An Answer

Out on the deck, the thick wooden boards of the floor were cool on her bare feet. A soft wind was blowing, ruffling the sails like whispers in someone’s ears. There was no human noise, and no one but her above deck. All was peaceful, all was quiet. It was easy to think that she was the only one on the ship, alone in the middle of the ocean.

She went to the ledge of the ship and gripped it with her hands. Leaning over, she stared down into the inky blackness below. Small black waves slapped the boat far below, an angry mother with a weak hand. They were beckoning to her. If a child craved touch enough, there was always the faint hope that if one plunged deeper into abuse, there was love at the other end. If one surrendered completely into arms of authority and pain, maybe eventually the storm would calm.

There was emptiness in the pit of her stomach, a feeling like her intestines were wet rags that someone was wringing. She wanted to gag. She wanted to feel that cold water embrace her in empty blackness. She wanted to push herself to the other side in hope of a gentle and calm beyond.

She yearned for it so much that she found that she was leaning down, standing on the tips of her toes with her hair falling forward, her eyes glued on the depths below. She wondered what was beyond the surface--deeper pain, or acceptance? Her grip on the rail softened slightly, and she slid forward a bit more. It would be so easy to fall. No one would hear the splash, no one would notice that she was gone until the morning. And who would care?

She was so absorbed in the darkness below, in the foamy waves, in the slapping hands, that she didn’t hear the quiet foot-steps approaching or notice the tall presence standing behind her. Not until a hand grasped her shoulder.

She froze, and her whole body went rigid from her shoulder down. That touch was not the clammy death of sea water; it was the warmth and firmness of life.

“What are you doing here?” asked a calm and quiet voice. Cylone.

“Go away,” breathed Cor. “Leave me alone.”

That hand was holding her back, chaining her to the deck, keeping her from the waves. She hated it. And at the same time, didn’t want it to leave.

The hand was not as strong as her desire, but it was enough. It pulled her away, spun her around. Now her back was to the ledge of the ship. She looked up. Cylone stood close to her, looking down. Her face was cast in shadow, but her eyes were like burning slivers of star.

“P-please,” gasped Cor, turning her face away from those penetrating eyes. “No one will care. Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” said Cylone, and nothing was more certain than those words.

Cor felt anger like a hot flash blotting her face. She started to fight, tried to push Cylone away. But the more she fought, the more Cylone held on, until Cor was embraced by the warmth and strong arms of Cylone, restraining her.

Cor gasped in air and stopped struggling, trembling with rage and exhaustion.

“Let me go!” she cried.

“Its okay, its okay,” soothed Cylone, as if she was a frightened animal. “You’re not alone any longer.”

Cor felt a knot of unshed tears in her throat, for the first time in a long time.

“Why?” asked Cylone.

The big question. And Cor could only guess. She tried to explain about following the ship for a lie, and about the weak slapping of the waves. She told Cylone about the theory of surrender, and making it to the other side, below the surface. She said a lot of things, all of which even she did not understand. But Cylone’s silence was one of acceptance.

When she was done speaking, there was a long silence. And then Cylone spoke. “I have answers for you,” she said. “Plunging deeper into abuse only brings more abuse, and never relief.”