The Hate Fuck
*****
The orderly who entered his room looked strangely familiar. She was small, slender, itself unusual for an orderly. She had tied her blond hair tied back in a bun, but there was something familiar about her face. She had a cautious demeanor about her, perhaps uncertain of herself.
Until her gaze connected with his.
And then it was lightning.
This was... her name was on the tip of his tongue. The woman he had almost been remembering. From college?
"Aaron. You finally did it after all."
"I did?"
"Oh, nevermind about that. That's going to be the least of your problems. They may never catch up to you for that, but I've got plenty on you now."
"You do?"
This wasn't what he was expecting.
"Sure. I was already close to figuring it all out, but you kept tricking me into dead ends with your half truths and that sneaky thing you do when you fake a lie. But when you disappeared, when you weren't around to interfere anymore? Yeah, I got you."
"I should tell you," he said, "I don't remember anything. Apparently I had a serious concussion. They say it will all come back eventually, but so far, I don't have much."
"Oh, isn't
that
convenient. Of course I don't believe a word of it, and it doesn't matter anyway."
Her anger was so bright. Anger, and her sense of victory, her righteous victory over her... enemy/lover, he couldn't make out any details. The emotion was too strong, too focused. Nothing for him to catch on to.
"Well, it sounds like I'm not sure I
want
to remember, if I was so awful."
She laughed contemptuously. "You won't get me this time, Aaron. I have evidence. I have it all laid out. And no, not here. I know who you are. All of you. I ran an ad in the paper, with your photo, and believe me, I got more than I bargained for. Aaron. And Byron. And Dillon. And Liam. And Marlon. And Orion. And Quentin."
The names sparked in him. Yes, he had used those names. Different girls. They started to flash back to him. Byron was for... black hair, Latina. Dillon was the tall, leggy musician. Liam, he liked using Liam, there had been several, most vivid a girl from Africa. Marlon, a professor! Orion, an astronomy student. So cheesy. Quentin, a nerd girl who liked to dress up as various characters. Yes, he had done that.
"Ah," he said. "Ah. When you say those names, it brings it back. I was a hell of a player, huh?"
"Oh more than that, Aaron," she barreled on, taking no note of his confession. "You were a cheater. You manipulated your professors, and where you couldn't do that you manipulated other students. You are a total fraud. You probably don't know a single thing about your own major."
"Because amnesia."
"Because you are a lying, cheating fraud. And everyone. Every single person is going to know it."
Her victory complete, she finally took a breath to see him.
He strategically left the blanket low enough to show the edges of his scars, fading now, but still impressive.
"You are going to be thrown out of school. Some of the things you did can qualify as rape did you know that? If I find the right lawyer, this will be major news. You won't be able to go to any school. You are going to be shown for the scum you are."
There was the edge, he saw it.
"Ok," he said, and closed his eyes.
"That's it? That's all you have to say?"
He didn't speak. Instead, he listened. He felt. He felt the way she was performing. She had rehearsed all of this, dozens of times. She wasn't just speaking to him, she was speaking to... her microphone. She was wearing a tiny mic. Illegal: she knew it, and so he knew it. It wasn't for evidence, it was so she could play it back if he managed to change her mind.
"How about saying you're sorry. If you are reborn as a new person, how about saying you're sorry."
He didn't see any way forward there.
"Cause you're not, are you. In fact, you are worse than all of that. Because now you killed your father, didn't you. Just like you always said you would. Only it was your family too. Sure, that was in the papers. Poor Aaron. No, I can't prove that, and I don't need to. That's on your conscience."
Ah, she didn't actually totally disapprove. She didn't like his father either.
Ah! She had good reason to not like his father.
That was another hook, a tiny one.
"Ok, I'm sorry. If you send me your evidence - a
copy
of your evidence - it might help me remember. When I woke up, I didn't even know my own name. My real name. And I don't know much more than that. I don't remember my father even now. You tell me I hated him, ok, maybe. That kind of rings a bell. I think I had some good reasons to hate him, although I don't remember them."
"Damn right you did."
"But all these girls?"
"Women."
"All these women? I don't know what I was trying to do. Or to prove. That's not what I want now."
"So... you admit it!"
He saw: he never had before. He had stonewalled. Denied. Influenced her, over and over. Made her doubt herself. Doubt her very sanity. Yeah, that was some awful shit. No question.
"Did I deny it before? How could I get away with that? It sounds really complicated."
He remembered: it had been really complicated. What a debacle.
"You are what they call a 'master manipulator,' Aaron. A narcissist. A sociopath. You don't care about anyone but yourself. You scheme and connive and you get what you want, even when it doesn't even make you happy. No matter the hearts broken, lives shattered. I am doing the world a service. I am doing
you
a service, Aaron. You need help. More than just stitches. Trust me."
His acceptance had defused her somewhat. Enough so that he could start to feel into the hooks. More were appearing now. She hated him, absolutely. She detested him. And she hated herself for having fallen for him. And she still felt the attraction. The sex had been really, really good. She was afraid she would never feel that again.
He laid a harmonizing pattern along that.
"Okay. I hear you. They are rebuilding a lot of my body. My mind is pretty much a blank slate. I don't know how it works. Not sure I can just tell my doctor, Hey, I'm a sociopath, can you fix that while you are at it? But it's going to be months before I am out on the street, and I know there is going to be a ton of psychotherapy. So, hopefully if the brain injury didn't know that bullshit out of me, some therapy will."
She hated him so much! The thread he was pulling, the desire for him to finally be telling the truth, was there, but she hated that it was there, and she clamped it down.
"More games from you. I knew it. Well, I snuck in here just to see you. See what you did to yourself, and to tell you. When you do come out of here, it's going to be one unfriendly world that you have built for yourself. You will reap the rewards you have sown, that's for sure."
She was convincing herself, talking to herself now. The opening was getting wider, and he felt a really interesting edge.
He pulled the blanket off himself entirely. He only had boxers on, so the scars were on full display, and the belly scar was still impressively ugly.
"Jesus," she said, momentarily stunned.
"You want to hurt me, I guess," Aaron said. "Come on. You can make me bleed. Rip something open. Punch me where it hurts. What would it take to feel a little better. I don't care, they'll just patch me up again. Unless you kill me, I guess, and that's not such a terrible prospect either."
"No," she said, shaking her head. Her eyes were wide.
"This is what I am now." But he was able to lace fascination into it. The shock had opened her up, like he thought it might. "I think my days of trying to be some kind of don juan are over, don't you?"
"I don't..." she stumbled.
The hatred was still flaring in her, but there was the desire too. It was still there. The part of her that couldn't just walk away still wanted him.
