know that. And I’m not destroyed.”

  “Obviously, you don’t really believe that you’re powerless. You think you’re going to figure something out and get out of this. You’ll break when you realize you can’t.”

  “But people always have some kind of hope. That’s just innate. They’re not rational about their chances.”

  “That’s why the point at which they finally do give up hope is the point of destruction. Don’t worry. You’ll get there.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “It will be the relief you’ve always sought.”

  “Really?” For a moment, she sounded wistful.

  “I promise.”

  “I wish I could believe you.”

  “Me too. But you will.”

  “Tell me something about your past.”

  “No.”

  “Just anything. I told you.”

  “This is not a ‘quid pro quo, Clarice,’” he said.

  “Come on.”

  He gazed at her thoughtfully. “Just think of me as a force of nature. There is no explanation for me.”

  “But there has to be.”

  “Really? Does it matter? Will you feel sympathy for me? Will you understand, maybe even forgive me because I know not what I do? I’m just the product of an unhappy childhood?”

  “Don’t you want any of those things?”

  “You’ve said that I do.”

  “What do you say?”

  “I just want this. Now.”

  She frowned. “What do you do the rest of the time? When you’re not doing this?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I work in an office.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. Even if you got away, went to the police, identified me, I’d have an excellent alibi. It would never be me that could do this sort of thing. You must be mistaken.”

  “What kind of office?”

  “I’m an accountant.”

  “No.”

  “It’s important to have a skill.”

  “Seriously?”

  “When am I ever anything else?”

  “Wow.”

  “So there,” he said. “You got something out of me. And I’ve just set back your situation as a result.”

  “But that’s ok with you, you said.”

  “Yes. You’ll be the one who suffers longer because of it.”

  “Because now for a minute, I’m not hopeless.”

  “Exactly. And now I have to make you feel that way again. And more.”

  “I’m already beginning to feel it.” She started to look worried again.

  “Everything must be paid for,” he said calmly.

  He looked carefully at her across the table. He saw her breath begin to quicken. She wasn’t superhuman after all. It was the beginning of panic. She didn’t know what he was going to do next.

  He leaned back in his chair. He hadn’t quite decided that yet himself.

  It was inevitable that she wouldn’t be able to consistently maintain her underlying sense of purpose. He was good at what he did. As she lay beneath him, forced to face that smug, disturbingly bland face, her body ached and her soul just wanted to flee. It was better, in a way, when she faced away, even though the physical pain was often worse. It was easy to act beaten down by his attacks because she was. And it was easy to shift every now and then into resistance because she felt exactly that way, too. It was becoming easy to feel that there was no beginning and no end to this, just an eternal, painful present under his dominion. She found that it was bringing up old feelings and resentments, and she was not sure if that was going to be helpful or fatal. The feeling of being constantly at the mercy of somebody else’s whim, just like when she was a child. Somebody who enjoyed the power he had over her and never let her forget for a minute that he had it. The overwhelming physicality of this man now, so like the giant figure of the man who had always held her life in his hands when she was small and who never let her forget it. “What are you going to get me for my birthday?” she’d ask. “I’ll let you live,” he’d say, with a grim smile.

  “I’ll let you live.”

  What a kidder.

  So many years, so many miles, so many experiences away from all that, but this man now was bringing it all back. And she would have to kowtow to this one, to grovel, if he demanded it, to talk with him when he chose, to let him put his hands on her when he chose, and even to pretend that she wanted it, that she liked it, to do things for him that she would only do for someone she loved. Always and everything when he chose. She couldn’t leave then, and she couldn’t leave now. But she did have a fighting chance now. Not much of one, if considered realistically. Just a small one.

  It was funny how life kept throwing you curves, long after you considered it essentially over. It seemed that she was destined to lose something vital every few years: her childhood, her innocence, the people that she loved, her belief that there was any sense to be made of the world. Everything gets stripped away. But then, she didn’t believe in destiny. That was just the breaks. And plenty of people had it worse.

  Anyway, she didn’t have any choice. Somehow, she always survived. She had always survived. Of course, it was always possible that someday she would run into the buzz saw that would finally destroy her. You couldn’t rule that out. Maybe this man was the one. She knew she couldn’t afford to think like that. But she also knew that it might be true.

  And then, she couldn’t help thinking that that meant she’d win either way. Freedom or peace. It was the only comfort she would know for some time.

  His endurance was really amazing, psychopathic, she thought, or maybe he was sneaking some Viagra. She lay there, exhausted. He’d been pounding into her, straight-forward, missionary-style fucking, but non-stop, for 30 minutes.

  “You know,” he said, sitting back on the living room floor where he had most recently taken her, “a lot of women complain that their men can’t go for more than a couple of minutes.”

  “Have you heard me complain about that?” she asked.

  “Still alive and kicking,” he said. He lit a cigarette. “You?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Very good. It’s wise to show me the proper deference.”

  Her eyes were shadowed with misery. She said nothing, just took the lit cigarette he offered. He placed an ashtray between them.

  “There are worse things, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “There’s always something worse.”

  She nodded.

  “You’re lucky that this is my particular method. I guess they didn’t want pure pain. That’s another way of killing a soul, of course. And there are certainly plenty of specialists out there.”

  “Why do you think they chose you?”

  “Nice try. Because my methods work. Maybe they assumed this would be harder on a woman.”

  “They.”

  “If you don’t know who they are, why would I tell you?” he said.

  “Are we there yet?” she asked, in the voice of a child.

  He looked into her eyes. “Just a little longer.”

  She looked away. They were silent for a few moments.

  “I hate this.”

  “Good. That means it’s working.” r />
  “No. I mean this,” she said, gesturing at herself. “Constant nakedness.”

  “Easy access.”

  “Can’t I put on a nightgown or a robe or something?”

  “Obviously, if it bothers you, we’ll keep doing it.”

  “Sometimes I don’t know if you’re a torturer or just a really annoying big brother.”

  “Funny.”

  “Really. You do have a knack for knowing what really gets to people.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “That is the point. I mean the fucking is tough, I know. But forcing you to look me in the eyes while I’m doing it, for example, is much tougher, isn’t it?”

  “You know the answer.”

  He’d finished his cigarette. He plucked hers out of her fingers and stubbed it out in the ashtray. Then he climbed on top of her again, this time stretching out his body, but resting the weight of his torso on his elbows, leaving a space between her head and his. She tried to shrink away.

  “No place to go,” he said.

  “Please stop.”

  “I’m not doing anything. Just being close.”

  She swallowed hard. “I can’t bear it.”

  “You said you could.”

  “I can’t, and I can.”

  He smiled and let his eyes sweep over her face and body, back and forth. He tilted his head and lightly kissed her neck and ear. She made a sound in her throat and tried to shift away. But he didn’t put his hands on her.

  “Stay right there. Don’t move. If you move, I’ll punish you.”

  She stopped wiggling.

  He moved his head down and licked at a nipple. It stayed flat.

  “Time means nothing to me. The only thing that matters is your body under mine. Mine owning yours.”

  She leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling, the only thing she could do.

  “You know,” he said. “If I were a vampire, I would take a nice, big bite out of that delicious neck.”

  “I wish you would.”

  “No, you don’t. Because I wouldn’t drain you. I’d take just enough and then have you drink mine, so that we would be one forever and ever. You’d belong to me forever.”

  “God, that’s so romantic.”

  “Isn’t it? You’ll never find anyone who’s as romantic as I am. Or anyone who will love you the way I do.”