Chapter 5

No matter how perverse and twisted, a relationship existed between us, and my role in it and his perception of me changed constantly. At first, I was an adversary to be defeated, someone who unsettled him. Then, my complete lack of venom and strength reduced me to a victim he exploited for his pleasure. Now, I was slowly becoming something he was most uncomfortable with: an asset to be obsessed over, fretted about, and held onto at any cost.

That, I realized, is the same reason men go to war. The thrill of killing enemies makes you pull the trigger, the greed for spoils drives you forward, but only the fear of losing those you love--of seeing them harmed or taken from you--makes you lie in ditches night after night, through rain and sun, until either you meet your end or victory is secured. That possessiveness in men is as strong as the hunting instinct of a tiger--always there, even if they won’t admit it or don’t realize it themselves.

This change in our dynamic showed itself in different ways on different occasions. One of them came not long after I followed him into the apartment.

As the front door opened into a small entryway, I noticed his shoe rack. There were many shoes on each level, but apart from a few sneakers and slippers, most shoes were unused and dusty.

When I poked my head beyond the entryway, I saw a living room with sofas and a TV set on the right and a narrow hallway leading to perhaps bedrooms and a bathroom on the left.

He brought me to the left, through the hallway, past the bedrooms to the bathroom.

The bathroom was no bigger than what you’d find in most homes. It was very minimalist. A boat-shaped ceramic bathtub sat on the right side of the door, the head of which was crowded with hygiene products. My eyes scanned over some shower gels, shampoos, facial cleansers, and a few bath bombs still in their packaging.