If I were stronger, I would leave her where she lay. She’s safer there, out alone in the night, with a door between us. But I’m not strong, at least not now. I feel weak, the kind of weakness I can’t fight on my own. She must be feeling weak too, because she came back.
And then there’s the desire. Let’s not forget that. But, of course, desire is a big part of weakness and weakness a big part of desire. I am not one to put too much energy into fighting my wants. I’m no Buddha.
When I open the door, she will lift her head to look at me. She is only pretending to sleep, but too anxious to be able to do it in earnest.
Is it really worth it for her, to sleep outside my door, to put such soft flesh down on such hard concrete?
If I leave her, she will be sporting all kinds of bruises by morning. Letting her come in, it’s for her own good. And for mine.
The last thing I need is to see the marks of her blood just beneath the surface.