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| The
Via Crucis of Camille - Crux 2 - Page 11 |
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The
lash became a constant. Its sharp, clashing
sound raising over the muffled cries that
Camille allowed herself to give. She was playing
her part, that of the fantasy and the woman
who had the fantasy. Maricelly, the woman
of the fantasy in my script, imagined herself
under the whip without crying, holding her
screams out of pride. resisting her tortures
as any good martyr would.
That was Camille's role this time. To defy
me, to dare me, to hold her cries no matter
how painful the lash was. She kept her eyes
on me, from time to time she would look away
for an instant, particularly when the lash
was harder than the previous one.
At times she would move her head in pain
while her eyes were still fixed on me, her
tormentor.
I believed that in some strange, unexpected
way I was her real tormentor. I was tormenting
her with my demands, my fear of loosing her,
my need of her. Maybe the look in her eyes
was part of that experience.
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I'm
getting hints of what Camille wants for the
near future. Her freedom. We walked across the
bridge near the house not long ago and she told
me what I meant to her. I was, for lack of a
better description, a stepping stone on her
way to maturity and freedom. I had served a
purpose in her life and she was ready to move
on.
It didn't sound as cold as my description.
Her voice was trembling, her words were sweet,
she said the word love
a number of times in her dissertation on that
long walk across the bridge.
Nevertheless, the message was clear. I sensed
her agony, the pain she had inside while telling
me this. Indeed, she felt love, but I was no
longer the focus of her life. I never was, I
was there at the right moment, when she had
to decide what to do with her life, which road
to take. It was time for her to move on to the
next step.
Was she telling me that she used me? But weren't
I using her was well? Oh the mysteries of a
relationship. How much of it is love, how much
of it is need and how much of it is simply a
part of the road to somewhere else?
Strangely enough, I didn't find that unfair.
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The commander opened
Lyvia's legs and as he was about to force
himself in her she reacted by lifting her
legs and kicking him.
The commander stepped
back, startled by Lyvia's unexpected reaction,
by doing so he tripped on his belt and sword
at his feet but tried to regain his balance.
His tripping made the sword slide out of its
sheat and slide into a hole in the dirt ground,
it's sharp end pointing up. The commander
couldn't regain his balance as he tripped
again on his belt and fell back against the
sword below him.
The sword pierced
his back and went through his lungs to finally
break through his chest. A gutural scream
came out of the commander's mouth as the sword
ended his life.
In his few remaining
moments and only by a natural instinct, the
commander moved around, falling face down,
the sword sticking out of his back.
The two guards
posted at the entrance heard the scream of
the young woman, and ran in to find their
commander laying on his chest, his naked ass
glowing under the light of the torch nearby,
his back stabbed by the sword, his mouth twisted
in a frozen scream.
"You killed
him!" a guard exclaimed. "No!,"
Lyvia screamed back. "He fell on his
sword."
The soldiers didn't
believe her. They grabbed the young woman,
and naked as she was, they took her away
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I
was not striking Camille in anger. That could
never be between us and she knew it. She knew
that every lash that fell across her chest was
an act of love, not of anger or hate. I made
sure to tell her that I was not angry, I was
not dissapointed, I was not going to turn against
her. I was going to hurt and hurt badly, but
I was not going to react to that pain. She meant
too much to me, I loved her too much to do anything
against her.
I told her I would always be there for her,
but to please, consider well what she was deciding
to do. I asked her to take her time, not to
do anything drastic.
She promised she would follow my advise. All
she needed was to feel that she was free.
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