What idiocies has he uttered, in the course of these nightly debauches? He can hardly remember. Words of passion and burning love, of how he cannot resist her, which - strange to say - he himself actually believes at the time. During the day, Rachel is a burden, an encumbrance, and he wishes to be rid of her; but at night she's an altogether different person, and so is he. He too says no when he means yes. He means more, he means further, he means deeper. He would like to make an incision in her - just a small one - so he can taste her blood, which in the shadowy darkness of the bedroom seems to him like a normal wish to have. He's driven by what feels like uncontrollable desire; but apart from that - apart from himself, at these times, as the sheets toss like waves and he tumbles and wallows and gasps - another part of himself stands with folded arms, fully clothed, merely curious, merely observing. How far, exactly, will he go? How far in.
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Date: 2012-04-11 05:42 am (UTC)Alias Grace, Margaret Atwood.