Remember Why You Fear Me by Robert Shearman Read Free Book Online Page A

let Paul go, hadn’t I? But Paul was a special case, I said, how many times do you get gazumped in your affections by George Clooney? I couldn’t just
stop
loving George, I told him, it wasn’t like a tap, it was real this love it wouldn’t be denied. But if he did everything I told him to, I’d do my very best, I promised, I’d harden my heart to him, I’d try to get bored of him and let my passion for him die. What did he have to do, he asked. Convince me that you love me, I said. That you live for me, that you live only for me, you won’t try to run again, will you George, that isn’t love, but I’ll lock you in your room anyway from now on, I know how hard it can be sometimes to do the right thing and listen to what your heart wants. Love me blindly love me desperately love me entirely love me without end or hope of end. And maybe I’ll get bored of your love, what’s more boring than that? And finish your breakfast. I’d made him his breakfast, the least he could do was to finish it. He ate his Krispies, and then I poured him a second bowl, and then a third, and then more, I could have made him eat those Krispies all day but then I got bored, you see George, I can get bored, there’s hope for you yet. Then I kissed him, hard on the lips. I told him he was allowed to respond. I loved him, I said. I loved his hands and I loved his eyes and I loved his teeth but the only thing I didn’t love was his moustache. In fact I disliked it. In fact I hated it. In fact the very sight of it made me want to hurt him. George Clooney didn’t have a moustache, my George would be better off without one, my George would be safer. And he said he’d shave it off right away, and I said no, I couldn’t trust him with sharp objects, not anymore. I’d have to shave it off for him. I fetched a knife from the kitchen. He asked for shaving cream and I said there was no need for that and he began to cry and I told him that he had to keep still he mustn’t flinch, if he kept still and didn’t flinch I wouldn’t cut him, but he was crying so much he flinched so I did cut him, I took off his upper lip. I don’t like blood, I’m scared of blood, but sacrifices have to be made. He looked a bit funny now without a lip but at least he was also without a moustache, it’s not such a bad trade off. And now I told him I wanted us to make love, I wanted to have butterscotch love. I wanted him inside me, not one scrap of him could get away, and to make the point I took the gobbet of flesh that had been his lip and popped it in my mouth and swallowed it down. And he threw up, and I’m sure I don’t know why, I was the one who had eaten the disgusting thing. We had sex, and it wasn’t as good as I remembered it, and I made allowances I knew he was scared and confused, and bleeding quite badly actually—but it was all right, I closed my eyes and I pictured the four poster bed and the mirrors and even a fountain, why not, a little fountain in the corner, and I smelled him and he smelled of sweat but it was nice, it was a good sweat really, I love it.

    I’m not convinced yet but he’s at least trying hard. The effort he puts in is quite touching. I cut up his food for him and he always looks so grateful and says please and thank you, and I keep his hands tied for the meal so I have to feed him every single mouthful and he always remembers what I told him and to smile after each bite. If I’m stricter with him than he was, it’s just because I love him more than he did me, I see that now, but he’ll learn, there’s so much time to learn. Sometimes I’ll let him out of his room when
Friends
is on, though he hasn’t actually
watched
one yet, I keep the blindfold on, he doesn’t mind, he’s lucky, the best bit is hearing the audience laugh and wondering why. And I light him cigarettes and let him puff away, he looks rugged like that, and I don’t let him hold the cigarette because it might burn him, and I suppose that having it fed