Page 92 of A Night with Damien Spur

He ached for her company and in between their meetings to assuage the waves of melancholia he found it soothing to write poetry.

Against his better judgement he sent her…

Damien’s Lament

Elizabeth, your goodbye was cool when we did part.

Shall I become an ice man to warm your heart?

A little chill to thrill you?

You have tired of my fire.

The burning coals of my desire

Have quenched your flame,

Leaving you free to roam again

Into your fragrant chamber where you are safe to dream.

And I, who once was your king, must let his passion cease.

But no, I will not throw myself into the hands of such a fate.

Damien will save his warmth

And make Elizabeth miss his soft kisses and sweet embrace.

…but he couldn’t play that game. The more he saw her, the worse he became. In truth, he was no longer entertaining. His adoration had become irritating and Elizabeth’s enthusiasm for his company had begun to wane.

He couldn’t write, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, hardly talked: “Yes, no, please, thanks.”

He should never have asked Elizabeth that question. But after they had made love, the way she looked at him, so soft, with that wisp of a smile – that moment had sent him into a spin.

‘The question is,’ he’d said, ‘what is it that makes people fall madly in love with each other? It’s a mysterious process, isn’t it? Not a calculated thing.’

You idiot, said the Voice.You’re asking for it. She’s going to cut your balls off.

‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never been in love,’ she said. Her thoughts wandered out of the bedroom.

There you go, said the Voice.What did I tell you? Now, for God’s sake, shut it!

But Damien pushed on. ‘Do you really mean that?’ The words skidded out of his mouth.

That’s it. Keep on digging your own grave,said the Voice.

‘Mean what?’ Elizabeth tossed the question back. Her skin crawled. What would he say next? How far would he go? Was he going to change the status quo from a casual, airy relationship, to a masochistic nightmare, where inevitably she held the whip, as she had always done, save for once? But that wasn’t love – it was obsession. She buried that corpse deep in her memory.

‘Did you really mean it that you’ve never been in love?’ he said.

‘Yes. I did.’ Sometimes it was fun to hurt.

‘So say it,’ he said.

‘Say what?’

‘Just say you don’t love me.’

---