Persuasion

*** story contains themes of sexual assault, mental health, suicide, and self-harm***

“Come with me,” he said, holding a hand out, palm up, “and you’ll never have to live through this again.” His vocal cords made music with the words he spoke.

I’d been warned of him before: the man with a steady voice and alluring tone. The man who shielded his features beneath a black hood to contain all the madness that swirled around in his head. The man who lived by night and fled by day. Not quite a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but a Devil on the shoulder poisoning my brain with the last thing I so desperately wanted to do.

I wanted him. I needed him. I told myself one day, I’d have him.

“How can I be so sure?” I hugged my arms tight against myself, feeling goosebumps beneath my fingertips. Fog from my breath lingered in the air. Take me, it read. Or maybe it said save me. I batted the fog away until the sinewy smoke dissolved back into nothing. Maybe it always had been nothing.

He closed the distance by only one more step and looked me dead in the eyes. How endless, how dark his irises now seemed. His pupils remained white like sunlight squeezing through a punctured lid; I was the moth trapped in a jar of darkness.

His fingertips found their way beneath my chin and he tilted my head up so our gazes remained locked. “I can’t prove anything to you now. But others who’ve come with me can speak for themselves. The only way to meet them, though, is through me.”

Were things really better with him? Things certainly didn’t seem like they’d get much better for me.

I blinked, and images from Before flashed behind my eyes again:

A red solo cup pushed into my hands, clear liquid sloshing around inside. ‘Drink it,’ the girl with blue hair said, ‘it tastes like cotton candy.’ Did she know what I dumped in that cup just moments before?

I blinked again. Another flash, another wave of nausea in the pit of my stomach.

He kissed my neck, my collarbones, the space between my breasts where I was most insecure. How could he find pleasure in a body like mine? I shouldn’t be doing this…why am I here? Where does his wife think he is? What did he tell her? Why couldn’t my ex love me this way? 

It wasn’t love, I knew that much. But illusions were just as pleasurable so long as the truth never materialized. I wanted it so badly. I craved it so desperately. Adrenaline surged through every ounce of my blood and I kissed him back hard, harder, until moans erupted from deep within me and the aches in my bones turned into spells of euphoria.

I blinked and a tear spilled over on one cheek. Another flash, another knife in my chest.

He’s right, she’ll never know, I thought to myself, looking back over my shoulder. It was only two-hundred dollars, and I’d repay it eventually. If anyone could be stupid enough to hide cash in a book that sat on a living room shelf where everyone socialized, then they couldn’t be surprised if it ever turned up missing.

‘That’s the spirit,’ the man with black and silver strands of hair applauded. ‘Now go treat yourself to those hooker shoes you’ve been wanting.’

I shook my head. He had it all wrong. 

‘I might lose my apartment,’ I said, tucking the folded up cash into my pink bra. 

The floor creaked. It was well past midnight. 

She was my best friend; she had to understand. Besides, her boyfriend was helping her with her treatments. I’d pay it back. I knew I would.

Another blink.

‘Don’t go,’ they advised, ‘the guilt on your face will give you away.’

I couldn’t help it: the invitation--why did that sound so wrong?--to that poor child’s funeral burned my fingertips as I held it. I studied the picture of her dimpled smile, her bright blue eyes and thick brown hair. Fourteen. Why did she even go to that party? Why hadn’t I thrown that cup away? 

‘Don’t go,’ they repeated, bringing the cigarette to their lips again. They sat on the steps outside my front door and leaned against the house, cropped blonde hair combed too innocently to match their cold, callous tone. ‘You didn’t know her.’

But I was there. I set that cup down.

Maybe they were right. It wasn’t intentional.

This time, I blinked twice. 

Another devil found its way on my shoulder, closer to my ear than the others. ‘You sure you want to keep listening? Maybe you’re not ready for this…’

Which one was this? I knew all the warnings they gave us: never listen to the Devil’s on your shoulder, those Voices of Persuasion. The more times you listen, the less restraint you’ll have. They get louder, stronger, darker. And of course…eventually you’d find…Him.

Were the people warning us also Voices of Persuasion? Because each time I heard the warning, I craved the adrenaline rush. I wanted to meet him. I craved him more than I craved life itself. Or maybe that was why…because I didn’t crave life at all. 

Meeting him meant meeting Death. 

How many encounters before I finally met him?

I blinked again.

The bus finally stopped and the doors opened. Sunlight shot through them, igniting dust particles floating in the air. 

I finally made it. 

No phone, no way for anyone to reach me. 

‘Get off,’ the woman with heavy diamond earrings said from the seat behind me. ‘This is your stop.’

I didn’t realize I blinked until the image dissolved into a new setting. 

The black car stopped for only about three minutes. The silhouette that emerged from it only looked down at the body that lay in the road for…maybe ten seconds. I gasped. They looked back. ‘Turn around,’ they demanded. ‘You saw nothing.’

I should’ve brought my phone; actually, for once, I was relieved I didn’t have it.

I turned back and bought myself some ice cream.

Another blink.

He just said he never loved me.

Honestly, I'd always known. 'You're nothing,' he once said. 'You should be grateful you found me.'

I cried so hard, my ribs hurt. He knew I'd been hurt before. He didn't know another man forcefully slid his hand up my skirt at the party. But did I have to make him feel sorry for me in order to make him finally love me?

I hoped that man enjoyed his drink tonight.

'Who said you could party while I'm out working my ass off? Get your shit. Go.'

I packed my shit.

What had they told me earlier tonight?

Get him back. Maybe I would.

I blinked again. My heart hammered. “Are you doing this?” I said, but my voice was hoarse, as if I’d been screaming. I grabbed my head and dug my fingers in all the knotted curls. For the first time, I noticed dried leaves caught in my hair from when I fell. It all hurts so bad. Why is it taking so long? 

He tilted his head and the corner of his lip curled up. “If I was, it’d only be to remind you of why you wanted to go with me to begin with. I’m only asking for your hand, your permission. I can make it all stop…if you’d like.”

We were surrounded by dead trees in the middle of nowhere. Darkness loomed above us. I looked around at the endless sea of trees and branches; everything from all sides looked the same. Where did I begin? If I wanted to turn back, how would I find my way?

I didn’t want to go back. He was right: I’d been wanting to go with him for so, so long. And I finally found him…or rather, he finally found me. All it took was…all this pain.

"Okay," I finally said. I reached my hand out. "I'm ready."

His voice was the strongest of them all; thank God he was finally here. All my suffering finally paid off.

He took my hand. I stared down at his peach colored skin; warmth seemed to transfer from his palm to my own. Then he started pulling me through the forest, guiding me through the dark.

"Where are we going?" I asked, watching my footsteps so I wouldn't trip and fall again.

"To the river," he said. "You can trust me."

My stomach churned. Somewhere in the silence, I heard a new voice. Maybe it was just a whisper of the wind; maybe it was my own fear. But this one sounded like, "Let go, turn back."

I held my breath. How were you ever supposed to trust any Voices when all of them sounded right?

Was this what I really wanted?

We kept walking through the darkness, and I tuned out the remaining voices.