Shadowed Soul (10 page)

“You don’t have to answer him,” murmured the Shadowed Soul. “Tell him to go fuck himself.  I bet he wanks in his office when his door’s shut.”  I smirked at that.

“It’s not a laughing matter, Thomas,” said Steve coolly.

There was nothing I could say, not really, I could neither justify nor explain what I had done. To lob blame on my Shadowed Soul would secure me a one-way to Utica.  I was not ready to admit publicly that I suffered from a chronic condition.  Instead, I endured Steve’s bureaucratic lecture.

“Twenty-one days, Thomas!  It takes a mere 21 days to make or break a habit!” exclaimed my manager. “How long have you been at this?”  Steve ranted.  I tuned out.

Whatever point he made was irrelevant.  Humiliation would be chased by despair; termination of my employment was certain.  I had allowed myself to be drawn into my dark obsession so much that I lost my one means of support.  How would I ever provide a lifestyle suitable for my family?

Before walking me out the security entrance, my manager escorted me to my office and watched judiciously as I gathered my few personal objects.  I found the process cleansing.  Nose to grindstone, my so-called
team
, some of whom I had called friends, avoided eye contact with me.  Not that I blamed them.  It was almost Christmas and their goal was to finish and celebrate with loved ones.  In silence, Steve opened the exterior door and locked it behind me with a nod.  He had successfully removed me from his life. 

“Firing you is the one thing your sniveling manager did, Thomas, to inspire my respect for him,” hollered the Shadowed Soul, prancing gleefully around me in the street.

“Fuck off!” I snarled at my Shadowed Soul.  Magnifying a desolate winter wasteland was the contrast to my pitiable bundle of personal possessions. “You’ve destroyed my income because of
your
obsession with porn!” 

Rather than provide relief from my own captivity, my desire to see helpless women in states of increasingly elaborate bondage had further exacerbated my own prison.  True that my limbs were unfettered and I was free to move unencumbered by physical restraints and I could express myself without having to navigate the discomfort of a gag, yet, I was trapped in my own mind.  A helpless victim of the Shadowed Soul, a more frightening aspect was I had no recollection of having accessed bondage websites at my work desk.  The Shadowed Soul had manipulated me like a puppet.

“You won’t need this crap,” said the Shadowed Soul confidently as he snatched my bundle of personal belongings, including the photo of my wife and newborn.  The sound of oblivion followed as I let him dump them in a trash bin.  “Let’s go have fun, Thomas.”

Without thinking, I caught the bus back to my empty apartment with my destructive twin.  We looked out the window with hostile indifference, passing shops adorned with Christmas cheer and sidewalks thronged with shoppers enduring the search for gifts.  Some carried a Christmas tree and garlands to satisfy their need to force color and light into mundane existence.  A few smiled.  Often contorted in scowls their faces made me hate them.

“They don’t know what it’s like to be you, Thomas.  It’s as if
their
problems are the only things that matter,” muttered the Shadowed Soul. “You’d think everyone had an easy time compared to them.”  I watched them scurry, stuck within small grooves, inconsequential paths that lead from birth to death.  Bland and pointless their existence meant nothing to anyone beyond a tiny circle of family, friends and acquaintances.  Incandescent blame exuded from my every pore.  “These stupid people and their inane problems
are
the problem.”

My fists bunched and flexed, pulsing with rage.  I needed to explode and lose myself in my safe inconsequential online world.  Seated across from me an elderly man’s rheumy eyes glared in my direction.  As the bus continued its pointless passage through the city I ignored his penetrating gaze.  I looked away and could still feel his eyes on me, judging me. Perhaps he knew what I had done?  Perhaps he was a relative of my ex-boss sent to confirm that I had not hung around to get revenge?  I briefly turned my attention to him.  Still he stared at me. I wanted the old man to get off the bus, leave me alone, stop judging me.  But he remained in his seat staring at me. Sweating, I feared, what if he told the other people on the bus that I was one of those bondo-pervs.  My obsession with vulnerable women would not be understood by the people on the bus. If they knew, they would find me guilty of crimes against their own jaundiced ideals; they would think that I was a monster to be beaten down.  Reviled, I admitted they would be right; the images hoarded on my hard drive appalled even me.  I had no understanding why pleasure was sparked by these images.  I understood that it was degrading but understanding does not mean that I was armed with an ability to stop myself form liking it.  If this old man, this stick-like inquisitor were to tell the normal-minded passengers who surrounded me then they would devour me like a wolves.  Animals understood when something among them was just wrong. Panic sent gnawing tendrils of fear throughout my body; my stomach churned as the windows and walls of the bus closed on me.  Cut off from escape, my breath quickened and I looked out desperately at passing buildings as this old man stared in judgment.

“Get off at the next stop, Thomas!” ordered the Shadowed Soul.  “We’ve got to escape this metal trap!”  Rivulets of perspiration trickled down my back and my hands flexed open, shut, open, shut. And still he continued his scrutiny of my soul. “They’ll find us and you’ll have to pay, Thomas.”

The next stop approached.  I began to recognize my immediate surroundings.  If I get off at the next stop then it would be a 45 min walk until I was safe in my empty apartment.

"They know who you are and they know where you live," whispered the Shadowed Soul insidiously drilling my subconscious.

Even in that moment, a node of sanity remained and I knew that this simply could not be true.  Yet I still allowed my menacing sidekick to inject fear into me. If I got out of this tin can at the next stop then I would be open to the streets and to the elements and to the unwarranted attention of people around me. If they came for me then my demise would be my proof that the Shadowed Soul had been right all along.

“That would be for the best for Beth and Junior,” assured my nemesis.  He was right.  Beth could find someone who could actually care for her and the baby.  Yes, Beth would grieve, because she was healthy and able to love.  But Jonathan was too young to miss me. Beth could move on and find happiness with a normal guy. Perhaps that was the best thing I could offer them, as a husband and father? Perhaps allowing myself to disintegrate was the solution that would allow everyone to find happiness? My death might be painful, I understood that, but the physical pain that would come from being beaten to death would be kinder than burdening my wife and child with a lifetime of me. 

“I like it, Thomas! 
Freed by a bus load of zealots into a painless eternity
,” exclaimed the Shadowed Soul.  “That’s your epitaph right there!  Looks like you got that masters degree of yours for nothing.” 

I did not want to die.  Not then. Despite my misery, I did not want to be torn from all hope.  To willingly enter into a situation that would erase my body and mind from existence was not what I wanted.  Part of me hoped I would grow fortitude to utterly destroy the chattering maniac who traced my emotions with a branding iron.  I was not a coward.  Was I?  I did not care if the judgmental old coot seated across from me knew everything about me.  Who the fuck was he to judge? I had never seen his stupid face before so why the hell was he staring at me?  What was wrong with him? Did he think that he was so pure that he had nothing to be ashamed of? 

“Bullshit!” I muttered.  “This is all just such total bullshit.”  No one is completely blameless in life no matter how hard they try to remain pure.  Human beings were built to try and fail as often as they were made to succeed. This old man, whoever he was, could think whatever the fuck he wanted about me, I was not going to be intimidated off this damned bus.  And if he did not stop staring at me, I would punch him out. I whipped my head in his direction my face twisted by a scowl.  How dare he judge me?  How dare he try to frighten me into a trap?

The old man still faced in my direction but he had fallen asleep.  Relaxed in slumber, his hooded eyes were motionless.  I laughed.  I wondered what he was dreaming.  This little spark of mundane reality was enough to give my rational mind the impetus it needed to step up to the plate.  With that, it was clear that this tired, old gentleman had not been staring at me at all.  Hosed embers, my paranoia dissipated, as the Shadowed Soul giggled malevolently.

“You’re so easy to manipulate,” he whispered, delighted.  “Your paranoia is like a drug to me, Thomas.” 

“Why would anybody except my wife and employer give a crap about my addiction to pornography?” I murmured to myself.  It was an addiction I did alone.  It sullied no one but me. I liked to see the women helpless, gagged and uncomfortable, but the thought that they may be in any serious and lasting pain repelled me.  I was instantly turned off from images of blatant torture.  I still had boundaries.  Perhaps my limitations were my savior. A ray of light to guide away from the darkest depths was something I could follow and perhaps it would lead to my escape from the shadows.

In my state of fractured chaos, I stepped off the bus into a slate grey afternoon, relishing momentary relief from my paranoid fugue.  Biting cold informed, I still inhabited this world. As each step drew me closer to my apartment I anticipated the images of rough hemp rope wrapped mercilessly around pleading dungeon flesh. Desire deep within my loins nauseated me.  In contrast to reality:  I had just lost my job.  An inconvenient fact I fanned away; I would soon run out of savings.  All that mattered to me in that instant was getting back to my computer and the world of lurid images.

CHAPTER TEN

Three weeks of unopened mail spewed into the hall as I unlocked my door.  Soon, I would have to pay bills.  Christmas cards could wait.  Some of these envelopes might have contained important news but I had no interest whatsoever in communicating with anyone.  My email too would remain unopened.  I was sure this unhealthy version of me would never leave.  I kicked the letters aside and closed the door. Under normal circumstances my apartment,
our
apartment, would be clean or at least orderly.  I was not a slob, typically, but my marriage to Beth had polished my rough edges.  Alone with the Shadowed Soul, the apartment grew worse each day.  Dirty laundry lay strewn across the floor.  The kitchen was a lollapalooza of dirty dishes and food-stained counters. December cold abated the smell of grime.  I reasoned that I could wait another few days before I tackled the arduous job of cleaning up.  My physical environment mirrored my psychological decay.  Over the years as the Shadowed Soul fell in and out of power, I had completed no housework for months.  Eager for a coffee to warm me up, I selected one of the less filthy mugs from the sink.  To wash it was too much effort.  My harem of pixilated captives awaited me.  I longed to immerse myself in the brutal predictability of their desolate world.

I hated myself; I had relinquished pornography at nineteen.  Although it had provided impetus to break free from my mother, I had again fallen prey to the grotesque parade of images on the Internet. My predilection for bondage stymied me as it had never featured in any of my fantasies before.  Now my online activity was comprised of nothing else:  Women stripped of their claws and dignity, bound by intricate lattices, the antithesis of my mother. By the time I met Beth I had been away from that scene for long enough. I believed my escape had been final, but now, here I was again, wrapped in a straitjacket of desire and guilt.  What I hated most was that I had purchased a sturdy length of rope from a hardware store over the weekend, along with a roll of silver packing tape. The intended use was to serve as a mere physical reminder of the BDSM tools I had seen on the internet.  I felt twisted comfort knowing these items were in my apartment. Sitting at the computer, I caressed the rough hemp.  Imagining Beth bound and helpless and in my power caused me to weep. In my conflict I prayed that one glorious morning I would awake to find myself abandoned of the Shadowed Soul, and these items would be ejected on trash day. Meanwhile, the self-loathing that consumed me
was
the Shadowed Soul himself.

My computer rattled to life slowly.  I had downloaded so many pictures and not run the usual cleanup procedures.  Vaguely promising myself to defragment the hard drive, I compulsively surfed the Internet seeking out new images.  Now that I had no work the rest of my week, perhaps my life, would be rooted in cybersex.

Distracted by BDSM photos, I ignored the buzz and hiss of the intercom. My face crumpled in agitation.  It could be block kids or drug dealers trying to get in after a tenant’s unpaid deal. I ignored it and waited patiently for my world to open, but the buzzer sounded again.

“Fuck off!” I yelled and stared resolutely at my computer screen.  The buzzer squawked again.  I stomped to the intercom, my finger angrily jabbing at the reply button.

"Who the fuck is it?"  There was a heavy pause.  Eventually I recognized the sweet voice.

"Thomas, it's me,” said Beth.  “Are you okay?"  I stared at the intercom, heart pounding, soul dancing. She had come all this way to see me.  Perhaps she still wanted me to be part of her life? Otherwise, why would she have come? "Thomas, are you there?"  I wanted to say yes, I wanted to invite her to come home to our apartment.  But the place was trashed.  I was trashed.  The sour smell of failure and loneliness polluted the air in every room of what had once been our home.  "Thomas, can you hear me?"  I closed my eyes and sighed as my finger hovered over the reply button.