Andrew saw her laying down there. He was repulsed. His instinct to assist was contradicted by his inner revulsion. She is alone, he thought, and naked. The pit is very deep. She cannot get out by herself.
But at the same time, he thought, I hate her. She is small and weak and helpless. I have no sympathy, no compassion, no time for the small and weak and helpless. She would be better off dead. She is sleeping now. No one would notice if her sleep just extended itself to death.
He had felt this way with others before. Why do I have to decide again each time? Why can’t I just act without thinking? Am I a compassionate man or a narrow man acting only on what I’ve been taught?
He wondered if he cared. She or others like her have landed themselves in positions like this before. It will continue. Why should he interfere?
He wished she was his mother or his ex-lover. Someone worth getting rid of. But, she was not. She is me, he thought. Someone who is essential to my being regardless of my personal distaste for her limitations.
Consequently, he took steps to collect her, to carry her to safety, and to heal her from this bout. Even though, he knew it wouldn’t be the last.
* * * * * * *
Andrew’s heart ached. It wasn’t a pure ache. It didn’t stem alone from grieving loss but purifying hate as well.
“I shall not listen to you,” I said.
He laughed. “You haven’t even the slightest, most remote chance of not listening. I am all yours.”
I played the music louder trying to drown him out. But his voice kept booming in my head. “Piece of garbage, dirt, you are all mine. I own you now and forever ‘til death do us part.”
“I could arrange that,” I thought.
“I dare you. I double dare you. You haven’t the guts to kill us,” he taunted. “You’re just a babe. A poor innocent babe that can’t do shit.”