The Visitor

I felt her outside my window last night. She was timid, at first, watching, to see what I would do. You left, and I turned to look at her.


"I found you," she said. "You ran from me. You moved away. But I found you." And she laughed a little. It was a hollow sound. Her hands were on the window, her eyes wide. Her eyes. They weren't as wild as I remembered, and her hair was braided back neatly. But that reddish glow, that seething. That was still there.

"I know," I said.

She came round to the stairs and I met her at the security door.

"The door's locked," she said. And that hollow laugh again. "You want to keep me out?"

"We need to talk."

Her lips pulled back, dry and cold, and she tensed. "You can't keep me out." She dug her nails into the grates. "You tried, you know, you're far away from where you used to be, but I'm still here, I still found you." The last words were icy and teasing.

"I don't need you anymore." I said. "You served a purpose for a time. Your twisted logic tricked me into believing you were powerful. But you're weak. You're pushy. And I won't let you back in."

"I'm WEAK? YOU'RE weak..." She tap danced on the edge of rage, then remembered the game, and sweetened, her voice softening. "You've lost my touch, clearly. I can help you." She reached, as if to caress my face, and her hand hit the door. She hunched back, as if to scream.

"Remember...remember when you knew you could have anything, when you would do anything to get what you wanted and everything else be damned, remember that? That was because of ME, I did that for you, because you needed me. I wasn't around, I know, I'm sorry it took me so long to find you. It's my fault. But I can fix it now, I'm here, huh? We can be together again." Her voice was pleading and childlike. Her fingers attempted to weave through the holes in the door.

I shook my head. "There is no argument, Red. That's what they used to call you, remember? And you liked it. Because red is an angry color, and you are so very, very angry. But I'm not angry anymore. I'm safe now. And I've let you go."

"No! I saw you, I heard you! You remember me." Her last words bled into a whine, then choked into a sob.

"I know, and that's how you found me. I called you back a little. Because we need to say goodbye." I met her fingers with mine. The sensation made my skin crawl, as I could feel her desperation. "We weathered a storm together. Many storms. I needed you to show me I could take, instead of being taken from. And you did. It's because of you I'm not a victim. But I don't need you to help me choose a role anymore. I have learned to do both, and to give willingly. I am being now. And I'm healthy." I moved back from the door.

Her eyes flashed, and the unholy glow deepened. She pushed her body against the door and slammed her hand against the metal. "You can't deny me!" she snarled.

I already have. You are impulse. I am control. You will always search for me, and sometimes, you may find me, and you'll watch from afar. I'll be wary of you, because I have to be. But you'll never weave your sickness back into my soul."

She threw back her head and screamed, a long, shadowy sound that I heard for the first time long ago. I closed my eyes to feel the slice, and she faded, faded, and was gone. I've lost her. And I'm glad.


That girl took pride in getting what she wanted.
This girl takes pride in resisting.
That girl asserted all of her needs and desires, wantonly and often unnecessarily.
This girl sometimes does not assert her needs and desires when it is necessary.
The happy medium is in my hands.
My power comes from letting go of the wheel.