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Anarchy in the Province of Love, Part Six (mature content)Aug 30 '04 Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line Copyright 2004 David MacDonald Part One: http://www.epinions.com/content_4073889924 Part Two: http://www.epinions.com/content_4073955460 Part Three: http://www.epinions.com/content_4074020996 Part Four: http://www.epinions.com/content_4074086532 Part Five: http://www.epinions.com/content_4074414212 Part Six: http://www.epinions.com/content_4074479748 Part Seven, Conclusion: http://www.epinions.com/content_4074545284 * “.... well, I’ll see you later.” Matthew was putting on his boots, preparing to step out into the war zone. “You sure now?”, Bronwyn asked, trying not to reveal any upset. “It’s still raining heavily out there......” The winds had ceased, but the rain, as well as hundreds of curious drivers in their cars, showed no signs of slowing down. “Yea... well... I've been away all night, you see.”, he said, casually. “My roommates will ... probably wonder where the hell I am.”, he laughs. “If I were with you last night rather than the other way around, I wouldn’t be all that worked up if Nicky didn’t see me for a while........” Matthew gave out a toothy, wooden grin, held in place as his eyes searched her expression. “It’s a hurricane... it’s a crazy day out there. I might as well see if there’s any damage.... or if the power’s out there as well.” “It’s out everywhere, I would imagine.”, she stated calmly. “True......” “So are you sure that you don’t want to stay?” “Yea...... but I’ll talk to you again, okay?”, he said. “Yea... no prob.”, watching him open the door. She could no longer see him, walking to an unknown place underneath the torrents of raindrops. She could only envision him walking along the sidewalk, having to adjust his typical pattern of walking, due to the leaves, branches, and entire trees that blocked his path. Bronwyn was happy that she had no reason to walk out of the house. It was a state of emergency; everything was closed. A good excuse to curl up and go back to sleep. But she probably wouldn’t have been able to. Her state of mind was fully out of sorts. She would need some time to resign herself to the truth that her rigid way of life was over. She allowed herself to be tempted, to break her chaste behavior. It was so appropriate that on this divide between yesterday and today came the worst act of nature that anyone alive on Prince Edward Island ever experienced. The hurricane’s destructive results paralleled what went on inside her. No longer could she take her environment for granted. A storm ravaged outside, while a storm ravaged in her apartment, and in her soul. No longer could she take anything for granted. She saw that things could be different And she had to embrace that change, because she could never take it back. Matthew walked away from her that morning. He indeed wanted to fuck her, just as she expected everyone else to want to do. But this time, she let him do so. And he would return to her, three weeks later, to join her in another chaotic encounter. The hurricane had returned -- disorder reigned, puffing love and romantic initiative away from its path. The disorder was sex. It was an anarchy in the province of love. And she soon discovered that this was how she wanted to be governed. After that sophomore encounter, Bronwyn realized that she didn’t need to pine away for him, in the chance that he would not come back for another few weeks before he got the urge to fuse with her. If she was going to be an anarchist, she wasn’t going to sit back and wait for him to control her. Waiting was what other people did. Therefore, she went to seek. If Matthew would not be there, someone would take his place. It was a soaring feeling, enjoying the fruits of one’s own physicality. She starved herself for so long, that when she decided to take a sample, she ended up devouring the entire plate. The people she met were close to her own age, and were the sort of fun-loving and hard-drinking people that the clubs she attended attracted like a magnet to steel. But that was the easiest place to satisfy her new regime. Occasionally, a thought would cross her mind, telling her that she was missing out on genuine love and affection. But she made those thoughts go away. She was not seeking love or affection. Not anymore, at least. She had no desire to waste energy seeking something that she could never get. The other thing was much easier to get. ..... and those people in the porn video? Now, they understood priorities. Sure, what they had was simple. It was primitive. Devoid of any context or emotion. But at least it was a fleeting pleasure. Something was better than nothing. Her wrist strained from its incessant movements, but she continued stimulating herself as the video dragged on. Eventually, the images on the video evaporated, as she closed her eyes, the mechanics of her body attacked by spasms. Afterwards, she settled into a fatigue. Her surroundings were suddenly sorrowful, and so she clumsily paced over to the VCR and shut the video off. Her only desire at this point was to go to bed, and sleep for hours and hours. Before vacating the living room, she killed the lights. In the bedroom, she bumped into things before tumbling into bed, rather than turn on the bedroom light to find her way. She did not want to turn on the light only to be struck with her reflection in the mirror on the bedroom wall. Her reflection would look like a painting, with eyes deep and cold, and a face feigned with a happiness that was never truly there........ ~Laura~ Her body was smothered by ghostly caresses. Her sleep broke, and her eyes sluggishly open. She made out the bare outline of an awake Bruce -- he must have been awake for hours. He sure looked that way. “Good morning, sexy!”, he whispered. “Hey......”, Laura hushed. “..... what.....”, yawn, “... time is it?” “Umm... six thirty or so.” “Really!” She wondered what possessed him to wake up so early. “... yea, so we have a few hours.....”, he grinned conspiratorially. “... for what....?”, she giggled sleepily. Bruce placed a deep kiss upon her mouth. “For anything.....”, he whispered, his voice spreading its fingers lightly along her face. “But... I’m so sleepy.......”, she grinned, “.... I’ll.... fall asleep in the middle of it......” He moved his hand across her stomach, yearningly ignorant of her fatigue. Her body was relaxed, softening. Her limbs were absent of tension. Grains of sleep settled on her face, which remained sweetly tired and warm. “This will wake you up......”, he spoke affectionately. His voice exuded confidence, as much with himself as toward the two of them as a pair. He was telling her that he was in complete command of this moment, and that she had no choice but to lay back and voluntarily suffer this lovely demonstration of sensuality. Wearily, she opened her mouth, taking one of his fingers within it as the rest of his hand intended to caress her face. Her hands, weak but wanting to reach out into the morning air, traces the contours of his forearm, as he moved his entire arm away again. He held the side of her breast, and became in awe of the shape, the softness, the inexplicable draw that this part of the female body had to the general populace. His palm curled over to the front of the breast, masking the nipple. He felt the fragile tenderness slowly form into a pointed hardness. The awe increased...... His fingers trailed her stomach like a frantic drop of water. Her whole body trembled with heavy breaths. Her blood flowed more strongly, as she grew aware of the increasing intimacy of his touch. She felt the inside of his fingers brush aside her pubic hair -- and the notes of her breath sounded more abruptly. His fingers loitered at her c!itoris, tempting it helplessly. Then he buried his fingers inside her sex, before his mouth began to cover her body with many deep and hungry kisses. She was nearly close to fright. But she would not scream or object. She only thought that he seemed possessed -- so hungry to search, and to find, the deepest part of her. He was making her body capable of engulfing him wholly, of feeling a pleasure that was too raw to describe in mere words Her eyelids were still touched by the dust of sleep, but her body buried that dust into memory............ * She did not have anywhere important to go to until the afternoon. At about nine AM or so, she put on a pair of underwear, and an old, faded t-shirt with a Prince Edward Island logo, faded and discolored from years of wear and wash. Bruce, on the other hand, got himself fully dressed for the day. The two of them sat out at the kitchen table, looking to each other warmly, still recalling the hours of frolicking they enjoyed this morning. “You still look quite energetic.”, Laura smiled. “I, on the other hand, could go back to bed right now.” She yawned heavily, only to discover moments later that Bruce had an almost indecent grin on his face. “To sleep of course!!”, she clarified, with a giggle. “Damn!”, he teased. “... because I could make love to you all day!” The top of his forefinger traced the bends of her finger. “I’m the best lover that you’ll ever have.” His smile showed off all of his teeth, as well as his deepening wells of confidence. “You’re feeling happy today then......”, her voice soft and anticipatory of his willing to fill in the remaining space. “Sure! Of course!”, he answered, eager to let his confidence run loose. “Good.”, she smiled with hope marking the lines along the sides of her mouth. “I’m feeling pretty happy too!” They peered deeply into the lakes of each other’s eyes. “I... I’m just going to get some juice.”, Laura voiced dreamily. “Did you want anything?” “Nah, that’s all right.” She raised her body from the chair, her bare feet scraping the roughness of the aging carpet. As she swung open the wooden door of the cupboard, she became aware of a transparent orange container. The container was empty, its white plastic cap resting beside it. Laura’s heart tightened with fear. “Bruce....”, she called out, reining in the pulses of her aching heart, “.... did you notice that you don’t have any pills left?” Bruce did not answer. “I....I can go and get some more for you.” Her voice trembled a pitch too high, as she returned to the living room and into his gaze. Her joy of moments ago slackened upon recognition of his blank expression. “No,”, he hummed, “You don’t need to get them.” “O... okay. That’s fine.” She paused. “But if you don’t want to.....I......” “No. I don’t think you understand.”, he spoke, his calm far too suspicious. “I mean that I’m not going to get any more pills. I’m through with them.” A painful trauma soaked the inside of her stomach. “Uh... when did you decide that?”, she sighed. She anxiously brushed away loose beads away from her eyes. “Oh, about four days ago,”, Bruce stated without a drop of melodrama. “, when I took the last pill.” “Did you... go to the doctor? Did she say that it was okay to stop?” She knew what the answer would be. “No.”, he said stiffly, “I made the decision all by myself.” Laura wanted to believe that all of these words were lies, an ill-conceived joke before he burst out laughing. “I don’t understand this. Why did you do that?” “Christ, Laura!”, he erupted with a stronger sense of his personal feelings. “I had enough of that shit! Those things.. just made me fat and lazy, anyway. I don’t want that in my life.” It occurred to Laura that her eyes were stinging with tears, so thick they felt like melting gelatin. She never prepared herself this morning for copious weeping, and became helpless when it decided to pay her a visit. She wails as she asks him, “Why are you doing this! Please... don’t!” “Oh, why are you crying?”, his question laced with spite. His voice was barren, stripped of personality. It was as if he were a synthetic person, fueled by a hollow anger. “You’re not my mother, you know. You should be happy that I’m not feeding myself with drugs!” Laura’s cheeks caught the teary overflow spilling from the cliffs of her eyelids. The salty, bitter water trickled to the corners of her trembling lips. The sounds that passed between the lips degenerated into incoherence. “....no, Bruce....”, she choked. “.... don’t..... not like last time, please!” She thought with every breath that she would die. All of her internal organs were failing, and she was slipping away, unable to bear the pain. “I... don’t want to see you on the news .... saying that you’re dead......” Bruce shook his head violently. “That would never happen to me. I’m such hot stuff here! I don’t need you and your harping on my personal decisions!” Laura wailed again, feeling so utterly helpless. “If I’m going to be on the news,”, he continued, “it will be because of something significant.” “Bruce....”, she sobbed horrifically, “Look, I can take you down to the pharmacy. I’ll help you get the pills.” Like someone with too many drinks in their system, Laura stumbled into the kitchen, her eyes too blinded by tears to see clearly. She clutched at the plastic bottle and planned to pass it to her unaware boyfriend. But he grabbed the bottle from her trembling hand, before blisteringly slamming the plastic against the wall. The plastic cracked against the plaster before bouncing sloppily upon the carpet. “Damn it, Laura, leave me alone!” His eyes were possessed, but Laura was not preoccupied with her physical safety. As with his screams, his physical acts of aggression were hollow. He merely acted out his anger without following through into anything that would leave visible marks. She wanted to embrace him, and to cry and cry on his shoulder. She wanted her tears to be a soothing tonic, that would soften the mysterious jaggedness within his soul. But, at this moment, he would not have allowed that. He would have pushed her away before leaving the room. Instead, she sobbed helplessly in his presence. And then he left the apartment. Her brain molded the clay of random thoughts into sculptures of haunting possibilities. Each work of art was soured with a singular sense of awesome dread. Her body was too drained of hopeful energy to be able to remain upright for much longer. She buckled down as she frantically approached the mattress in the bedroom, falling on her side. Her frame was little more than a shuddering mass, carelessly unaware of the potential for injury. She had fallen so close to the wall that her head was only inches away from striking it. She swallowed gasps of air as she cried. She found herself balling her fingers into a fist, before thrusting her full arm toward the wall’s rustic exterior. Her knuckles slap with a feral rhythm against the wood, again and again, until the bones underneath the skin throbbed. Until the reverberations from the punches numbed from her fingers to her forearm. The fragile skin of her had turned crimson red. She did not need to witness the damage upfront in order to recall, against her will, that this was not the first time this happened. * More than a year or so ago, he inexplicably went missing for two days. He just vanished. This was while he was still in therapy. He had been seeing a psychiatrist, due to all these strange mood swings that he was having. Days passed where he felt as hopeless as a human being could feel. Thoughts of morbid death, of violence and bloodshed, would linger in his mind, utterly consuming his day. By this point, it had grew worse. He could no longer hold down a job. He’d lose interest in whatever he was doing after the first two or three weeks, forgetting how to do the basics of what he had been trained. And then he’d not even bother to show up anymore, once his soul dropped to his lowest. Laura was accommodating, of course. She loved him far too much to let the two of them sink into deepening poverty. The two had already moved in together, and she made herself into the major breadwinner of the household. Besides the video store job, she was lucky enough to be able to get a part-time job at the call center upstairs for another 20 hours a week. What resulted was a period of hardship. There was no money for frivolous stuff. Laura sold her car, electing to walk to work. But they had each other. She stuck by him even as his mental health deteriorated. Manic-depression was not enjoyable, not for the sufferer or the ones who know him. But Laura was a tough woman beneath her fresh face and cute demeanor. She thought her patience would be durable. * He was unconscious on the side of the highway. His breath stank of alcohol, but the inertia in his body was from other intoxicants. He apparently had bought a slew of over-the-counter medication -- Tylenol, etc. Popping them in his mouth like candy, until his body could no longer withstand it. The doctor who examined him, the psychiatrist who talked to him the next morning, concluded that Bruce’s intent was to kill himself. And he could have succeeded if it weren’t for the unlucky coincidence of stumbling near the West Royalty Irving gas station, just as it was closing for the night. The clerk had noticed this man, looking as if he were deathly sick or injured, draped over the edge of the gas tank. After this point, Bruce had no other avenue to cure his manic-depression than to take medication. Either that or risk another spontaneous attempt at suicide. “Jesus, Laura...”, he cursed, tempering it with a rueful grin. “... I never thought that I ‘d be diagnosed as a crazy person....” “Don’t say that.”, Laura would respond. “you’re .....” She wanted to say sick, but that was just as haunting a term. “... these pills will just make you feel better.” How trite that sounded within her ears. “What am I going to tell everyone else? That I’m sick with manic-depression?”, he raved. “That’s going to be a load of fun!” Laura cried silently. She prepared herself for many more instances of sudden tears. “You don’t need to tell anyone, Bruce.”, she whispered. “It’s okay... it would be our little secret.” But it wasn’t. Bruce’s parents were always aware of their son’s behavior. His mom and dad did not focus on any suicidal attempts, only the daring activities that could have gotten himself killed if he had mistakenly slipped up. Apparently, his teenage years were filled with much reckless activity involving drugs, beer, cars, and other dangerous things in life. And his parents were utterly ashamed of him. This was too apparent to Laura whenever her boyfriend’s parents would visit them. “That boy was always too big for his britches.”, said his mother. “He always thought he was better than everyone else.” Laura cringed, holding back the urge to snap the elastic of her anger towards this creep. “N... no, it isn’t like that at all. He’s just going through stuff.” “You mean manic-depression!”, she would state defiantly. “A mental illness.”, stressing each word as if they were untested and frightening concepts. “That’s crap! There must be a pill for everything now....”, her mother rolled her eyes. “He’s just trying to make a spectacle of himself, that’s all!” Laura wanted to wound them. She wanted to scream at them for all the years that they didn’t bother to actively concern themselves with their child. But then they would say that she was trying to make a show of herself as well. * She had met him at the stock-car race track. She went with a few of her friends to Oyster Bed Bridge, as the race track was well under way with another summer season of engine fumes and screeching tires. By attending, Laura unwittingly contributed to the weekly annoyance that the residents of this tiny village felt every Saturday evening. For years, the residents would complain about the incessant roar of dozens and dozens of cars insanely circling around a tiny oval track. But little could be done as long as there was cash to be made by local businesses. And Bruce had played a part in this chaos this evening as well. He was one of the drivers that evening. His driving revealed a lack of perception on where he wanted his rickety slab of tin to go. He propelled it from the starting line as if the car were like a dog tasting its first morsel of freedom, after being caged for weeks. The creature would love being able to express movement, but had no discipline or control. The car’s path wobbled, irregardless of the other competitors’ paths, for four or five laps, until it finally fell off the steep dusty decline of the track’s edge, rolling onto its side. The audience ooohed with a predictable cadence, and applauded when the driver emerged from the open window of the driver’s side. He appeared uninjured, except for his pride, which bled a little while he kicked the rubber of the tire. Laura was one of those who found herself excited by the spectacle. She was happy that the guy was all right, but she was still thrilled at what she saw. If she had reflected on her feelings, she may have been scared to discover that she would have loved to have seen that again. As the races were completed for another weekend, she went to the canteen to get a snack. And that’s when she noticed him, feeding himself from a box of onion rings, its cardboard a patchwork of splotchy grease. She gained a weight of nervousness from approaching a stranger, but she was able to tolerate it. “So.... “, stepping closer to his space, “... how many races have you been in?” He looks up at her, chewing on an onion ring. He smiles. “Actually... this is my first one.” She laughed pleasingly. “That would explain a lot! You’re quite a unique talent!” He cracked open a smirk, showing a comfort with her teasing. “Of course I am!”, he teased. “I’m just too great for this dust bowl trail, though.....” “I bet.”, she spoke ironically. “Yea, but I’ll try this one more time.” Now he’s just overcompensating. “I just want to prove to these people that I’m a force to be reckoned with.” “Well, maybe I’ll be there to watch ya!”, she grinned. “Thanks!”, he laughed. “I’ve got myself a groupie! And she did return the following Saturday. This time, Bruce didn’t roll his car off the dirt embankment. Instead, he crashed into the wall on the final turn, crushing the front fender of his car. “Ah well.”, Bruce would dismiss a few hours later, “I was never really into the whole stock car phenomena, anyway....” “Oh, really! Or was it just the deadly impact against the wall that did it for you?” “No way! That was the best part! The thrill of the case -- the possibility of tearing yourself apart limb by limb. It’s great! You gotta take that risk once in a while.” Laura’s body became woozy. She felt a thrall at this man, who seemed to laugh in the face of danger. At any rate, he cared little about the dangers he may have faced. “So... need a ride home?” Bruce stood by the passenger door of his buddy’s tow truck, which was to tow the wreckage back to Bruce’s place. “.... sure.” She only had to think about that answer for a brief moment. They saw more of each other in the following weeks. Bruce decided to give up the stock car scene, so he could, apparently, go through the rest of his list of daredevil routines. Like riding a motorcycle without a helmet. “...... I don’t think that anyone’s gonna pass by here.”, he said as he stopped his motorcycle. Laura swung her legs away from the seat. “Why? What are you going to do?”, she smiled. Bruce took his helmet off, and passed it over to Laura. “Well....”, turning the ignition on again, “... watch this.” Suddenly, he sped off, soaring away from Laura. The tires stirred up airy wisps of dust, as its treads dug at the road’s surface. Choking from the sand, barely able to see, Bruce nevertheless maintained the velocity until he could do so no longer. His apparent belief was that he needed to inhale the more noxious elements of the earth before he could truly experience the open road. From where she stood, her eyes found the act of watching him unbearable. She thought that her heart would stop, once she saw Bruce violently spin around before driving back to reunite with her....... But she attempted to lather her fear with a wry voice. “shit! You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days!” She tried to make it sound like a flippant joke, rather than a true fear. “Nah...... “ , he spoke confidently, even as he spat out mucus-covered strands of dust. “Not......”, cough, “....not before I have my way with you!” His wicked grin brought out an uneasy laugh from her. She was still much too aware of the pounding within her rib cage to feel completely at ease again. “So.....”, she fluttered, “I’m the one who will steal your final breath, huh?” She silently trips as she steps closer to his ragged being. She descends onto his dirt-streaked clothes, allowing him to take control of her body. They melted into an embrace, before she began to taste his lips, so nervous and eager to learn. She wanted those sensations that he enjoyed every hour of every day to copy themselves into her body. So she kissed him hungrily, longingly, for what seemed like an eternity. They did not have sex, but it was close enough, and daring enough on the seat of a motorcycle on the middle of the country road. Then she opened her eyes again, to gaze upon his. But his eyes were misty with tears. “Bruce?”, she trembled. “Are you crying?” Or was she wrong? Whom she was looking at was someone who had peered into a deep, ruinous pit, and saw the most gruesome things imaginable. His verbal reactions were almost incoherent to those who could not see what he did....... “I’m a failure. I’m a failure.....”, he sobbed, resting his face upon Laura’s shoulder. “What has my life amounted to? I don’t know why I just didn’t smash this piece of junk into the ditch?” He behaved as helplessly as a lost child. Perhaps that’s exactly what he was. “There’s no hope out there. No help to seek......”, he continued. She wasn’t expecting this. This was a side of him that she never witnessed. Her expectations had been usurped, replaced with something more painful than an impact against concrete. She felt as if she was making love to one person, only to wake up the next morning to find someone else in the bed beside her......... “Wh... what do you mean?”, she responded, confused but tenderly. “It... it’s okay......” “No, it’ s not ... no it’s not.....”, he cried. “I don’t want you to leave me......” “I don’t understand.”, she said, stroking his face. “I have no plans to leave you.” He shook his head. “Just .... don’t leave me...... I don’t know what I would do if you did......” She let him rest his head on her shoulder. She allowed him to calm down. And then when they drove home, he suddenly became happy again. But that happiness was soured for her, because of the knowledge of his unexplained sadness. Even when he kissed her good night and said he’d see her tomorrow, she could not wipe away her reaction to what happened on that lonely dirt road. Depressed. Hopeless. Confused. She felt as he did. She received the sensations that she wanted from him, sure enough....... ..... yet she did not leave him. She promised him that she would not. Most of the time, he was entertaining. He was wild. He was a fun time. Something that couldn’t be said of her past boyfriends. He was an action film, a melodrama, a comedy and a porno film all rolled into one mad motion picture. Well, only she was aware of the porno aspect of the production. But even that was a porno with a vital difference. The sex was wild and unpredictable. But it was more often a forceful glimpse into how he could so often be the night to his reckless days. It was quite often those intimate moments where he showed his soft, hurting side -- or his calm, peaceful side. Everything that was not the crazy, funny, reckless and exasperating guy he was the rest of the time. She wanted to scream sometimes. She was being pulled apart by his ups and his downs. But she loved him. And when his mental health became worse, she had to love him even more. Because nobody else would. Even his own parents behaved aloofly whenever they’d visit him at Laura’s apartment -- even with their charming front, they’d never ask “How are you feeling, son?”, or “Hopefully, things are better for you now.” Nah, that would be just too intimate. He obviously was never used to getting deep with his emotions. No wonder he was so messed up...... .... and now he was lost to her again. He was alone, in a state of his own making when he stormed out of the apartment this morning. And she had clung to him for so long, that she was sure that she had as much anguish as he had. And now she was lost. She was alone and hurt as he ever could be. Part Seven, Conclusion: http://www.epinions.com/content_4074545284  |
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