It horrifies him then, the thought of her knowing her hold over him. He thought he cared about honor and reputation, but he would commit any sin if she asked him to. His regret has robbed and diminished him. He wants her to know. He wants to leave it in the past. He wants no desire.

She never presumed that he still wanted her. She just knew that he did. She is embarrassed and saddened by this knowledge, trying to hide it, trying to hide how careful she is being so as not to let him feel too clearly in charge, too owed, knowing he will see through this as an act of condescension. She is trying not to ignore her power over him—how she wounded him in the past, how he wounded her, how the difference was that she intended to do so, thinking it was for everyone’s good. It is all a difficult balance; it’s all she thinks about. Her effort is a continuous, ugly monument.

He finds her too obedient…too compliant…too reasonable. Yes, she is too reasonable. She didn’t come back hurt or defiant or humbled. She wasn’t fearful of rejection. She didn’t behave like someone who doubted her worth.

With each movement he feels as if he is wading against an angry swell, further and further out to sea.

He wants this, he must. This is as far as she can see.

He is gentle, but not so gentle that it qualifies suspicion. He is not unsure; he is biding his time.

She came back. And married him under an almost full moon on a summer evening. Drunken strings of lights shine through the trees and over the tops of walls, red firecracker paper scattered on the ground. Men and women drink, talking about the couple in a general manner. Carcasses litter the tables. Foam clings to the sides of half-drained glasses. She came back.

Night after night they sleep, but rarely at the same time. Without knowing it, they take turns watching each other. Sometimes they lay their head near the other’s chest and listen for the heartbeat: steady, secret, out of reach.

Bad Influence

BAD INFLUENCE