Unnatural Instinct: Free

30.

'There's something wrong with her.'

The leader looks up from his desk, pen braced against his notepad. I can see long, scrawling lettering. Behind him, a clock clicks loudly in the quietness of his study.

The leader frowns. 'In what way? Has the corruption returned?'

'No, it's not that,' I say quickly. 'I don't know, she's ... she's ...' I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to find the words. Shaking my head, I fold my arms as I lean my shoulder against the wall. 'She's just ... not herself.'

The leader raises his thick, white eyebrows. 'I don't understand. Is she not everything you ever wanted? Does she not obey you? Give you what you want? Do what you say?'

'Yes, yes, she's all that.'

The leader puts down his pen and folds his hands on the desk. 'Then, what is wrong with her?'

I press my lips together. What is wrong with you? He's right; you're everything I've ever wanted in a woman. You're everything a woman should be. If it's not you, then maybe there's something wrong with me?

I shake my head again. 'She's just ... sad.'

'Sad?'

No. That's not it. As I gaze blindly into nothing, struggling to find the right word, struggling to understand my doubts and uncertainties, it suddenly hits me. It hits me so hard that I have to grip onto the wall lest I lose my balance and stagger into his desk. 'I-I don't think she loves me.' I lower my eyes to the floor. 'I don't think she's ever loved me.'

Silence follows, filled with the steady ticking of the clock. It hurts. The realisation hurts like a punch to the guts. I think back to all our encounters, how blind I had been, how easy it was to convince myself of a lie. The truth suddenly seems so obvious to me now that I can't help but feel like the biggest fool imaginable.

'So?' the leader finally speaks.

I jerk my eyes back to his.

The old man is staring at me like I'm crazy.

I can't help but stare at him like he's crazy. 'Shouldn't a wife love her husband?'

'It's advantageous but not necessary. A woman is there to support and respect you, to keep your home and raise your children. Love is ultimately irrelevant.'

My mouth falls open. I shut it. 'That doesn't make me feel ... good. I want her to love me.'

'In time she might come to love you. And if she doesn't ... well ...' He shrugs. 'We can fix that too. If that's what you want.'

I stare at him. 'That's not what I want.'

The old man frowns. 'Then what do you want, Derrick?'

'I want her to love me because she really loves me.'

He shakes his head. 'Then you're a fool. You can't have it both ways.'

I rest my head against the wall, feeling hot and a little sick. 'I shouldn't have let you touch her. I shouldn't have let you ... do those things to her. You've killed her.'

The old man's eyes widen. He stands, slamming his hands against his desk. 'How dare you! We've cleansed her! We've made her whole! Two weeks we worked on her and this is the thanks we get?' His blue eyes are wide and furious, his lips so thin they disappear into his beard.

He shakes his head again and slumps back into his seat with a sigh. 'We don't want to do this, but we have to with certain individuals. She was always going to require retuning, whether or not she was befouled by that monster. She was always difficult, even as a child. She never understood her place.' His eyes bore into mine. 'I don't understand you, Derrick. Isn't that why you wanted her? To tame her? To subdue her? And now that you have, why are you not satisfied?'

I stare at him, dumbfounded. Is that what I wanted? No other man wanted you. Why did I? The thought makes me cringe. 'I don't know.'

I leave the leader's study feeling a little dizzy. It's a nice, bright day but I can't enjoy it. The sun is too hot, the air too humid. The village suddenly look strange, like it's not quite home anymore. People nod their greetings and I nod glumly in return, my hands in my pockets. I feel so lost. So weak. So sick. What is happening to me? He's right. Why can't I just be satisfied? What more do I want of you?

Your voice rings in my ears: Know this, Derrick Summers. I hate you. I really fucking hate you. You're an arrogant disgusting pig and you won't have me. You'll never have me.

I wince and turn my head. What if we were wrong? What if the monster hadn't corrupted you at all? What if you released the monster deliberately? It's something I haven't considered before. Did you really hate me so much? Do you really hate me?

I reach home and find you bustling around the kitchen, getting my lunch ready. You're making mutton pie and it smells so nice. Yet I'm not hungry, my stomach knotted in a tight ball. This isn't like me.

You don't notice my presence and so I watch you quietly. You move methodically. You're well-practised now and it shows, but there's something about you I haven't noticed before. You're too quiet. I've watched other men's wives while they cook, and they're usually humming or singing or smiling. The only sound coming from you is the clatter of pans and the hiss of steam.

I speak your name and you turn. Your smile is slow to come to your lips and doesn't reach your eyes. 'It's almost ready. I hope you're having a good day,' you say.

And for the first time I realise how empty your words are, how mechanical. Why haven't I noticed until now?

I go over and kiss you lightly on the lips. I rest my hands on your hips. 'Look at me.'

You obey. For a long time I stand there holding you and gazing into your eyes. I'm not sure what I'm looking for but whatever it is, I can't find it.

Your eyes swivel back to the kitchen. 'I've got things cooking.' And you turn away from me and continue with what you were doing.

'Do you really love me?' I ask.

You don't answer, pans clattering, dishes banging against each other. Did you hear me or are you ignoring me? I realise I don't want to know.

I turn and leave you to it.