Catharsis

It was nearing dawn and I was in that half awake, half asleep zone when a sudden rattling of my bedroom door brought me to an abrupt consciousness.  I sat up, still not entirely sure the whole thing wasn't a dream until my eyes focused in on the door knob, now visibly turning.  A chill ran through me as I instinctively pulled a pillow across my body.

The door opened then and revealed a shadowed figure standing still in the hallway as the door swung in and lightly tapped against my bedroom wall.

"Hi," a male voice said softly, almost kindly, as a whimper escaped from my lips.

"You're afraid," the voice went on, almost surprised by the assessment.

"Who are you?" I managed to ask.  "Why are you here?"

The man stepped cautiously over the threshold, almost if he didn't want to track dirt on my bedroom floor.  "I won't tell you who I am," he said, his voice still calm.  "It doesn't matter who I am."  

I pulled my covers more tightly around me as I continued to press my pillow against my chest.  I watched the man almost materialize in front of me, no longer a shadow but a three-dimensional human wearing black tennis shoes, black sweatpants, and a black hoodie.  He had a black wool hat on and a dark red beard that covered most of his face.  

His eyes were a dark hazel and they searched mine intently.

"How are you?" he asked, standing now mere feet away from my bed.  His arms hung at his side, hands empty, though the front pocket of his hoodie could have had something bulky in it.  All I could do was stare at that pocket, hopelessly wondering if it was a knife or a gun.

"Are you here to harm me?" I asked.

"Do you want me to?" the man replied, almost a hint of mocking in his voice.

"Of course not," I snapped back, trying to calculate an escape route past this solid wall of a human inching ever closer to me.

The man smirks, leaning down now to look me dead in the eyes.  "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Why would I want you to harm me?" I asked, feeling more reactive with every breath.

The man shrugged.  "People want all kinds of strange things," he said, moving himself back into an upright position.  He folded his arms across his chest, almost in a thoughtful way.  "Sometimes people like being harmed."

"Who likes that?" I blurted out while the man chuckles back at me.

"Some people love being the victim," he said.  "I've had people pay me, you know, to do exactly this."

"Break into their homes and assault them?" I asked.  "Who would ever want you to do that?"

"Victims want that," the man said, as if I were quite stupid even to ask.  "Plus, I haven't assaulted you.  At least not yet," he added, his eyes narrowing.

"Well, I'm not a victim!" I yelped, somehow gaining mobility as I leapt from my bed and took off down my apartment's hallway, still clutching the pillow against my chest.

The man was quickly up behind me, though, and clamped a cold hand on my tank topped shoulder.  "You can't run away," he said, his voice still serene.

His touch was paralyzing even though I could have easily broken out of his grip.  I froze instead, the hairs on the back of my neck standing as his breath hit just behind my ear.  He didn't say anything, he just breathed, as I started to cry.  

"What do you want?" I asked again, regretting having left the safety of my bed.  Standing here in my kitchen, I felt exposed.  I wished I wasn't so anal retentive about putting away all of my utensils and gadgets.  A wine opener, a knife, something sharp of any variety would have been welcome in this moment, except that everything was tucked away in a drawer while my knees shook and my fingers dug in to my pillow-shield.

"I want what you want," the man said, his breath hot on the back of my neck.

"What do you think I want?" I asked, my tears falling visibly onto the floor now.

"Catharsis," he said, placing his other hand on my other shoulder, making me feel locked into place.

"I don't understand," I pleaded.

"I could rape you," he said, his lips now hovering off my skin.  "But I won't." His hands lifted off my shoulders and I nearly crumpled to the floor.  "I could hit you, but I won't."  He slowly moved around to stand in front of me, now barricading my kitchen doorway.  "I could end your life," he said, pulling a carving knife out of his hoodie pocket and holding it expertly so I could see. "But I won't."

My body was at a full tremble as I gathered all of my strength to steady myself.  "I don't understand," I said once more.

The man backed slowly away from me, back through the kitchen door into my living room.  I could see my front door standing wide open.  I could smell the building cleaning crew's bleach-heavy products out in the hall.  

"Next time, remember to lock your door," the man said, walking backwards all the way to the exit before smirking as he slashed the knife through the air with a sense of expertise.  I dropped the pillow to the floor, watching him turn on his heels and walk calmly out my apartment door.  Without thinking, I ran after him, my heart pounding up into my throat.  My hands gripped the doorframe, almost as if my body could fill it with the same immovable authority as his once did.  I watched him walk down the hallway, the knife slid back in his pocket, a casual whistle puckering his lips as he pushed his way out the double glass doors that were my only safeguard from the outside world.

I watched him go and I stood there, my hands pressing so hard against the frame of the door that I could feel my arms start to cramp with pain.  I watched him go as my brain spun the whistled melody he'd left me with on his way out into the early morning sun.  I stood there, a barricade, and did nothing else but watch him go.

First line by Amy Thompson

2023

Virtual Tip Jar: Venmo @sarahwolfstar