CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“She's gone… I'd better learn how to face it…

She's gone… I'd pay the Devil to replace her…

She's gone… what went wrong?”

- Daryl Hall

Jerrell slunk out of the back room, and silently proffered a data crystal containing the information.

To his complete astonishment, Parihn actually acknowledged it with, “On behalf of Aedra Anari… thank you for this,” and only then turned to leave.

“I…”

She seemed incredulous that he’d even tried to speak with her, but again, stunned him—by stopping in mid-stride and permitting him to have his say.

“I… I didn't mean it—any of it—like I was trying to enslave you again. Remember, I'm the one who helped free you.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to spit at him.

“As the means to your end,” Parihn scoffed, “and in the hopes that you could keep me as your personal slut, with the illusion of freedom you'd provide—both then, and now.”

“No,” he insisted. “That's not right. You know that's not right. I do love you, and always have…

“…in my way.”

Parihn closed her eyes briefly, and sighed; Jerrell saw, only then, and only for a moment, her abject misery, and began to vaguely comprehend that he was, in large measure, the cause.

“Let’s assume that’s true,” she said, turning away.

“Your ‘love’ and mine, Jerrell, are two very different things.

“Your ‘love’ has reminded me of a time in my life I never wanted to experience again. Your ‘love’ will have me looking in the mirror and seeing a faithless whore for a long time to come. Your ‘love’ has me wondering how I’ll ever face a certain man, knowing I'll have to tell him what happened here before we could be honestly together again, and understanding it’s entirely possible he won't be able to forgive me for it… or worse, be so disappointed in and angry with me I’ll never regain his trust and respect.”

She whirled back to face him.

“But he deserves the truth… I owe him the truth… and that’s why I’ll tell him the truth—the entire truth—no matter what it costs us both.”

Obstinately unwilling to completely concede the calculated malevolence of what he’d done, Jerrell countered, “Well, it's now obvious that it was just one night … and didn't mean a thing to you—emotionally speaking, at any rate. Congratulations on your performance, your… professionalism… by the way; I never even suspected.”

On one level, she was aghast, even after her experiences with him, at his self-centeredness—that he could look at all anguished under these circumstances. What the hell could he possibly have expected? Had he thought he was so unbelievable in bed, so charismatic a presence, that she'd drop her life to stay with him?

Oh, gods… that's exactly what he’d thought: Male ego unjustifiably advanced to the point of megalomania. He genuinely believed he’d simply have to stick it in me, and I’d forever lose interest in everything else.

And I’m actually stupid enough to be surprised such a man could think that.

It would have been comical, even hilarious, at any other point in her life—other than these last few months, that is.

Parihn watched Jerrell struggle with his newfound understanding of what had actually happened and, much to her surprise, took no real satisfaction in it.

Instead, she just felt sick. Parihn didn’t want to hurt him; she just wanted to get away.

The reverse didn't seem to be true.

“And even so,” he continued doggedly, “I wanted this… and I took it. It hasn't really cost you anything… unless this wonderful man you're talking about is so incredibly, childishly possessive that he’ll believe I've somehow sullied you—though how he could think that knowing about your past is inconceivable to me.”

Then he delivered a blow that further infuriated even as it fell.

“And maybe if you'd been forthcoming enough to tell me you've been lovingly involved with someone, and I actually believed it—which, to be frank, I don't, considering your more than willing acceptance of me three times last night and once this morning—I wouldn’t have taken it, or you, this way.

“As a matter of fact, on reflection, I guess that means you weren't performing—pretending satiation—as much as you implied; after all, he can't be giving you what you love… what you need… if you're happily taking it from me.”

Parihn couldn't hide her shocked and dismayed expression—that he could say such a thing, after what he'd done… after what he'd made her do.

You vainglorious… presumptuous… sullen bastard.

She almost, almost killed Jerrell then… but didn't let him know just how close she, and he, had come. With an effort Parihn didn't know she had within her at that moment, she again fought off the green haze that threatened to overwhelm her—knowing that if she even slapped this man, she wouldn't be able to stop until he was dead.

After a few unsteady seconds, she recovered herself. Parihn realized he didn’t want to acknowledge himself totally in the wrong, that he had to clutch at some belief that, from the beginning, in spite of her refusals and his inability to see into her mind, she’d wanted this in large part, too—even while salving his suddenly fragile male ego in the face of understanding that she could easily walk away from him after he'd given her his best effort, in more ways than one.

It was almost ten years later, and he still couldn’t face the truth about himself.

Regrouping her indignation, Parihn, in a tone redolent with disdain, replied, “You're not even in his league as a man, Jerrell—either out of bed or in it.” At first, he gave her a disbelieving, patronizing smile… but when she again lowered her mental shields to let him read her absolute conviction on both those points, he colored in sudden fury and mortification, and actually took another unthinking step towards her.

She growled, “Don't give me an excuse. I’m not one of those helpless little women who’ll knuckle under to your pathetically inadequate display of force. I’m much stronger, faster, and better in a fight than you. I'd like nothing more than to redecorate this room in your blood, and if you even mention him again, I'll do it… damn the consequences.”

He immediately stopped.

“I didn't think so, you craven vika,” Parihn mocked.

“You know, you’re the same as you’ve always been. You coerce me into bed, and yet, somehow, it’s my fault. Label it however you wish, Jerrell… but there's another word used when a person is forced to have sex—by violence or circumstance—when they don't want it."

With an almost desperate indignation, he angrily asserted, “I did not rape you. You consented… you liked it...

“…and I think, deep down, wanted it.”

Unbelievable. I don't think he's really listened to a word I've said.

“Assume what you wish,” she answered disgustedly. “Clearly you have a great deal invested in thinking what you did was acceptable. To be frank, you're so far gone into your Jerrell-centric view of the universe I'm beginning to wonder if you aren't still thinking I'm going to suddenly look at you, tremble helplessly, strip down and spread my legs again.” She glanced derisively at his crotch.

“I suppose we all need our illusions—however slim they might be—don't we?”

Now he darkened furiously.

As completely as any woman could, Parihn knew that to denigrate a man that way was a childish and spiteful indulgence… but wasn't exactly feeling mature or considerate.

Then, she left him with a final thought.

“Think about someone you really love, and I mean love—not just someone you wanted to fuck, and then leash until you tired of her. Got her in mind? Good.

“Now offer that woman the choice you offered me… or imagine someone else doing it. My options were a friend’s continued enslavement… or a vicious blow for that part of myself it took me almost a decade to coax fully back to life. Thank you for the callous use of me. I hope it was worth it to you.

“Think about your Betazoid mother, Jerrell—either her having to do such a thing, or learning that you made me do it.

“She'd be ashamed of you... and rightly so.”

Parihn saw his face change.

Only now, after all of this, had the comprehension of what he’d forced upon her truly struck home.

It didn’t make her feel any better… though she found herself hoping, for his sake, it would be more than a lesson forgotten.

“At least you’re not totally dead inside,” she noted. “Not yet.”

As she left, though, Vaerth Parihn found herself wondering if—now—she was…

…or soon would be.

Chapter Sixteen Chapter Eighteen