Eva met me at the airport, and I was so glad to see her. It was good to hug her again, to have her in my arms, to feel that familiar presence as we kissed in the arrivals lounge, with foreign backpackers nervously being pulled away to taxis by overly-zealous drivers, and locals calling for their younger relatives to help them load their colourful luggage onto trolleys around us.
The mid-morning sun hit us as we hailed a taxi, along with a chilly and distinctly mountainous breeze. It felt like the city was treating me as a local. Or maybe, it was mocking me by making me think I was being treated as a local. Whichever it was, I smiled at the fact that I was under-dressed, and hurried myself into the back taxi seat next to Eva...
Everything was arranged. I was due to start back at work at my old job in a couple of weeks, even having wangled a promotion. I couldn't believe it when Tim, my boss, told me they'd be training me up as soon as I got back. And now, here I was. Back. Back to work, and back with Eva.
The city was much the same as ever, and I spent the next couple of days reliving the nostalgia, remembering how much I'd enjoyed all the little quirks about it, and how much I'd missed them while I was away. The historical architecture in the centre, the familiar faces at the bars, the beautiful sunsets behind the mountains... even the bone-chilling cold at night, and the feeling of having to wrap up in 2-3 locally made jumpers... "All of it is new, and exciting again...", I thought to myself that night, 3 days after my arrival, as Eva and I finished watching a movie, having finished the chicken and rice meal she had cooked, sipping our cinnamon tea, holding each other on the sofa... And for those first few days, I revelled in the novelty of rediscovering my former life.
My feelings for Francesca were still present, but LESS so, now that she was far away. We spoke frequently via facebook, for about 2 weeks after I returned. I told her how much I cared for her, how crazy I was about her. I assured her that she wasn't like my other ex's (referring, largely, to Carla), in the sense that I would always want to be part of her life, and her of mine...
She was sweet and understanding; clearly hurt about my leaving (she kept asking "Why did you have to go? Why couldn't you stay here?"... and even when she'd follow it with a winkey face emoji ;) I knew that that was just a mask, and that she'd felt the injustice of life in my departure, too)... I could tell that she was going to find someone soon, someone who could give her what she needed, what she desired... She was young and ready. She was available. She was full of love and happy to share it. "There will be...", I told myself, "... a line around the block of men looking for her affections...".
A hurt came over me, a sudden sorrow as I left the Internet cafe one time shortly after my arrival, that her love wouldn't be directed at me forever. It couldn't be. I was realising that more with every passing day. Already, with every moment, I was drifting slowly into her forgotten past. I began, even then, to prepare myself for the day when I'd go online, and see 2, 3, 4 pictures of that man who was really available and willing to commit to her, smiling back at me, his unfamiliar face touching hers, both broad smiles, her greenish eyes looking into the camera, but really looking into my eyes and telling me..."I am leaving you behind..."...
It slowly began to dawn on me, over the next few days, that I could have EITHER Eva, OR Francesca... but not both. In a way, I thought to myself as I walked down the ancient street where I lived, its colonial buildings jutting uncomfortable forwards so as to make the pavement I was walking on unnaturally narrow, I had always known that. With rain clouds forming overhead, threatening rain withing the next 30 minutes, I confirmed my knowledge of monogamy- of the benefits it held both for me as an individual, and also for the human race on the whole...
I acknowledged it. I accepted it. But I also resented it...
---
"Are you OK?", Eva asked me, in her soft, cautious and yet caring tone from across the table...
We sat in the pizza restaurant by her house, remnants of the Hawaiian that we'd shared on the wooden disk in the middle of the table. It was cold outside that night, but the interior of the pizzeria was all wooden, giving it a charming and homely feel... cozy. The wood-fired oven gave off a gentle heat, even from the other side of the room. I was a little warm in my local jumper, and wanted to take it off... but every time someone came into the restaurant, the open door sent a chill in which reminded us of what awaited outside. So, I resisted, and kept it on...
"Fine...", I said, avoiding her eye contact, not a tone of comfort in my voice. I can still see her, Eva, in those days. Still only 21, young and positive, upbeat, with no cynicism about the world- no reason to be cruel, or cynical, or bitter. Just concerned- worried for her ever brooding boyfriend. Her with constant concern that the man who had returned to her a few weeks before was a changed character, someone she didn't know or recognise. She looked at me, those chocolate coloured eyes giving a hint of remorse that I wasn't able to be honest with her, even when we were alone. I finished the last drops of coke from my glass, and she didn't say anything.
She was also thinking about the change that had come over me- the sudden, easy and frequent losses of my temper at the slightest inconveniences, resulting in my raised voice, harsh words, criticism of her and the world around us...
I'd noticed it too. I'd recognized that anger was ready to boil up within me, to erupt and to shout, moan and intimidate whenever I was faced with a challenge to my routine... and I recognized, just as I had a few years previously, how ill-equipped I was to stop it. How utterly under-prepared and weak I was to stand against it.
Within the last few weeks, since I'd got back, there had been several memorable cases in which I'd been irritable with her. They had been instances in which my patience had been pushed, and each time I had collapsed like a house of cards. One time, the gas bottle which she used for cooking ran out, just after we'd finished preparing the chicken we were going to have for lunch. There wasn't time to call for another gas bottle, have it installed, AND cook lunch before I had to work that afternoon... this meant that my only option, if I wanted to eat, was to grab a quick sandwich or snack before class, something I knew wouldn't fill me properly for the day's teaching ahead...
In my heart, I knew it wasn't Eva's fault. Those gas bottles were notorious for running out quickly, and it was also very difficult to tell how much gas was left in there. I should have just left it- told her it didn't matter, sucked it up, kept the negative energy from spreading towards her, been brave about it, controlled my spirit, been of cheerful countenance, strapped on a pair, and "been a man about it"; all of these things I should have done.
But I didn't. I complained and moaned, sighed and huffed. Despite her apologies, trying to hug me and tell me not to worry, I was so focused on how I was affected by this inconvenience, that expressing my frustration was all that mattered to me at that moment. I let it flow:
"Why didn't you check BEFORE we spent all morning preparing the food? Why don't you have an extra gas bottle for reserves?"
I thought that if I let her know how annoyed I was, it would release some steam, and I'd feel better. Of course, that was a lie, and didn't work. I just felt worse...
These cases were not isolated incidents. And every day, it was something new. Every day was a new offence- every day, my rage and frustration was expressed freely, and every day, Eva could do nothing to calm it. She just had to sit through it; sit, or stand, stunned at the angry man she saw I was now.
As my patience shrank, fueled by the fact that I'd failed to find a suitable release, so the number of things that annoyed me grew, along with the frequency with which I expressed that emotion. Just like the last time I'd been really angry in my life, this had a snowballing effect. Little things- Eva forgetting her spare key, and accidentally locking us out of her flat for a few minutes;
"Why didn't you CHECK to see if you had the keys BEFORE you shut the door?"
her accidentally leaving her phone in a taxi;
"Do you care so little about your possessions, that you just leave places without them?"
her cousin stealing some clothes from her without her noticing;
"I can't believe you didn't notice her leaving with them!"
the taxi-driver fobbing me off with a fake coin;
"This country is RIDICULOUS!"
Eva telling me that the city's cellphone networks would be out all Friday night...
"Oh you are joking me! What is WRONG with this city?!"
All of these things and many, many more, set me off. Raising my voice, swearing, cursing the city, cursing the culture and the country, rampaging against its people, vocally wishing that I'd never come back- this was what I thought helped me get through it. In truth, this attitude just made Eva's life unpleasant; attached to and still in love with this man who was out of control of his temper- who lost his patience with alarming ease.
"Why are you SO angry all the time?", she'd ask me, justifiably. She was brave to do so- she must have known that she'd get a rampage for a response...
"It's not my fault..." I'd shout at her "...that your city is so backwards!"
But the answer to her question was a combination of strong emotions and complexes which were building up within me. Firstly, there was the fact that the honeymoon period for our relationship was officially over. We were in a routine now- we knew each other pretty well, what to expect from each other... and while this brought reliability, there was a lack of excitement that I missed. There was a sense of predictability that I wasn't fond of. Furthermore, the novelty of being back in the city had worn off, and I was starting to be reminded of all the things that had ticked me off about it before I left. Finally, there was the scariest reason of all...
Ever since I had been a teenager, I'd always said that my biggest fear for the future was having a boring life. It was one of the only truly honest insights into my mind that I'd had. I knew it was honest, because the words came easily. Whenever anyone asked me, or whenever I had the opportunity to express the deepness of my psychology, I'd say to them "I just don't want a boring life. I don't really mind danger. I don't even mind not being rich. But I just... I couldn't stand having a boring life..."...
Boredom scared me- being stuck, in a place, in a routine, in a system from which I had no release or escape, terrified me. And as Eva and I went on, and the googly-eyes faded for each other, and the city took on it's normal routine, unwilling and unable to adapt for me, this foreigner... I felt like I was becoming trapped in a city, in a place that would offer me little, still at only 22... while the rest of the world had fun without me.
"Angry man", Eva started to call me, in her own language. She would sigh it after my latest outburst at her, distract her attention, avoid meeting my eyes, still staring wrath at her. Of course, she was right. I had re-adopted the anger that I thought I'd rid myself a couple of years before in the space of just a few weeks. My thoughts, and therefore words and actions had become those of a continually fuming and frustrated man. And I felt all this rage because I was scared of being trapped in the "boring" life that I'd sworn I'd never have, and that anger had become my way of "dealing with it". Unfortunately, I wasn't dealing with it- nothing had changed because of this attitude, other than Eva felt a little more distant and less attracted to me every day...
But her nickname for me was really all the resistance she showed. She refused to let my rage spread to her, to affect her emotionally. As the weeks continued into months, and my anger became more and more part of who I was then, to the point that she could predict my reaction to pretty much any situation... she tolerated me because she loved me, and I couldn't tolerate her because I was incapable of loving anyone but myself. She wanted me to be different, yes... but she refused to let that separate us. So strong were her feelings for me, so much good she still saw in me, or thought she saw, that she held on to it- through the rages, throughout the shouting, the frustrated pleas, the angry criticisms... All through, she held on...
Sadly, she was fighting a losing battle. It was already too late for me. My relationship with Francesca had started a momentum within me. It had given me a cockiness, a confidence, and sense of entitlement that I believed I deserved. That I had earned. I wanted to be not just with one woman... but with many. And as the novelty of our relationship wore off, and she felt the wrath of my frustration in my bitter words, in my solemn and critical moods... all the while, I was convincing myself that cheating on Eva, that going after these women was my right. My prize.
My destiny...
---
"Am...?"
I started the question, but was immediately stopped by the abruptness with which my captor turned away from me, and started heading across the cell towards the door.
"He's getting away...", I thought... "HE'S GETTING AWAY! HE'S NOT GOING TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION! ASK IT, QUICKLY...!"
I could hear his footsteps getting steadily softer as his figure, the shape of what I supposed was a human figure underneath his garment, gradually shrunk away from me into the gradually thickening blackness at the other side of the room...
I shouted it. I shouted it so incredibly loudly that it was deafening to me in that tiny cell, the sound of my yelling voice bouncing back at me aggressively from those unyielding walls holding up the low ceiling. I bellowed the question into the darkness, directly at whatever dark living creature lived beyond the wall of pitch blackness in front of my eyes, at my captor, aiming to escape through my cell door...
"AM I HERE BECAUSE I WANT TO BE?"
I stayed still, scared in the silence, struggling to breathe quietly so as to hear his answer... I stood afraid for seconds- afraid that my captor would react badly, and attack me in my chains.
2 seconds.
Scared that he had already gone, snuck out through the door, using my shouting as a way to cover the clinking of the heavy door bolts as he quickly opened the door and slipped out...
3 seconds.
Terrified that he hadn't gone, but that he was waiting in the shadows, and I'd be confronted with his answer...
4 seconds.
Anxious that I wasn't ready for the answer...
5 seconds.
I heard nothing. I saw nothing. I could only wait.
"Is that..."... I suddenly heard his voice, soft and considering each word from out of the darkness... "...a rhetorical question? Or do you really want an answer?".
I felt a chill go down me at the last words. They were said with such an undertone of warning, of impending, fate-changing revelations that I couldn't help but be put off by them. It was as if my captor was offering me a way out- a warning of which paths I should and shouldn't take. On top of this, I chastised myself for asking the question, as the overwhelming fear that I had invited my captor to stay in order to torture me further increased with each passing second.
My options were clear. Was it a rhetorical question? A question said out of anger, or fear, of pure emotion in the heat of a frustrated moment... one that needed no answer because I already knew the truth deep down? Or a carefully considered, well-thought out question that demanded the truth to be stated, no matter how painful it was? There were the two options my captor was giving me... and I had but a few seconds to decide which one it had been...
"I want to know...", I blurted out without thinking, "...I just want to know why I am here. What is keeping me here?"
As I was speaking, stuttering, really, I heard his footsteps regress towards me, tapping on the stone tiles at pace, following the same path they'd made in the opposite direction less than a minute earlier...
"I am keeping you here" he said, abruptly manifesting out of the darkness as his feet came to a stop at the same time as he finished the last word of his curt little statement. His sudden presence in front of me was intimidating, and I involuntarily jolted backwards against the stone wall behind me. He stood directly in front of me, two feet away, and I could tell that from below his hood, he was looking straight at me, probably unblinking. The moonlight burst through the remnants of a fast-moving cloud, and I caught a glimpse of his full figure, beneath that full-body shroud. He wasn't tall, I realized in that brief moment while he waited for me to respond. Although his cloak hid almost all of his physical form, I could still tell that he was slim, I remember thinking back then... slender, for a creature who was causing such menace in my life...
I wasn't able to piece much together in that short time when my captor was stood square in front of me, the moonlight lighting up all that I could see of him. I wasn't in the right mindset to be working out who he was from these disparate and minute clues. But I see now that, even if I had known what these details I was observing about his shape, his form, his stature meant, the truth of who he was was too shocking, too far removed from my perception of how things should be for me to work out who he was from these separated and seemingly insignificant details alone. Even when it was revealed to me, on that fateful day a few months after this moonlit encounter took place, I still didn't believe it...
"I thought... maybe, that I was being kept here by my mind...", I explained, with slight relief that he hadn't hit me yet. I watched his figure, as another approaching cloud sank us both into darkness, and I found myself confronted with the unforgiving dark wall in front of me again...
"You are. I am keeping you here, upon your own request"
His answer shocked me into silence for a long time. I wasn't even ashamed of the awkwardness of that period of quiet between us. I was just stunned- unable to speak because my mind was still trying to process what I'd just heard. I felt no fear at not answering- I didn't care right then if he lost his temper and hit me. The only thing I didn't let my thoughts block out was the need to stop him from leaving. I couldn't let him leave before probing him with more questions... as long as he didn't look like he was going to leave, I let my brain keep trying to interpret what he'd meant...
"I don't understand..."... I eventually blurted out again, for the second time, without allowing myself to consider what I was going to say. At least I was honest, though- that was something to hold on to, I guess...
"You ARE trapped here. That is true", my captor conceded...
"By YOU...", I butted in.
He paused for a second, possibly indignant at having been interrupted. It was impossible to tell his emotions with only the dark hole where his face was lurking to look at...
"I am performing YOUR will. You want to be here- at least, you WOULD want to be here, if you only knew the struggle and endless failures that you would suffer if you were free. And I want you to be here. In that sense, you are as much imprisoned by yourself as you are by me..."
"But I DON'T want to be here!!!", I shouted, frustrated, furious that such an accusation could be made towards me, the innocent prisoner. I jerked my hands forwards, and let my chains rattle, jingle, back into silence...
"Are you sure about that?"
I was speechless. Was he serious? I couldn't tell- his face was in shadow, his body language under the sea of cloth that covered him from all sides... I didn't know how to respond. "Is this a trap?"- the question flashed across my mind. "Does he really want an answer? Or does he just want an excuse to hit me...?"
I forced myself to speak, unsure when, if EVER, I would get the opportunity to confront him on this issue again...
"I DON'T want to be here", I stated clearly, methodically. I didn't blink- I kept my eyes wide open and staring fiercely into the area in that black hole where I supposed his face must be, in order to convince him I was serious. "I want to leave", I added, hoping to surprise him.
"Think honestly...", he started, in a slightly more upbeat and philosophical tone, "If I unchained you, and opened the door right now..."; he turned away from me to look at the door behind him, behind all that gloom and the endless world of shadows... "...where would you go?" he asked, turning back to look at me...
"I'd leave. I'd go outside, I'd go back home..."... I answered immediately, a slight excitement that we were making progress in our conversation, that it might lead towards my release...
"Why? Here, in the castle, you are safe. Out there...", he pointed towards the door behind him again. With his finger still extended towards it, and jabbing the air with each miserable noun he listed, he hissed, "...there is only struggle, and heartache, and pain".
He lowered his finger slowly after that last word, keeping his face pointed directly at me, probably trying to gauge my reaction throughout- trying to register how much of an impact his words had had on me...
He didn't wait for me to respond, which was a relief because I had nothing to say at that moment. I was still trying to digest it all, to understand what it all meant. The fact that all this information was being shoved at me, shoved INTO me, in my weary, battered and exhausted state was making me mute, and I just stayed quiet, and waited for him to continue. I remember thinking that the more I heard from him, the more of the truth I would understand...
How wrong I was.
"The world will be entirely against you" he almost shouted, in a mocking and clearly irritated tone... "and you'll have no cell to hide in- no cell in which you can indulge in your nature. You'll be alone, vulnerable. Why would you WANT to leave?" He stepped to my other side, his slow footsteps portraying authority, like those of a speaker who's giving a talk on something he's not only passionate about, but has a lifetime of experience in.
"I give you everything you need to grow old, to live a long, long time...". He was now pacing in front of me, and I watched him, just my eyes moving inside my head, my face stern in concentration on his words. "Here, you have an easy life. No obligations, no rules, no judgement... Out there, outside this castle, there is nothing but hard work that lies ahead for you..."
I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to say what I was thinking, what I'd been trying to say since we started our conversation...
"But I want to be free... it's better to be FREE..."
"WILL you be free?". My captor interrupted me sharply with his question. He stopped pacing as he asked it and again, I wasn't sure if he was being rhetorical or not. I waited to see, and almost immediately, he started talking and pacing again... "They'll only tell you how to act. They'll force you to be something that is against your nature. They'll change you- change your thoughts, words and actions. Soon, you'll be unrecognizable from what you are now. In that sense, the man that you are now will no longer exist. He will be dead. Tell me..." he stopped pacing, stood still to place emphasis on his last point. Indignantly, he placed his hands on where I assume his hips were, and asked, snapped at me... "Is that freedom?"
I didn't look at him. I looked down, because a feeling from deep inside of me was bubbling its way to the surface. It was the conviction that I still liked being me. It was the idea that, despite my flaws, the person I was didn't deserve to be altered dramatically. It was the thought that me needing to change, to be different from how I was in that moment, to become a new person, was somehow unfair, and unnatural. It was the ego that wouldn't let me admit that the path I'd taken was the wrong one. It was the arrogance that I held deep inside of me that kept telling me that who I was, what I said and what I did... were fine. That things didn't need to change. That, by trying to change, by leaving that cell, that castle... I would be destroying myself. At that moment, I wasn't focused on what I would be replaced by- what I would gain by letting my old nature die, fade away from me, being sucked gradually into non-existence. Instead, all I could think about was what I would lose by leaving that dark cell... and that fear of losing everything that my old, cell-bound self had... kept me silent. And in that silence, my captor heard my answer louder than any words could ever have spoken.
"Can't you see that here, with me, you are truly free?", my captor asked in a slightly soothing, calming tone, as he realized that I'd surrendered the fight to him. There was no need for him to bully his words into me. He knew he could calm down- he was on the home-stretch now.
"You can do what you like, what you ENJOY, and what comes naturally to you to do. And I won't judge you for it".
I looked up at him, my eyes pensive and thoughtful. I nodded, resigning myself to the logic he'd presented me with...
"So you see...", he stepped forwards, and put his hand on my shoulder. That icy, cold touch stung my bare skin, and I winced. "...You are being kept in here by me, for your own good. Because you KNOW that here is the safest and best place for you. You don't have to be different to your nature. I don't ask you to be different to what comes naturally to you. I permit you to be however you like... all I want is that you stay in this cell". He paused, and he could see the sense of resignation in my eyes, my eyes that wouldn't even look at him, but faced the floor by his feet instead. I nodded gently, as the information sunk in, and were gradually labelled "truths" in my mind...
He let go of my shoulder, stepped back a pace, and pointed towards the tall, high window, where the moon was being obstructed again by yet another thick cloud. "But if you go out there, they will try to change you. They will FORCE you to change, just to survive- just to get on in the world. You don't want to change, do you?"
I DIDN'T want to change. Not then. And because of that, I was imprisoned from my very core. Because the desire to be a better person was not there, therefore nothing, NOTHING could change for me.
"Can I watch T.V...?", I asked, almost in a whisper, and without looking at him...
I thought I heard my captor chuckle. It was a short and gruff sound, but like the rest of his voice, it didn't sound natural. It sounded practiced, like a performance.
"Sure...", he said softly, and almost immediately continued, "...as long as you're in here, in this cell, you're free to do pretty much whatever you like..."...
I looked up at him through my slightly raised eyebrows, and I realised then that I REALLY DID belong to my captor, because I wanted to be his. And with that, my captor turned his head to look out of the window...
...and if I'd been able to see it, I would surely have seen a sly, callous smile set upon his face.
I'd noticed it too. I'd recognized that anger was ready to boil up within me, to erupt and to shout, moan and intimidate whenever I was faced with a challenge to my routine... and I recognized, just as I had a few years previously, how ill-equipped I was to stop it. How utterly under-prepared and weak I was to stand against it.
Within the last few weeks, since I'd got back, there had been several memorable cases in which I'd been irritable with her. They had been instances in which my patience had been pushed, and each time I had collapsed like a house of cards. One time, the gas bottle which she used for cooking ran out, just after we'd finished preparing the chicken we were going to have for lunch. There wasn't time to call for another gas bottle, have it installed, AND cook lunch before I had to work that afternoon... this meant that my only option, if I wanted to eat, was to grab a quick sandwich or snack before class, something I knew wouldn't fill me properly for the day's teaching ahead...
In my heart, I knew it wasn't Eva's fault. Those gas bottles were notorious for running out quickly, and it was also very difficult to tell how much gas was left in there. I should have just left it- told her it didn't matter, sucked it up, kept the negative energy from spreading towards her, been brave about it, controlled my spirit, been of cheerful countenance, strapped on a pair, and "been a man about it"; all of these things I should have done.
But I didn't. I complained and moaned, sighed and huffed. Despite her apologies, trying to hug me and tell me not to worry, I was so focused on how I was affected by this inconvenience, that expressing my frustration was all that mattered to me at that moment. I let it flow:
"Why didn't you check BEFORE we spent all morning preparing the food? Why don't you have an extra gas bottle for reserves?"
I thought that if I let her know how annoyed I was, it would release some steam, and I'd feel better. Of course, that was a lie, and didn't work. I just felt worse...
These cases were not isolated incidents. And every day, it was something new. Every day was a new offence- every day, my rage and frustration was expressed freely, and every day, Eva could do nothing to calm it. She just had to sit through it; sit, or stand, stunned at the angry man she saw I was now.
As my patience shrank, fueled by the fact that I'd failed to find a suitable release, so the number of things that annoyed me grew, along with the frequency with which I expressed that emotion. Just like the last time I'd been really angry in my life, this had a snowballing effect. Little things- Eva forgetting her spare key, and accidentally locking us out of her flat for a few minutes;
"Why didn't you CHECK to see if you had the keys BEFORE you shut the door?"
her accidentally leaving her phone in a taxi;
"Do you care so little about your possessions, that you just leave places without them?"
her cousin stealing some clothes from her without her noticing;
"I can't believe you didn't notice her leaving with them!"
the taxi-driver fobbing me off with a fake coin;
"This country is RIDICULOUS!"
Eva telling me that the city's cellphone networks would be out all Friday night...
"Oh you are joking me! What is WRONG with this city?!"
All of these things and many, many more, set me off. Raising my voice, swearing, cursing the city, cursing the culture and the country, rampaging against its people, vocally wishing that I'd never come back- this was what I thought helped me get through it. In truth, this attitude just made Eva's life unpleasant; attached to and still in love with this man who was out of control of his temper- who lost his patience with alarming ease.
"Why are you SO angry all the time?", she'd ask me, justifiably. She was brave to do so- she must have known that she'd get a rampage for a response...
"It's not my fault..." I'd shout at her "...that your city is so backwards!"
But the answer to her question was a combination of strong emotions and complexes which were building up within me. Firstly, there was the fact that the honeymoon period for our relationship was officially over. We were in a routine now- we knew each other pretty well, what to expect from each other... and while this brought reliability, there was a lack of excitement that I missed. There was a sense of predictability that I wasn't fond of. Furthermore, the novelty of being back in the city had worn off, and I was starting to be reminded of all the things that had ticked me off about it before I left. Finally, there was the scariest reason of all...
Ever since I had been a teenager, I'd always said that my biggest fear for the future was having a boring life. It was one of the only truly honest insights into my mind that I'd had. I knew it was honest, because the words came easily. Whenever anyone asked me, or whenever I had the opportunity to express the deepness of my psychology, I'd say to them "I just don't want a boring life. I don't really mind danger. I don't even mind not being rich. But I just... I couldn't stand having a boring life..."...
Boredom scared me- being stuck, in a place, in a routine, in a system from which I had no release or escape, terrified me. And as Eva and I went on, and the googly-eyes faded for each other, and the city took on it's normal routine, unwilling and unable to adapt for me, this foreigner... I felt like I was becoming trapped in a city, in a place that would offer me little, still at only 22... while the rest of the world had fun without me.
"Angry man", Eva started to call me, in her own language. She would sigh it after my latest outburst at her, distract her attention, avoid meeting my eyes, still staring wrath at her. Of course, she was right. I had re-adopted the anger that I thought I'd rid myself a couple of years before in the space of just a few weeks. My thoughts, and therefore words and actions had become those of a continually fuming and frustrated man. And I felt all this rage because I was scared of being trapped in the "boring" life that I'd sworn I'd never have, and that anger had become my way of "dealing with it". Unfortunately, I wasn't dealing with it- nothing had changed because of this attitude, other than Eva felt a little more distant and less attracted to me every day...
But her nickname for me was really all the resistance she showed. She refused to let my rage spread to her, to affect her emotionally. As the weeks continued into months, and my anger became more and more part of who I was then, to the point that she could predict my reaction to pretty much any situation... she tolerated me because she loved me, and I couldn't tolerate her because I was incapable of loving anyone but myself. She wanted me to be different, yes... but she refused to let that separate us. So strong were her feelings for me, so much good she still saw in me, or thought she saw, that she held on to it- through the rages, throughout the shouting, the frustrated pleas, the angry criticisms... All through, she held on...
Sadly, she was fighting a losing battle. It was already too late for me. My relationship with Francesca had started a momentum within me. It had given me a cockiness, a confidence, and sense of entitlement that I believed I deserved. That I had earned. I wanted to be not just with one woman... but with many. And as the novelty of our relationship wore off, and she felt the wrath of my frustration in my bitter words, in my solemn and critical moods... all the while, I was convincing myself that cheating on Eva, that going after these women was my right. My prize.
My destiny...
---
"Am...?"
I started the question, but was immediately stopped by the abruptness with which my captor turned away from me, and started heading across the cell towards the door.
"He's getting away...", I thought... "HE'S GETTING AWAY! HE'S NOT GOING TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION! ASK IT, QUICKLY...!"
I could hear his footsteps getting steadily softer as his figure, the shape of what I supposed was a human figure underneath his garment, gradually shrunk away from me into the gradually thickening blackness at the other side of the room...
I shouted it. I shouted it so incredibly loudly that it was deafening to me in that tiny cell, the sound of my yelling voice bouncing back at me aggressively from those unyielding walls holding up the low ceiling. I bellowed the question into the darkness, directly at whatever dark living creature lived beyond the wall of pitch blackness in front of my eyes, at my captor, aiming to escape through my cell door...
"AM I HERE BECAUSE I WANT TO BE?"
I stayed still, scared in the silence, struggling to breathe quietly so as to hear his answer... I stood afraid for seconds- afraid that my captor would react badly, and attack me in my chains.
2 seconds.
Scared that he had already gone, snuck out through the door, using my shouting as a way to cover the clinking of the heavy door bolts as he quickly opened the door and slipped out...
3 seconds.
Terrified that he hadn't gone, but that he was waiting in the shadows, and I'd be confronted with his answer...
4 seconds.
Anxious that I wasn't ready for the answer...
5 seconds.
I heard nothing. I saw nothing. I could only wait.
"Is that..."... I suddenly heard his voice, soft and considering each word from out of the darkness... "...a rhetorical question? Or do you really want an answer?".
I felt a chill go down me at the last words. They were said with such an undertone of warning, of impending, fate-changing revelations that I couldn't help but be put off by them. It was as if my captor was offering me a way out- a warning of which paths I should and shouldn't take. On top of this, I chastised myself for asking the question, as the overwhelming fear that I had invited my captor to stay in order to torture me further increased with each passing second.
My options were clear. Was it a rhetorical question? A question said out of anger, or fear, of pure emotion in the heat of a frustrated moment... one that needed no answer because I already knew the truth deep down? Or a carefully considered, well-thought out question that demanded the truth to be stated, no matter how painful it was? There were the two options my captor was giving me... and I had but a few seconds to decide which one it had been...
"I want to know...", I blurted out without thinking, "...I just want to know why I am here. What is keeping me here?"
As I was speaking, stuttering, really, I heard his footsteps regress towards me, tapping on the stone tiles at pace, following the same path they'd made in the opposite direction less than a minute earlier...
"I am keeping you here" he said, abruptly manifesting out of the darkness as his feet came to a stop at the same time as he finished the last word of his curt little statement. His sudden presence in front of me was intimidating, and I involuntarily jolted backwards against the stone wall behind me. He stood directly in front of me, two feet away, and I could tell that from below his hood, he was looking straight at me, probably unblinking. The moonlight burst through the remnants of a fast-moving cloud, and I caught a glimpse of his full figure, beneath that full-body shroud. He wasn't tall, I realized in that brief moment while he waited for me to respond. Although his cloak hid almost all of his physical form, I could still tell that he was slim, I remember thinking back then... slender, for a creature who was causing such menace in my life...
I wasn't able to piece much together in that short time when my captor was stood square in front of me, the moonlight lighting up all that I could see of him. I wasn't in the right mindset to be working out who he was from these disparate and minute clues. But I see now that, even if I had known what these details I was observing about his shape, his form, his stature meant, the truth of who he was was too shocking, too far removed from my perception of how things should be for me to work out who he was from these separated and seemingly insignificant details alone. Even when it was revealed to me, on that fateful day a few months after this moonlit encounter took place, I still didn't believe it...
"I thought... maybe, that I was being kept here by my mind...", I explained, with slight relief that he hadn't hit me yet. I watched his figure, as another approaching cloud sank us both into darkness, and I found myself confronted with the unforgiving dark wall in front of me again...
"You are. I am keeping you here, upon your own request"
His answer shocked me into silence for a long time. I wasn't even ashamed of the awkwardness of that period of quiet between us. I was just stunned- unable to speak because my mind was still trying to process what I'd just heard. I felt no fear at not answering- I didn't care right then if he lost his temper and hit me. The only thing I didn't let my thoughts block out was the need to stop him from leaving. I couldn't let him leave before probing him with more questions... as long as he didn't look like he was going to leave, I let my brain keep trying to interpret what he'd meant...
"I don't understand..."... I eventually blurted out again, for the second time, without allowing myself to consider what I was going to say. At least I was honest, though- that was something to hold on to, I guess...
"You ARE trapped here. That is true", my captor conceded...
"By YOU...", I butted in.
He paused for a second, possibly indignant at having been interrupted. It was impossible to tell his emotions with only the dark hole where his face was lurking to look at...
"I am performing YOUR will. You want to be here- at least, you WOULD want to be here, if you only knew the struggle and endless failures that you would suffer if you were free. And I want you to be here. In that sense, you are as much imprisoned by yourself as you are by me..."
"But I DON'T want to be here!!!", I shouted, frustrated, furious that such an accusation could be made towards me, the innocent prisoner. I jerked my hands forwards, and let my chains rattle, jingle, back into silence...
"Are you sure about that?"
I was speechless. Was he serious? I couldn't tell- his face was in shadow, his body language under the sea of cloth that covered him from all sides... I didn't know how to respond. "Is this a trap?"- the question flashed across my mind. "Does he really want an answer? Or does he just want an excuse to hit me...?"
I forced myself to speak, unsure when, if EVER, I would get the opportunity to confront him on this issue again...
"I DON'T want to be here", I stated clearly, methodically. I didn't blink- I kept my eyes wide open and staring fiercely into the area in that black hole where I supposed his face must be, in order to convince him I was serious. "I want to leave", I added, hoping to surprise him.
"Think honestly...", he started, in a slightly more upbeat and philosophical tone, "If I unchained you, and opened the door right now..."; he turned away from me to look at the door behind him, behind all that gloom and the endless world of shadows... "...where would you go?" he asked, turning back to look at me...
"I'd leave. I'd go outside, I'd go back home..."... I answered immediately, a slight excitement that we were making progress in our conversation, that it might lead towards my release...
"Why? Here, in the castle, you are safe. Out there...", he pointed towards the door behind him again. With his finger still extended towards it, and jabbing the air with each miserable noun he listed, he hissed, "...there is only struggle, and heartache, and pain".
He lowered his finger slowly after that last word, keeping his face pointed directly at me, probably trying to gauge my reaction throughout- trying to register how much of an impact his words had had on me...
He didn't wait for me to respond, which was a relief because I had nothing to say at that moment. I was still trying to digest it all, to understand what it all meant. The fact that all this information was being shoved at me, shoved INTO me, in my weary, battered and exhausted state was making me mute, and I just stayed quiet, and waited for him to continue. I remember thinking that the more I heard from him, the more of the truth I would understand...
How wrong I was.
"The world will be entirely against you" he almost shouted, in a mocking and clearly irritated tone... "and you'll have no cell to hide in- no cell in which you can indulge in your nature. You'll be alone, vulnerable. Why would you WANT to leave?" He stepped to my other side, his slow footsteps portraying authority, like those of a speaker who's giving a talk on something he's not only passionate about, but has a lifetime of experience in.
"I give you everything you need to grow old, to live a long, long time...". He was now pacing in front of me, and I watched him, just my eyes moving inside my head, my face stern in concentration on his words. "Here, you have an easy life. No obligations, no rules, no judgement... Out there, outside this castle, there is nothing but hard work that lies ahead for you..."
I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to say what I was thinking, what I'd been trying to say since we started our conversation...
"But I want to be free... it's better to be FREE..."
"WILL you be free?". My captor interrupted me sharply with his question. He stopped pacing as he asked it and again, I wasn't sure if he was being rhetorical or not. I waited to see, and almost immediately, he started talking and pacing again... "They'll only tell you how to act. They'll force you to be something that is against your nature. They'll change you- change your thoughts, words and actions. Soon, you'll be unrecognizable from what you are now. In that sense, the man that you are now will no longer exist. He will be dead. Tell me..." he stopped pacing, stood still to place emphasis on his last point. Indignantly, he placed his hands on where I assume his hips were, and asked, snapped at me... "Is that freedom?"
I didn't look at him. I looked down, because a feeling from deep inside of me was bubbling its way to the surface. It was the conviction that I still liked being me. It was the idea that, despite my flaws, the person I was didn't deserve to be altered dramatically. It was the thought that me needing to change, to be different from how I was in that moment, to become a new person, was somehow unfair, and unnatural. It was the ego that wouldn't let me admit that the path I'd taken was the wrong one. It was the arrogance that I held deep inside of me that kept telling me that who I was, what I said and what I did... were fine. That things didn't need to change. That, by trying to change, by leaving that cell, that castle... I would be destroying myself. At that moment, I wasn't focused on what I would be replaced by- what I would gain by letting my old nature die, fade away from me, being sucked gradually into non-existence. Instead, all I could think about was what I would lose by leaving that dark cell... and that fear of losing everything that my old, cell-bound self had... kept me silent. And in that silence, my captor heard my answer louder than any words could ever have spoken.
"Can't you see that here, with me, you are truly free?", my captor asked in a slightly soothing, calming tone, as he realized that I'd surrendered the fight to him. There was no need for him to bully his words into me. He knew he could calm down- he was on the home-stretch now.
"You can do what you like, what you ENJOY, and what comes naturally to you to do. And I won't judge you for it".
I looked up at him, my eyes pensive and thoughtful. I nodded, resigning myself to the logic he'd presented me with...
"So you see...", he stepped forwards, and put his hand on my shoulder. That icy, cold touch stung my bare skin, and I winced. "...You are being kept in here by me, for your own good. Because you KNOW that here is the safest and best place for you. You don't have to be different to your nature. I don't ask you to be different to what comes naturally to you. I permit you to be however you like... all I want is that you stay in this cell". He paused, and he could see the sense of resignation in my eyes, my eyes that wouldn't even look at him, but faced the floor by his feet instead. I nodded gently, as the information sunk in, and were gradually labelled "truths" in my mind...
He let go of my shoulder, stepped back a pace, and pointed towards the tall, high window, where the moon was being obstructed again by yet another thick cloud. "But if you go out there, they will try to change you. They will FORCE you to change, just to survive- just to get on in the world. You don't want to change, do you?"
I DIDN'T want to change. Not then. And because of that, I was imprisoned from my very core. Because the desire to be a better person was not there, therefore nothing, NOTHING could change for me.
"Can I watch T.V...?", I asked, almost in a whisper, and without looking at him...
I thought I heard my captor chuckle. It was a short and gruff sound, but like the rest of his voice, it didn't sound natural. It sounded practiced, like a performance.
"Sure...", he said softly, and almost immediately continued, "...as long as you're in here, in this cell, you're free to do pretty much whatever you like..."...
I looked up at him through my slightly raised eyebrows, and I realised then that I REALLY DID belong to my captor, because I wanted to be his. And with that, my captor turned his head to look out of the window...
...and if I'd been able to see it, I would surely have seen a sly, callous smile set upon his face.
