Supplication - Persecutor, Suppliant, a Power in Authority
Amber sat pensively in the wooden chair. Outside, she could hear the sudden rush of air as cars drove by in the street below. Although no concrete thoughts took hold of her consciousness, she was vaguely aware of a strange feeling spreading slowly within her. Somehow, she seemed to dread something, a something that she also apparently feared. She lifted her hands in front of her face and saw them tremble ever so slightly. It was, to say the least, quite unsettling.
Her eyes looked around to take in her surroundings. A couple picture frames, a musical instrument here and there, clothes randomly discarded on the floor, and on the bed, the sleeping figure of her lover.
She shouldn’t have said it. At least not yet. The silence that had ensued after those bittersweet three words had been enough to indicate that she was in over her head. Although truth be told, she had gone into this relationship intending to keep things light. She had, after all, chosen to take on a lover on a whim. It had seemed like a good idea in the beginning, something to distract her from taking her life seriously or even just a means to attaining physical pleasure at best. She had chosen it, therefore she called the shots and that made her feel good.
Theirs had been an easy, instantaneous relationship. Often talking for hours about topics that ranged from the most inane to intellectually challenging discussions, they never seemed to tire of each other’s company. Of course, the sex was great too. But then, that part she had expected since the primary premise for the relationship had been that to begin with.
Yet she found that the more she got to know him, the more she liked what she knew about him and his company. Slowly, she began giving up her sense of control, granting tiny concessions here and there.
There would be times when they couldn’t seem to get enough of each other and other times when the idea of each other did not seem to exist. The former she thoroughly enjoyed and often came home sufficiently satiated, but the latter often left her in the most miserable of spells, pining away in her self-doubt—at least, that is, until they got in touch with each other again and the cycle would repeat itself. That was how she came to realize that she, the master of her destiny, had finally given in to the force that had been gnawing at the protective barrier that had once been carefully crafted around her heart.
Should someone who was walking by in the street below happen to look up and see her now, they would think her merely contemplating the surrounding neighborhood. What they didn’t know was that underneath, thoughts, fears and emotions, churned chaotically as she struggled to regain some sense of something out of everything. The tables, it seemed, had turned against her favor.
She had not felt this vulnerable in a very long time.
As things go, the best option now would be to walk away, to simply leave things as they were. Whoever came up with the idea of “Fight or flight”, the age old way of handling situations like this, probably had been through one too many situations similar to the one she was in now. She knew she ought to pack up and leave, break things off before they got any more serious. But she knew that if she did that now, she would always end up wondering what would have happened if she had waited.
Sighing deeply, she stood to collect her things by the bed. If she left now, there would be less complications, less resistance. She gazed longingly at the slow rise and fall of her lover’s chest as he slept, willing him to wake so he could tell her to stay.
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