For a few moments she just eats, and I'm in no hurry to break the comfortable silence, but at some point she suddenly starts to get very nervous. My eyes involuntarily switch to her, and she looks at me with uncertainty close to fear.
She's getting ready for something, I understand. The performance, unfinished in the morning, will continue right now.
"I want you to take the cameras out of my room."
One simple phrase. But it manages to make my breathing freeze for a moment before I pull myself together and lean back in my chair, studying her.
Here it is. That's what it was all about. That's what so much effort is for. That's the reason why she's been trying to be nice and obsequious all day. She wants to get rid of the cameras.
Surely that's what she discussed with Kent when they spoke in private. I can't even be completely sure that it was her idea.
Something inside me switches. All the feeling of comfort and warmth blows out, as if someone opened a window, allowing cold air to enter the room. I feel a tension that I shouldn't feel. I knew perfectly well that she was playing a game, that she had some kind of request. I knew it from the beginning. And, of course, I was sure it was about Kent. I didn't expect, however, that she would ask for this.
I was pretty sure it would be about his safety. That she would ask me not to hurt him, that she would once again proudly demonstrate to me her humanity and my cruelty. It would be a noble step, a manifestation of pure kindness on her part and concern for other people. But she asks for something completely different. About something much more selfish. Personal.
I'm almost disappointed.
A conversation with my father involuntarily pops up in my head, his phrases about what would have happened if she hadn't had her problems with touching. I immediately throw this thought out of my head. I was standing near both of them. I didn't feel any emotions that could confirm that they had come this far in their relationship. No. This is completely different.
It doesn't change my feelings about any of this at all. She still continues to play the role of holy innocence, but she doesn't even try to hide her demons from me. I'm surprised she doesn't marvel at her own impudence.
I give in to the first, most natural reaction to her request.
Of course I immediately respond with a categorical refusal.
"Not up for discussion."
Juliette immediately starts a dialogue, begins to make arguments, are mutually beneficial offers to me, and, to put it simply, blackmail me. Give me what I want, and maybe you'll gain my trust.
"Do you want us to be on the same side? This is impossible if you treat me like a prisoner".
"This is a forced move, and you yourself are partly to blame for this".
"Then I'll behave like a prisoner".
"And under other conditions would you behave like my ally?"
"I would consider this option. The possibility that you can be trusted".
I want to get to my feet and give her a standing ovation. She's really very capable. She hasn't been here even a week, but she's already plotting, finding allies and establishing secret connections behind my back, deceiving, trying to manipulate. She takes to this like a duck to water, although she refuses to admit it. Who would have thought that she would understand so quickly what tactics she should stick to. A matter of trust. An excellent move by a person who seems to have already thought out a strategy for her behavior. I decide to take advantage of this and bring a mirror to her face, make her look at herself. I'm pretty sure she doesn't even realize what she's actually doing.
I snort and openly voice my thoughts to her.
"You're trying to manipulate me."
Not a bit of surprise or embarrassment. Not a shred of remorse for her lies.
"I'm not."
"I don't mind at all. Anything to make you show your true colors."
This is the only one that confuses her. I see her fidgeting in her chair because of the uncomfortable for her exchange of phrases. But it's not because she realized how she really behaves, it's because she was exposed too easily. The dialogue isn't going where she would like at all, everything turns out to be somewhat more complicated. Although I have to give her credit, she doesn't back down, doesn't shying away, but continues to try to get what she needs. She knows how to be persistent and stubborn when she wants to.
"So what?" Her look is not full of requests or hope. There's impatience. She wants me to return to the topic that concerns her. So that she doesn't even have to ask. I'm not going to make this conversation any easier for her. I like to see her squirm.
"What?"
"Cameras".
She doesn't even think to back down and I want to smirk because of her single-mindedness, instead I openly tease her, asking questions that have obvious answers, but the subtext of which should be informative for her, I believe.
"You don't like them?"
"I don't like being watched".
"No one likes".
I say this intentionally. I know what I'm doing. I shouldn't, but still… It's almost a need to show her how wrong she is, how much she doesn't understand. Deep down, I want her to know the truth, so that she realizes what lies behind my erratic behavior and ulterior motives.
She looks at me without blinking. She's actively thinking about something, confused. But eventually decides to put it aside. She switches back to trying to convince me. She's really determined and doesn't seem to be going to leave here without achieving her goal. No wonder she agreed to this dinner so easily. She needed it maybe even more than I did. She was disappointed that she didn't have a chance to get what she wanted earlier, and she has no desire to postpone this issue for another time.
"Every breath I take is monitored. There are guards stationed in five-foot intervals in all the hallways at any time of the day. The key card you gave me doesn't work anymore, I checked. I don’t even have access to my own room. Cameras aren’t going to make a difference."
It's such a brazen, shameless lie. Another one on her part. Of course they do. She wants to bring Kent to her room. It's obvious. Juliette tries to play ridiculous pathetic games with me, but she doesn't even try to think that all this fuss of hers is obvious to me. It's like watching from above a person who's trying to get out of a maze and is sure that he is moving in the right direction. But you see all his steps ahead. She's trying to outplay me, but she hardly wants to think about how she might underestimate her opponent. Once again. She's trying to try. A funny and ludicrous pun.
Apparently she believes that if I knew the truth about her true intentions, Kent would already be dead. That's why prejudice is dangerous. You draw a conclusion without allowing other possibilities to remain even theoretically probable. You assume, and thereby drive yourself into a corner, depriving yourself of maneuverability. She forgets that I am much more insidious even in her idea of me. That I could want Kent not only dead, I could also torture him. But she chose to see me only as a killer who shoots without thinking. Every time. Just like that. She doesn't think that I can love to kill in different ways, not only quickly, but also slowly, painfully, prolonging my own pleasure, playing with the victim like a cat with a mouse. If she had just thought of such a possibility, she wouldn't have thrown herself into the fire so zealously. She would have been more careful, slower. Gradually gaining my trust and lulling my vigilance. She would stop hiding, and then put herself in an awkward situation because of the presence of cameras. To make me want to do her a favor myself. But she's in a hurry. And in this she makes a mistake.
"Are you trying to hide something from me?" I ask, looking at my own nails. My voice sounds indifferent and even slightly arrogant. It's not just a game though. This whole conversation really makes me feel like this.
My words make her anxious. Well, of course. She's afraid I'll find out about her secret meetings with Kent. Terribly afraid. It's almost funny. Almost.
"I want to wake up alone, not under someone's intense scrutiny."
It's so strange to have a dialogue without trying to achieve some specific goal, without trying to show the right emotions, but simply allowing yourself to follow your feelings. I'm terribly annoyed that we are discussing this topic at all, and I'm not even trying to habitually hide my irritation behind a mask of restrained rationality or calmness. At the same time, I realize how much emotion my behavior will cause her, how nervous she will become. I'm used to fitting even natural reactions into my chosen behavior model. This happens unconsciously, on a subconscious level. Apparently, I just don't know anymore how to act other way, without calculating the possible options, and without even thinking I allow myself to show only those emotions that play into my hands, although she manages to force me to change my habits from time to time. Perhaps when I analyze this entire dialogue afterwards, I will understand that I behaved rashly. But I definitely don't plan to think about that now. Instead, I launch another attack.
"Or else what? Will you kill someone?"
I know how much the topic of murder worries her. It torments her, a real torture. Hatred, shame, self-contempt. She is so eager to deny what happened that this subject is forbidden for her. Perhaps this is the reason why she doesn't think about what I can really be capable of. She's afraid to dig into it, because every time she risks going from me to herself.
"Stop saying that. I'm not a murderer. I didn't kill Jenkins."
Jenkins… I'm looking at her, waiting for the right thought to settle in her head. And this is happening. Slowly, poisoningly, imbued with hatred for me and for herself. Of course, it's not about Jenkins.
"It was an accident. I wanted to help."
Do I want to insult her? Am I trying to make her hate herself? Rather, I want to show her that we are not so diverse, and that situations are different, and that sometimes everything is not what it may seem. I do this in two sentences. I know it will make her think. Not now, later, when she gets back to her room and is alone. That's when, lying under her blanket or hiding in the bathroom, she will think about my words.
"I want to help you too, but you don't believe me. Not every help is good in the eyes of the one you are trying to help, isn't it?"
We look at each other so intently that it seems to me that if there was a candle nearby, it would flare up. It’s as if we're trying to pierce each other, to incinerate each other. She speaks, but her voice sounds more muffled, gloomy.
"We are talking about completely different things."
How easily she draws lines. My tone seems too venomous even to myself.
"Oh, really?"
She absurdly clutches a fork in her hand, as if she's ready to pounce on me with it right now. Right after talking about how murder was never her true intention. And I throw another log into this fire.
"Should I start being afraid?"
How angry she is. She is seething with anger, barely restraining the desire to attack me to destroy me. She doesn't do this only because she still hopes to get what she wants. So she exalts herself above me again.
"Everything you do, you do for your own benefit. But I..."
Liar. She's such a liar. She definitely doesn't want to get rid of the cameras for Kent's benefit. She does it in her own selfish interests.
"Tell that boy about it."
"Stop it."
I don't know what really happened in that store, and I never thought that she was really to blame for this. I'm just trying to move somewhere further in our dialogue.
"You already knew that your touch kills, didn't you? Why did you even come up with the idea of touching him?"
"To save him from his mother!" She's almost screaming, but it's not her tone, but her words that are sobering me. "She was cruel to him, she treated him like an animal. Her child was on a leash! He was screaming, but she ignored him. She strapped chains across his chest. And when she tugged so hard he fell down and cried, she told him he deserved it. She said it was his fault. That he's a brat. That his dad would find out. He was three years old! And she wanted him to stop embarrassing her…"
Deafening silence.
I see cold, mocking, indifferent eyes in front of me. A face distorted in a disgusted grimace. A hand raised above me. You deserve it, it's your fault. Because you're a pathetic brat.
"I forgot… I wanted to help so much that I forgot I had taken off my gloves. It was so hot…"
Cries of pleading and tears. There's blood on my hands when I bring my palm to my face. He didn't care. I was his toy. I remember everything he did to my mom, the way ha treated her… She was his toy too. The whole world became his toy. His entertainment…
"Warner?"
I hear my name coming through the thick fog. Her voice. The thought flashes through my head instantly, and I smile, shaking my head.
"What?"
She doesn't understand. Of course she doesn't understand. For a moment, the lightness that I so carelessly lost during our conversation returns to me.
"My name. You just said my name. This is the first time you've addressed me directly."
She is so terrified, as if she has committed a crime. Terribly embarrassed, terribly nervous. I save her the trouble of getting out of it somehow. Not waiting any reaction or response from her, I get up from the table and start walking around the room.
What the hell am I doing? What am I turning into? Didn't I tell myself that I would never become like him. And that's where I am. Am I becoming frighteningly similar to him? Where is the line between allowing yourself to show your emotions and becoming a soulless monster? Is there such a line at all? Or if you have to restrain a monster in a cage, then this is your true nature, which you just try not to notice? Until it shows itself.
I only have a few seconds to decide what I will do next.
I have to finally be honest with myself and face the truth.
My behavior, my naked aggression and, let's call it by its name, resentment, is not part of a strategic plan, not the desire to lead her to some thought, and not even fatigue.
And I let myself admit that I'm jealous of her. Just like that. I'm so angry because I'm terribly jealous of her. Their communication really infuriates me. Her desire for him to be near her pisses me off.
That's why I treat her this way.
I'm jealous of her because I like her.
We don't seem to get along, but it's silly to deny that she lowers her guard. After what happened yesterday, she expects something more from me. And it's stupid to deny that her expectations and hopes make me rejoice.
Our communication emasculates both of us, but I need it, I need these conversations, these arguments, these raging emotions in which she drowns me over and over again. If I turn off these cameras…
We could have another place where just the two of us would have access. Another opportunity to hide from his eyes. I need this lack of cameras as much as she does. I need more places, more time, more opportunities to just communicate with her. To speak freely and without restraint, without being tied hand and foot, even if remaining on a long leash. I want to have more opportunities to behave closer to the real me, and not The Chief Commander image that I am forced to constantly wear. I need it.
But she does so much, tries so hard, takes so many risks just to get the opportunity to see him. And if I disable these cameras, I will give them this opportunity. He can come to her…
The selfish part of me wants to get Kent as far away from her as possible. I want to isolate them from each other. After all, it was never planned for him to stay by her side for long. That would be a simple task. I wouldn't even have to explain anything to anyone... not even to her…
A simple solution just in my hands.
Jealousy rages and rampaging in my veins, clouding my mind, blinding, infuriating me, depriving me of balance.
That's exactly why I want to give her more freedom.
I want to be needed by her. I want her to want to see me the same way she wants to see Kent. I want her to want it herself. So that she needs to communicate with me as much as I need to communicate with her. I want her to have a choice, and for her to choose me instead of him. He doesn't feel a damn thing for her. She can't help but notice it at some point. And I want her to understand for herself for whom she is really important. I want to win, not to force her, not to coerce, not to order. I want her to do this voluntarily, of her own free will.
I imagine what their communication might look like. He can't touch her. And judging by his emotions, he's not even too keen on it. She just won't let it happen anyway because she's too afraid of hurting him. They will talk. Just like we talk all the time. And although he has an advantage because she knows him and trusts him, it's even more interesting this way. Moreover, he also has secrets, the truth of which she still doesn't know. I'm sure not. Our situations aren't that much different, and if I need to win her sympathy, I want to do it in a fair fight. I want to win on equal terms, I don't need special ones.
I know I've already made my decision. Although my father will never allow me to do this. I don't care. I'll deal with it. I'll find a way, but I'll give her as much freedom as I can.
Well, now there is certainty in my head, and with it comes a clear plan for further actions. Even if I admitted to myself that I like her and I'm jealous of her, even if I'm ready to give her freedom, it doesn't mean that I'll just step away and watch the situation develop from the outside. And this doesn't mean that I will give her what she wants without any benefit for myself. I'll do it all, but I'll do it on my own terms.
"If I get rid of your cameras, what will you do for me?"
A moment of confusion before she rushes to answer.
"Nothing."
A fun way to negotiate. I snorts and shake my head. She was so carried away with proving her worth that forgot she is only valuable as long as someone wants to get something from her in return. It is difficult to reach a deal without mutual cooperation.
"Don't you think that would be a little… unfair on your part. You need to learn how to negotiate."
"I don't want to learn anything, I want you to remove the cameras."
She's afraid of what I might ask of her. Not something specific, she's just scared of the unknown. Her actions are hasty, her responses are driven by nervousness.
"I can even remove the guards in the corridor outside your room."
I give her a little more, promises that seem even sweeter and more desirable. My willingness to make concessions only makes her more uneasy.
"So do it."
"Offer me something to make me want."
Jesus, how beautiful she is in this confusion, bewilderment, indignation, trying to figure out what step she needs to take next so as not to fall into the trap.
"What do you want?"
I'm starting to like this game again. It's almost funny to me. Everything becomes so much easier when a clear plan looms in front of you. And I like to tease her. So I smirk, my voice deeper.
"That is a dangerous question".
She is so embarrassed, biting her lower lip, outraged by my behavior.
"What condition would you suggest?"
What do I want? What do I really want? Nothing has actually changed. No matter how distracted I am by outside factors, my goal has always been and remains the same. We're here for one reason only.
"Touch me".
She purses her lips, disappointed that I'm just as stubborn as she is.
"Any other options?"
"I don't need anything else."
This causes her a violent reaction. Not surprising. We were just talking about the murder of that boy, and the abrupt transition to the topic of touching me can't be calm for her.
She flies up to me, furious, heated. Angry. Boils up too sharply. But this emotion… This is more than just outrage. This is mixed with anxiety. Too warm, too hot, as if she cared. As if it's not about a stranger to her. As if she cares and tries to prevent a disaster.
"You're crazy! I don't want to touch anyone, not you, not anyone else".
Her words sound too personal and she seems to be scared of it herself. But all her precautions are pointless anyway. She's only here for this, only because of this. It never depended on her wishes.
"You'll have to do it anyway. I've already convinced my father that you could be useful in the fight against the rebels. You'll have to prove that this is the case".
Pause.
"Why does he need this?"
"It's cheap, fast, efficient, durable, you know. Father is very practical".
"And if I refuse?"
"Think for yourself. It's simple really".
"Will I be killed? Returned to the cell?"
She should have understood that a long time ago. If someone wants to use her, they will find opportunities for this. I managed to convince my father that by gaining her trust we would take less risks. It's better to have an ally who doesn't dream of destroying you. But if she doesn't cooperate, sooner or later he will change his mind. But it's like she doesn't want to understand this. She is ready to protect each and every one. She's, bloody hell, protecting me. It's obvious. I'm feeling it. I can see it. At the moment, for her, I am the last person who deserves her care. But she is so afraid of herself that she is ready to sacrifice her own well-being so as not to harm anyone. As if her decisions make any sense.
"Do you really believe that? Juliette, love, your skin is dangerous when you're unconscious, and when you're tied up, and when you don't want to have anything to do with all this".
She almost chokes, unable to find any words.
"You… you…"
"You can thank me some other time".
"I..."
"It's time for you to understand that you are not like everyone else. And that's good. You are capable of so much more. Allow yourself to be who you are. Accept yourself for who you are. Use what nature has given you. Unleash this power in yourself, gain control over yourself and power over others. It's so simple. I don't understand why you're so stubborn about rejecting yourself".
I talk to her loudly and emotionally, but in fact I am cold and calm inside. Because I'm playing my game again, and I know my provocations are working. I use the same levers that I have already managed to detect. I know she doesn't like being called weak. When she is told that she is not capable of anything. I know she wants to be something more.
"I don't want to be like you…"
"A murderer?"
"Please…"
"Hated by everyone?"
"Stop…"
"An outcast?"
"Don't…"
"Don't you think it's a little too late? You're already all of this. So why not turn the situation in your favor?"
"I'm not…"
"If you think you're not, then you're lying to yourself. You’ve been on the edge of insanity your entire life, haven’t you? So many people called you crazy you actually started to believe it. You wondered all the time if they were right, if you really were the monster that they called you and if it was possible to fix it. You thought that if you were a little better, smarter, nicer, the world would change its mind about you. You're so used to blaming yourself for everything".
I'm talking about her, but that's what I feel myself too. We really are much more alike than she even dares to assume. Two hostages of circumstances. Her lip is trembling, she is close to crying. I understand her feelings and I feel sorry for her, but without this I will never be able to pull her out of her cocoon, into which she returns every time I'm not around.
"For so many years you’ve suppressed all your rage and resentment because you wanted to be loved. And you did what they told you to do. Went where they told you to go. You didn't even try to fight. You blindly followed them so that they finally turned to face you and smiled at you. But all you saw was their backs and pokes. Perhaps I understand you much better than you think, Juliette. Maybe you should trust me. Maybe you should accept the fact that all your life you've tried to be someone you're not. But no matter what you did, those bastards were never happy with you. They were never satisfied. They never cared about you, in fact".
My words resonate in me as well as in her. The same indignation, the same resentment, the same sense of injustice. I was in her place for so long before I chose to fight, to make decisions independent of him and his desires and demands. I'm still a hostage, but I'm planting mines under his painstakingly constructed castle so that at some point blow it up in an instant.
The power of rage that fueled her earlier is replaced by humiliation, and she barely whispers words.
"You… You're trying to do the same…"
"It's not true!" I put all the power of persuasion into these words. I want her to believe me, so that she knows I am not her enemy. I care about her. I wish her the best.
And I know she cares about me too. No matter what she says or thinks in her mind.
I feel her inner struggle, and I know my words are painful for her. I want to calm her down, so I reach out and cup her face in my hands as gently as I can. I'm still wearing gloves, she has nothing to worry about. And I feel that she craves this reassurance, she has been craving this all day, she needs this warmth and care, even if it comes from me. Too cold for years of loneliness, she desperately reaches for any source of heat.
My voice sounds softer, deeper, quieter, more gentle, although still insistent and intense.
"Stop trying for someone. Think about yourself, for once. Be selfish, do what you really want, what you are really capable of. You don’t have to be nice anymore if you want to vent the negativity that has accumulated inside. You don't have to hold back the rage or the pain anymore. Destroy them all if you want. Take what you need. Own this whole world, if that's how you can change it as you want. Open your heart, your mind. Show what's really hiding there, deep inside. Hatred, pain, rage, resentment, disappointment? Show it all".
"I don't want to be bad. I don't want to respond with evil…"
This conversation seems almost useless. She's not ready yet. Of course, she's not ready yet. Not today. Not now. Not here and not like that.
I let go of her face and look at her with sympathy.
"How can you not want to fight back? When you get hurt again, and again, and again? What are you counting on? That they'll get tired of humiliating you and will just forget about you? Are you ready to just run away? Hide and sit in the dark, like in your cell? Is that all you deserve?"
That's all it takes for her to step over the edge again. So that the pain outweighs her emotional scales.
"You think that because they don't love me, because they hate me, because I'm unwanted, I should be insensitive? You think I don’t have a heart? You think I lost the feelings of love or sympathy? You think that because I can inflict pain, that I should? You think I'm a monster? How are you better than them? You think I'm a monster just like everyone else. You don't understand me at all…"
I know exactly what will happen next. I know exactly what state I've brought her to. So I press the call button on my wrist.
"Maybe it's true".
I add disappointment to my voice. Retreat sharply. And it works. Of course it works. She has not only hopes and expectations about me, not only the need for consolation. She also sees my hopes and expectations about her, and deep down she wants to live up to them. She wants to be the strong girl I describe to her. And my disappointment disappoints her. She doesn't want my idea of her, perhaps the only person who believes in her and sees something more in her, to fade away. So that it turns out not to be my insanity based on nothing, but a real assessment of her behavior, and the subsequent feeling of unjustified hopes. I know she's already on edge. She will do everything to prove that I was right before and not now. Her pride and desire to be better is stronger than her fears.
"Maybe I was wrong about you. You're weak. There's nothing in you. Lots of big words and nothing else. You can only sit in a corner and feel sorry for yourself. You can only be cocky lip-service, but when it comes down to it… You will watch the world fall apart and complain about your bitter fate. Instead of pulling yourself together, forget about your moral principles, and act. While you'll try to be good for everyone, while you'll play the role of a benefactor, feel sorry for each and everyone, so that God forbid not to hurt or offend anyone, while you'll think how the world has treated you unfairly, this very world will burn to the ground. And those who are much stronger than you, those who have much less conscience and a less acute sense of justice, will act. In their own interests. Stay in your dark corner. Believe in world peace and in saviors who will come and rescue you. Let your potential to remain unfulfilled. Watch from the side, but you will stay good. I really thought you were better than that. I was wrong. It's a pity that such a power went to such a worthless person".
That's all it takes. She is incredibly angry, full of indignation, she takes a step towards me and hits me in the chest with her fist. She finally allows herself to show her emotions. She notices my reaction and punches again.
"Finally! I've been waiting so long for you to let this fire break out. Take out all your hatred on me".
Regret immediately extinguishes her ardor, and she tries to retreat, but I grab her hands.
"Don't touch me!"
"Make me let go of you".
"Let me go".
"Make me".
I know that one phrase will be enough for her to capitulate. So I lean close to her ear and whisper softly.
"They're right, aren't they? You're a worthless worm rooting in the dirt. Incapable of any action".
"Take off your shirt".
I wanted this from the very beginning. Her willingness, her voluntary consent. And I finally got it. This gives me almost uncontrollable delight. The very prospect of this causes a excitement, nearly madness. I do as she asks. I quickly take off my gloves, unbutton and remove my jacket, then proceed to the shirt, button by button.
Everything inside me is boiling, seething, being excited. I'm not sure that we'll get this done. I'm pretty sure that won't actually happen. But the very probability of this, even so minuscule…
I've always wanted to know. I need to know. It's like my responsibility. Because every day I feel guilty for not being able to help. For not understanding, not really know what it's like for her. How often have I been angry at her because of this, although I understand the immorality of this feeling. Her emotions have been muted for a long time, and even though I know that she is suffering, I can't feel her pain. I need to know this, I want to understand what causes her such agony, such apathy and unwillingness to fight.
I'm sure it won't kill me. I could never share this pain with her, but over the years of my father's abuse, I got used to suffering and deprivation, pain has long ceased to frighten me. And over the many, many years, I have also learned to understand that suffering can be controlled, redirected. Not physically, of course, but mentally. Don't stop them, but perhaps block them. A person can't escape from pain if its source is his own body. But if you're hurting from the outside, I'm sure that it's possible to endure the pain and abstract from emotional suffering. Because of her, I began to clearly separate these two sensations. And at some point I learned to avoid her suffering, which I connected to every time I was near her.
It's scary. It was scary the first hundred times. But then… No one wants to undergo voluntary torture, and to feel her suffering always been torture. Sometimes I didn't want to be around her and her suffering, sometimes I craved it, and sometimes I just didn't care. Over time, her emotions dulled, over time, my emotions dulled. It has become almost routine. It made me almost indifferent. And sometimes I even liked it, as if I had turned into a perverted masochist who simply can't be different, can't live any other way. This torture has become a part of me, and I can't just get rid of it. And I need Juliette to add sound to this colorful picture of my mother's torment. Screams of terror that I have never heard, but only saw. I have only seen the consequences, I have only felt the aftershocks, I have never been able to experience the impact of the cause.
Can I not survive this? Is it possible that I overestimate my strength? Of course yes. But I'm not afraid. I stopped being afraid of death a long time ago because I have nothing to lose. Mom is already doomed, even though I'm still trying to fight for her life. I don't think her existence will change much without me. Juliette? I told her there was another way out. If she tried, she could escape. I have no good reason to live, although there is no reason to die. So…
If she's ready for it, I won't stand in the way. I won't stop it, although I'm sure my father thinks differently. For him, all this is nothing more than a bluff. For me, this is my meaning of life right now. Maybe if I could feel it for myself, if I could understand what she was dealing with, maybe if I learned to deal with it, I could find a solution for her. I could do some research. I could help her. Maybe…
Juliette looks at me with wide-open eyes, swallows hard, confused, embarrassed, bewildered, but at the same time full of enthusiasm. She apparently wanted to humiliate me by making me to take off my clothes, rather than just touching my face or hands. And she apparently regrets her decision. But it still intrigues her as much as it intrigues me. Her eyes run over my bare skin, she absorbs this sight and she likes it. There's nothing sexual about it, absolutely. No tension or desire. We are driven by completely different needs. My thirst to feel the pain that my mother feels, her excitement at the novelty of the sensation, at the proximity of someone so vulnerable, unprotected by clothes, along with her desire to be able to just touch a living being who doesn't feel horror or fear next to her.
She stands undecided, and I start to act first. One step, and I loom over her.
"Do it."
She still has doubts, so she tries to make sure that she won't have to regret her decision. But her eyes barely touch my own eyes, focused on the naked skin in front of her.
"Do you promise to get rid of all the cameras and bugs in my room and in the hallway outside? And you'll get the soldiers out of there."
"I promise."
A moment of another wave of indecision.
"Promise?"
"No cameras."
I know she wants it. She needs it. Her anger settles, her fear subsides. But then… I feel the strongest doubt, almost regret, uncertainty. One emotion gives way to another, and her thirst to do this to spite me, to hurt me, to avenge for everything I said and did, melts away, leaving only remorse. I think she's torn between wanting to experience it and being terrified of the consequences. Is it possible that she is still afraid of hurting me?
The realization of this pierces me through and through. I only think about myself. I'm not afraid of death. But what about her? I decided that her anger would be enough, but what would be with her if it really happened? If she willingly agrees to touch someone, and then that person dies from this? What if I don't make it? What position will I put her in? I should know better. She will be left all alone at the base, with a corpse, with a feeling of guilt and regret, not knowing what to do, where to go. Is this what I want for her?
There is even more than that. She would deal with the consequences, it would be hard for her, but I'm sure she would handle it. But I suddenly realize, rather feel what a huge step this is for her. She had never touched anyone like that. I myself hate unnecessary, unneeded touching to myself. An invasion of my personal space. I can't even imagine what it must be like for her. How personal and intimate this moment of a simple skin-to-skin touch should be for her. Was there anything in her life at least a little as close as what is happening here and now? I don't think so. To do this without her full confidence, without her absolute consent… Especially if it risks turning into something horrifying. I would never do that to her. Even though I forced her to touch the soldier, even though I plan to do it again, I know I could control it back then. I could stop her. And surely she didn't feel the same degree of importance of the moment, didn't perceive it as something special. But when it's just the two of us, when it's about intimacy between us, when she's trying to make a decision… I want things to be different. I want there to be trust between us.
"Can I trust you?" She whispers.
"You know my promises can be trusted. I'm sincerity itself."
The spell breaks as easily and quickly as it was cast. Anger, resentment, indignation return to her with renewed vigor. She bounces away from me, no longer trying to play obedience.
"You can go to hell!" She shouts, rushing to the door at the same time.
I lower my head, smirking slightly. I know what a surprise is waiting for her behind the door. She freezes when she sees Kent standing in front of the entrance.
Everything is played out according to one of the best scenarios. Even if I failed to achieve my main goal.
"Soldier. Take her back up to her room. Give the order on my behalf to disable all the cameras in her room and in the corridor closest to it. And also release the soldiers from this area. I'll wait for her tomorrow".
There's a second's pause before he reacts.
"Yes sir".
Nothing. No doubts, no confrontation. I'm losing all interest in him.
"Juliette?"
She freezes, but doesn't turn around. I don't demand this from her. The main thing is that she just hears this, that's all I need. She's already embarrassed enough, and thoughts about Kent and his reactions will attack her thoughts for a while anyway. She's had enough for today.
"I do expect you to hold up your end of the bargain".
Her head jerks slightly in my direction, although she never turns it, and then she walks out the door.
I feel a sudden emptiness. I don't think I even noticed how she had been filling this whole room, my whole consciousness. I won't see her until at least tomorrow, that's at best. And now I'm standing alone, half-naked because of her, with a pile of clothes lying carelessly at my feet. The mess she leaves after herself in my life. I sink my teeth into my lower lip, clench my fists. We were so close, she almost touched me, it seemed almost possible, almost real. I need one deep breath, I think. But I quickly realize that this is not enough.
I need to distract myself, switch to something else. I don't even think about wearing the same clothes again. I need Delalieu to clean it up and all that's left of our dinner. I have other things to do right now. Important and urgent matters. This evening has made great adjustments to my plans.