Turpentine & Vetiver

18. Damnation -first we feel, then we fall- James Joyce

   Thorn looked down at the words he'd written in sepia ink in the small black Moleskine journal. Fuck, I hate poetry, he thought- though the dark writing was an abstraction of his inner thoughts. Before, the words had been tinged with violence, destructive undertones- until he'd met Inky- and everything had changed. Would you follow me into the dark? Still accept me if you knew the reality of what I've done? He shook his head. No, of course not- I've killed in cold blood- premeditated sacrifices to the abomination in the Red Void. Inky had left after several days following their night out in the rainy field- the nights we spent together, you weren't scared of me, you didn't push me away. The look in her grey eyes hadn't been one of fear or disgust, but quite the opposite.
   It wasn't just one night of mistaken reality either- she had chosen to stay with him in the strange dark building he called home, curled up on the bed next to him, under the black sheets. Thorn sat on the edge of the bed, noticing in amusement the black ink handprint on one of the charcoal grey walls. That was from the last time we- slept together, he thought, vividly remembering that last night before she'd had to return to the city. He could almost picture the way her grey eyes stared up into his, her pale skin starkly contrasting with the black sheets- how the imprint of a jasmine tea and sea salt smell seemed to follow her; now indelibly printed on his senses whenever he thought of her. What have you done to me? Did I really somehow change after our night together in the storm? Is -this- what love is like? After all, how should I know- I'm a psychopath, I'm not supposed to be able to feel emotion...
   Yet somehow, with Inky- he felt everything all at once, and it was overwhelming; a sensory overload. Perhaps my mind isn't as broken as I presumed it to be, Thorn thought distractedly. Again he recalled their time together; out in the field under the cold rain, on the tile floor in his building surrounded by his disturbing artwork, tangled in the black sheets in his bed- covered in ink and leaving smudged handprints on each other as his dark fantasy was made reality. He looked down, noticing his hands were shaking- another unusual response. After all- nothing really made him nervous or fearful except the presence of the Red Void; the inhuman deities that dwelled there.
   Thorn remembered feeling Inky's pulse rate quicken; felt the blood rushing through her veins with his hand gently around her neck. How has this become my new reality- when at first I wanted to destroy you; erase your memory from my mind, from existence? You seem so fragile- how do you have this power over me? Slipping back into his own dark internal thoughts, Thorn almost wished he could deny what he was feeling for the sake of his sanity- he didn't want to feel anything at all. Except this wasn't exactly true- a part of his mind accepted this- at least with Inky. She made him feel less alone and isolated.
   That, and the way she looked at him; slightly unnerved but only due to the way she felt about him as well. God damn this feeling- would you even still want me if you could see what I've done- what I am capable of. You don't want blood on your hands too, Inky. Images of those he'd killed floated through his tortured mind, so much blood- a vast red sea of carnage and emptiness threatening to consume his sanity. In the beginning, he'd only harmed himself, but it had grown so tiresome- the sacrifices to the Red Void never seemed to be enough.
   Once more he felt his thoughts drifting restlessly to Inky, as if there were an invisible thread pulling them together. He knew right after they'd met, he would never want to be with anyone else. Thorn set down the Moleskine journal; thoughts unfinished on the page, endlessly distracted by a solitary image. Inky... what do you think of when you look at me, when we're together? Thorn stared blankly at the grey wall; the ink handprint she'd left. If it weren't for this fucking business trip I have to go on, I would ask you to come back- and yet I don't want to seem desperate, scare you away again... He cursed his brain for these unrelenting, obsessive thoughts. Thorn almost called her at the Gallery, deciding against it at the last minute- trying to remain rational and not seem like a pathetic creep who was following her around- which truthfully; he'd already become.
   It was almost easier when I was only watching you from afar, I got too curious and now I feel cursed with these- emotions. Disgusting. Thorn tried in vain not to think about the dark ink handprints she'd left on his skin; the way she touched him when they were together. Stop it- you're pathetic. It was no use trying to dissociate and turn off the thoughts racing through his subconscious. Maybe it would be better if he did something truly horrible; some violent transgression that would turn her away- but what would be the point? He'd already trusted Inky enough to allow her to get close, for the first time in his miserable existence, he might actually experience something besides pain- how was that such a terrible thing? Despite the consequences, Thorn decided he wanted to be with Inky.
   He watched Inky in her apartment again, after he'd returned to the city from his business trip. He was on the rooftop of the Gallery, in the Artist's Loft, staring down into her apartment window through his binoculars. Again. After the intense nights she'd spent with him, Thorn felt strangely conflicted spying on her like this now, but he couldn't help himself. Just go over there and see her- she's already let you touch her, he thought. However, his voyeuristic habits were hard to break, and sometimes- he just liked to watch. It appeared that she'd just taken a shower; her black hair was wet, slicked down against her head as though she'd tried to brush out the messy curls she usually wore. He noticed she only had a thin red towel wrapped around herself, and he saw slight bruises decorating her pale legs in the shape of fingerprints- he knew that he was the one responsible for this- and smiled darkly, again thinking about wanting to touch her skin.
   Inky took the towel off, looking frustrated, biting her lower lip. Thorn stared, he couldn't stop himself- observing her in this state of undress. He saw her lie down on the paint covered drop-canvas in the middle of her studio, staring up at the white ceiling. He watched as she slowly touched her own skin; tracing the angles of her collarbones, down her sternum, her small breasts, and across her ribcage. There were some more obvious, darker bruises on her body, and Thorn smiled at the memory of their last encounter. What are you doing? he wondered as she awkwardly inspected the bruises, pressing her fingertips against the marks he'd left on her.
   He almost wanted to get out his camera and take pictures of her- but this felt very inappropriate now, and he'd just have to save the mental images. Inky was still lying there, eyes closed, and Thorn saw that she looked agitated; confused. She appeared to be talking to herself, and he was curious what she was saying. The expression of frustration returned; her features looking anxious, withdrawn. She slid her own hand across her slender neck, as if trying to- Oh. I see. He almost felt embarrassed watching, now- it was obvious she was trying to mimic the way he touched her- but unable to make her body respond the same way as if he were there. Do you miss me? he thought, feeling flattered that Inky enjoyed being with him enough to- do this.
   Thorn noticed Inky's look of obvious disappointment as she slowly trailed her fingers across her skin, still unable to get a reaction. Her face was slightly red- presumably from lack of oxygen- she obviously didn't know what she was doing, and he hoped she wouldn't accidentally asphyxiate herself. He'd discreetly and illegally had spare keys made to her apartment door; and if he so desired, he could go upstairs to see her- or help her out. By that I mean- I could stop you from possibly hurting yourself- or we could just... He imagined himself stopping by unannounced, and wondered how she'd react- especially if the door was locked- which he assumed was the case. Would you like it if I stopped by, I know that you're thinking about me right now... Thorn absently wondered if Inky was- sexually inexperienced- what with the awkward way she was going about things. That, and she hadn't reacted negatively to any of the things they'd done together- even when he'd left bruises on her; or had his hands around her wrists and neck.
   She had seemed more assertive out in the field under the thunderstorm, and had been the one to initiate things- so he wasn't exactly sure. It really doesn't matter now- obviously you want to be with me, and I could never see myself wanting anyone besides you. Hesitantly, he set down the binoculars, feeling like a pervert. His clothing felt unreasonably hot and scratchy, and he knew that watching her right now was inherently wrong. Maybe I should just- pay you a visit, Thorn thought; resuming his voyeuristic actions and picking up the binoculars again. He knew that he had absolutely no self-control when it came to staring at her. Now Inky was sitting up; arms curled around herself, staring at the wall like she was trying not to cry- what the fuck? Thorn was confused now, and all he wanted was to go see her; she could have whatever she wanted from him now. It didn't matter anymore, because when he was with her, he no longer felt dead inside.
   I know why I cursed you for making me feel at first- because it was so easy for me not to feel anything; my mind was a blank slate. When I started to fall in love with you, other -emotions- came to the surface; evil, twisted things I'd repressed- things I never wanted to think about again. Those who'd abused and betrayed me- I kept that hatred locked up in my head for so long, I never truly processed those feelings. Thorn stared at Inky, who appeared to be in a sad, dissociative state. Maybe this isn't even a real emotion, but some weird delusion brought on by a rare, random overload of serotonin; and my brain is just blindly following the sensory path my body has chosen.
   He shook his head- if this were true it would be easy for him to ignore her once he'd gotten what he wanted from her; easy to kill her, or manipulate her mind for fun. Now, even the thought of doing such things to her- almost physically hurt, made him utterly sick to even imagine. No, I'm not capable of doing anything like that to you, Inky. I suppose I DO love you, in my own twisted way- if you could consider it love. Hell- I've killed for you, cut myself for you- to keep the Red Void from harming you. I'm supposed to be more into self-preservation than self-mutilation, but I want to protect you, see the look in your grey eyes as you stare back at me whenever we are together. Dammit Inky, you're everything to me now. Thorn left the Gallery, deciding to go back to the dark building for the time being. The more time he spent alone with his thoughts, the worse they became- isolating himself within his own existential crisis. Reading his latest entry in the Moleskine journal didn't make matters any better, and he stared at the sepia letters he'd written on the pages until they began to blur.

     I FEEL EVERYTHING
OR NOTHING AT ONCE
      THE ABOMINATION IS
ALWAYS     WATCHING
             WAITING FOR YOU

AS I DO...
              DISSOLUTION OF MYSELF
DARK EYES STARING
        INTO THE MIRROR
THE VOID      AVOIDED AGAIN

BECAUSE OR      IN SPITE OF YOU

             I STILL REMAIN