Enough Love

22

There was a demon residing in every man, it toiled on their pain, guilt and regret. Each day it stalked the soul till it yielded to its whim and when it did, pain, guilt and regret is nurtured.

Louisa's years of study taught her two things about demons; they don't make a man but they could easily break him.

She wasn't sure what it said about her when she didn't flinch to his confession. Her eyes studied every countenance of his. With legs crossed, her arms rested on her knees and her shoulders were angled straight. She analyzed him before proceeding, just as she did with her patients.

"And how did that make you feel?" She began. Her voice filled the space between them, flat and precise, "did it help with the pain?"

The chill in his eyes remained but slowly realization crawled into them, "I didn't mean to. . ." he paused, confused on how to apologize about a murder confession. Funny enough he didn't feel judged or rebuked, instead he felt safe or rather his secret did.

She watched him display every motion of an apologetic, exhausted person. His palm formed a fist on the arm of his sofa as he picked at the midline of his nose. "You don't have to apologize for anything," she touched her chest, "not to me. Can you answer my question?"

He peeked at her from under his fingers, "I know what you're trying to do. I don't need you to analyze or fix me."

She shook her head with sober, clear eyes, "no John, that's not what I intend to do. I do not want to fix you, only to understand."

He straightened his head to watch her like a lion measured the true threat of an advancing hunter. The chill in his eyes melted into mild curiosity when he spoke, "I don't think I know, I have never thought about how it made me feel."

"What about your pain, did it leave?"

A morbid chuckle rumbled from his chest, "do I look free of pain doc?"

She knew not to answer that, it was an emotional guilt trap since her honesty wasn't what he sought. She silently fought not to remember who the man sitting before her truly was. She wanted to see him as nothing personalized to her hormones or emotions.

She craved for a notepad and pen when she asked her next question, "do you enjoy your job?"

He knew he could lie, they both did, in between the long pause that swept by, but despite his profession he wasn't a liar and if he was he had a feeling she might know if he spoke anything but the truth. "I used to," he admitted, "but at some point I forgot why I chose it."

Her chest screamed progress but she ignored it, "was it your personal decision or was it chosen for you?"

He swayed his head sideways, "I come from a family big on personal decision. You do what you want as long as you understand its your choice as the consequences are."

"Who invoked this understanding?"

"My eldest brother, he wanted us to be different from him." He glanced away when she remained silent, "my father."

"Did it work? Did you become different from a man who betrayed and destroyed your family?"

He avoided her eyes still and shrugged, "we are our parents at the very end aren't we?"

She gestured loosely, "that is a belief but a false one. If we are all our parents, that just means the world is made up only of murderers, racists, rapists, liars and terrorists." She let him soak in her words, "but we forget that these different types of evil came from a lineage of givers, activist, survivors, faithful leaders, good, sincere people. Evil and good is inevitably a choice. Just the way everything else is. Our choices might be influenced, manipulated, coerced or fabricated but it is ours to evoke only."