#112a

When I unlocked the bathroom door on Monday evening John crawled out propelling himself along on his elbows. He made off down the hall followed by the feint odour of rotting meat.

In the living room I crudely dumped him into his chair and demanded some answers.

  “Fuck, Christ! You was wound up ready to give Brian exactly the same treatment,” John said “ It was either you or him. You know how these fantasies work. They must take unsuspecting routes, if not where's the fucking fantasy?”
  “Unsuspecting routes? My fucking arse! It ran exactly as you and Brian had planned... only not quite, because I'm still here, still breathing!”
  “You idiot! You honestly think we wanted you dead? You're bad enough alive! But you're right, it did go as planned, but NOT FOR YOU, and that was the point, arsehole! Do you think any of this was for me or Brian? Don't kid yourself. Don't think I don't hear your sheet rustling every fucking night as you wank your frustrations away? And how d'you think I feel knowing your mind is constantly preoccupied with thoughts of sex... psychologically forcing yourself upon me or making me feel bad because I can't fuck at the moment! Even when you take me to the fucking loo I feel it's something sexual for you... that you're desperately hoping something may happen. You're like a praying mantis... watching, waiting... ready to pounce! No, the fact is, ALL that happened was for you. A last ditch attempt of trying to beat your sex monster into a retreat.”
  “Oh no, don't pull that fucking pie out the oven! Don't you dare try and turn my beating into some kind of fantastic bow-tied gift... don't you fuckin...”
  “But it was a gift! You're right. Can't you fucking see that? Are you forgetting all the times you laid in bed telling me of violent rape fantasies... how you was even thinking of paying some company to abduct you? You always ended tied up and soiled in the back of some shitty van, horrendously humiliated before being dumped out onto a busy high street. Huh! Shit, Tristram. You turn everything around and nothing's ever fucking good enough. I could give you the world and you'd fucking moan it's not round enough! Do you realise the risks Brian and I took giving your cock a 16 storey high rise? We broke the law... risked our freedom. Not yours, OURS! Fuck, Christ! I thought you'd be a little more appreciative than this!”

The argument wasn't finished, only it was because I suddenly fell mute, pondering over some of the things John had said. It kind of annoyed me that there existed another credible explanation to my ordeal, that maybe my emotions/jealousy did roar up and I saw everything out of context.

And maybe John was right, maybe my main agenda was just to hurt Brian, for John and I to unite against him, teach him a lesson he'd never forget and banish him from our lives for good. If I'm truthful I can't deny that such thoughts never crossed my mind. And John's point about my rape fantasy, well, it does sort of make sense. Maybe it really was a misguided gift?

Of course, I don't believe that for a second, but it was food for thought. John had said enough to at least put huge doubts into my head, to cool my temper down so as it was no longer scolding my brain with thoughts of revenge. It didn't make things fine, just better. And that was a good thing, as in the course of these past few days, life's daily details have all been piling up...