In The Dark, Desires

The car comes to a halt right in front of me with its bumper barely coming in contact with my lower body forcing myself to take a slight step backwards as the vehicle gives me a slight push. Its headlights are flashing brightly against me, exposing my fresh purplish bruises spread throughout my knees, thighs, shins, and abs.

I have a stark realization that I’m half-naked, wearing only my plain black underwear in the middle of the night in an empty and unknown street.

Suddenly the car’s engine shuts off along with its lights causing an instant transition to an environment of pitch-black darkness. For some reason I feel more exposed in the dark than I did when the car’s headlights were on and putting my butchered and bruised-up piglike body on display like the main product on a store front. Knowing that there’s a car in front of me without me being able to see it envelops its presence with a disconcerting eeriness. Specifically, it’s the man (assuming there is one) inside the car that has me feeling threatened. In the pitch-black darkness, it feels like he’s seeing me beyond just my physical body, my bruises, and my unbranded black underwear. He’s dissecting me, picking up a part of me piece-by-piece and assessing the very essence of what is essentially me. 

I hear a car door open.

I hear two soft and brittle footsteps emanate from just a few feet distance away from in front of me. 

In the darkness, everything I hear sounds sinister. 

“I believe you have what I’m looking for,” I hear a raspy voice speak.

“What?” I reply honestly not having any idea about what he’s talking about.

“You don’t understand, but I know you have it.”

“Have what?”

No reply comes other than a deafening silence that lasts for about 5 minutes. 

I’m actually surprising myself that ever since I heard him speak, I have felt no form of fear or nervousness at all. I remember feeling more anxious when I was asked to introduce myself to the whole class in my freshman year of high school. I just transferred schools because my mother made me leave my previous school after she found out I was being bullied to give my breakfast and lunch to the bigger kids. She started questioning me when she noticed that I was looking a bit malnourished despite her preparing me meals every day heavy enough for a bodybuilder. Being bullied and not being able to eat my daily dose of baked salmon and green beans with pesto sauce never really bothered me to be honest. After being pushed around and fucked with your whole life, at some point you just stop caring and install this self-deprecating persona in your head that leaves you utterly numb. Or maybe it’s just me, I don’t know. But when I transferred schools and was presented with the task of introducing myself, I actually felt tense and nervous. Maybe it was because the idea of a “new beginning” somewhere else gave me a sense of hope that I could be someone else other than this meaningless and obstructive waste of space thing that just happened to be a human being. How naïve I was. 

“Your hand”

“What?”

“It’s in your hand.”

My hand. I never even realized until now that there is something in my hand. I have no idea what it is, but it’s just big enough for my middle finger and thumb to barely touch when fully grasping it. It weighs absolutely nothing, which is probably why I failed to notice its existence until the man spoke of it. I’m unsure of its shape, but it feels solid and at the same time, soft and warm. Actually, no. It isn’t just warm, it isn’t just soft, it’s something more, much more. The way it feels is perfect. Its softness isn’t just that of a stuffed toy or a pillow that you hugged as a kid when you were feeling lonely, its touch is something that relieves or even cleanses. Its warmness, its temperature is beyond just a number in Celsius or Fahrenheit, it’s the perfect temperature, not too hot, not too cold. Just being aware of it and focusing on how it feels to the touch is a therapeutic sensation that surpasses any orgasm I’ve ever had in the entirety of my existence. This thing, whatever it is, is pure bliss, an unexpected vessel that may possess the answers to all the questions in the universe. Everything I need, want, and long for is in my hand. Everything I desire in the form of an object. 

“May I have it?” 

I feel my body freeze. Why? Why does he want it? What is it? I don’t want to give it to him, but for some reason, my body has this subconscious urge to hand it to him. It’s like two different parts of me are fighting over whether I should give it to him or not.

“Tell me what it is first.”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot.”

“Why not?” I asked demandingly in an aggressive and almost possessive tone. I want to know. I have to know. The idea of it is overwhelming me, taking over my psyche. I’m aware that my sanity is on the verge of collapsing, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I just have to know what it is.

“If I tell you, everything would be meaningless.”

Tears uncontrollably shower from my eyes and fall down my cheek. I’ve never felt this desperate.

“Please just tell me,” I plead while falling to my knees. My body is not in harmony with my thoughts. It’s moving on its own against my will. I reach out my hands toward him like I’m making an offering. I hear him walk towards me. He stops right next to me. I can feel his presence �" it makes me shiver. 

Another deafening silence passes. 

He takes it away from me. The moment the object departed my touch, everything that resembled even a glimmer of hope or contentment departs as well. Nothing but dread and despair fills me. I have no other desire but to take back what was mine. But it is no longer in my hands, it is no longer my choice.

In the darkness, all my thoughts are vile.

I hear him step away from me. I hear him get inside his car. I hear him close the door. I hear him turn on the engine. 

The car’s headlights flash on exposing again my bruised and butchered body. Through the windshield, I get a glimpse of the man. His face is covered in bruises, similar to the bruises I have all over my body. He smiles �" an unholy sight. Finally, he drives away leaving me again in the pitch-black darkness. 

In the darkness, I am alone.