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This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «Implied and graphic non-con/rape, incest, prostitution, power games, angst».
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Simulacra (NC-17)
Written by Vanwa Hravani09 November 2011 | 30013 words | Work in Progress
XIV
A.N.: Contains some rather heretical language. But at times ‘son of an orc’ doesn’t really convey the same force as ‘fucking asshole’ for today’s audience. Bear with me.
Italics indicate unspoken thoughts.
‘Please don’t call me beautiful. I don’t want to hear that.’ It’s too close. Get away.
‘But you are beautiful. Can’t you see it? Why can’t I tell you how much you matter to me? I want you to see what I see. I love you.’
Don’t touch me. Please get away. ‘Please don’t say that.’
‘I do love you.’
This again. I expected better of you. ‘I am not worthy of your love.’
That’s not just self-loathing I see in your eyes. It’s pity. You fuck. ‘Be honest, why don’t you? Why can’t I love you?’
Silence.
‘Say it.’
‘I’m not capable of love anymore. I’m too broken. I’m not worth it.’
‘No more lines.’
‘Find somebody better. You deserve to be happy and I can’t do that.’
‘Fuck you. You’re lying.’
‘Fine. I refuse to be responsible for you.’
‘More.’
‘I will NOT be trapped by you.
‘And?’
‘I can’t fucking do this! I will let you down. I will hurt you when I pull away. And I will pull away. It’s what I do. I can’t give you what you want. I – I don’t have anything to give. What you see is just an illusion. Just a shell that you’re looking at. There’s nothing behind it. Nothing in here that you’re going to break through to. No special gold in here that you can find and bring to light. —- And I resent you wanting it. Stop taking things from me! Stop expecting more! There’s a limit to what I will give, damn it. I won’t be controlled anymore! ‘Love’ is just another word for control. You want to own me. You want to keep me. I can’t stand any more of that. Being told how to act, how to speak, how to love. All I want is to be left alone. I want to keep me for a change. Stop being in my space, in my head, in my body. Get out! Get out of here!’
Reeling at your honesty. I understand. I could have said the same words myself, if I were brave enough. Instead I say low,-
‘You fucking asshole. Do you think I want to be this way? That I want to be stuck? That I don’t want my freedom too? Do you think you’re the only one who feels this way and can’t stand to have someone else invading his head, insinuating himself into his very soul? I’m so tired of feeling someone else inside me, in here with me. It’s too much like being invaded. —— Yes, I do know what that feels like. Don’t look at me that way. You don’t own pain. You thought you were the only one? Wake up sunshine. You’re not alone. You’re not the most damaged person on Arda. You’re not even that original. Everyone hurts. Everyone has a past. So stop your fucking wallowing and grow up.’
Silence.
What more could possibly be said? It’s over.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Forget it.’
‘No…’
‘I need to go.’
‘Fine.’
The door closes.
His fist slams the wall. Dammit! What have I done?
As breaths still and sweat cools to a clammy chill, both are relieved. Emptiness is familiar and so much easier.
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I am looking forward to reading more of this – I adore all of the undercurrents in their relationship.
— pinbot Wednesday 6 August 2008, 20:25 #