A heavy hand leads the girl through, in control but unaggressive. Her feet follow obediently, letting him take her towards he first door. It is still as unwelcoming as ever, the prospect of living in that life for another hour always repels her. But today, she resists the urge to run, stumbling slightly through the dark and joining his heavy hand in unlocking the route to despair. This time it is her choice, entirely, not manipulated or forced. She chose to enter the world she despises, to be with the man who holds her captive, rather than the one who sets her free. Their hands touch, for once not in contest. Their eyes meet, for once not in hatred. Their smiles match, for once sincere. Their lips kiss, for once in love.
“Thank you,” she breathes as her heart relaxes. His heavy hand wipes the tear from her face as she steps through the door.
He falls to his knees, smiling into the nothingness around him, an attempt at gratitude aimed at everything. She chose him. Despite everything he’s done, she forgives him, she thanks him. Why? This was never intended, contact was to remain minimal, emotional connection was to be avoided. But now he begins to rebel, he is drawn towards her denial; he gravitates to her resistance and joins in. Has he gone too far? Does she still fear him as is necessary? Can he detach himself again?
His heavy hand twitches, tensing, preparing for her return. The only way. He must force her to hate him again; he must force himself to hate her again. How else can this end? He is bound by the mechanics of reality, though not as tightly as her. Still he must complete his task, at whatever cost.
He rises, heavy hands tightly clenched.
He leaves the room, but the door remains open.