Mary crawled into the corner of the bed, wrapping herself in the sheets like a cocoon. She began to rub herself with the back of her hands. Her thighs. Her stomach. Her breasts. Dug her fingers into her cunt. Blood drained from her face.
Mary struck Michael on the chest, arms and face. He let her. For a while. He grabbed her wrists.
MICHAEL: That’s enough!
Mary began to weep uncontrollably, sinking into his arms.
MARY: Why did you do that?
MICHAEL: I love you.
MARY: That wasn’t love.
MICHAEL: I had to.
MARY: You hurt me!
Michael raised Mary’s chin so that the two of them were looking into each other’s eyes.
Mary turned away. For a moment she was silent. Then she moved off the bed and pulled on her housecoat.
MARY: If you think that was love, you don’t know anything about love, Michael. Love is tenderness. Love is sharing. Love is healing. Love is not brutality. I’m not some sleaze bag, some toilet you jerk off into. I’m a human being.
Michael stood up and pulled on his trousers.
MICHAEL: Tenderness! You talk as if that was the natural state of things. Have you had a look outside your window? You live in a world of polite cruelty. BMWs, microwaves, low cholesterol diets, sitcoms and soap operas, while the rest of the world is dieing from starvation, diseases, war, and ignorance. My world may be brutal but at least it’s honest. Can’t you smell the rot, the putrid hypocrisy of your life? The world is a violent place. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it. But, there it is.
MARY: But why with me? Why here with me?
MICHAEL: That world you despise is part of me. Shall sweetness reign here, while outside… Did you see the rage inside me? That’s who I am! That anger is me. It hides in the darkness, my soul calls home. Rage is all I have. The only thing I’m sure is me.
Mary slapped Michael’s face. Michael smirked.
MARY: You raped me, Michael!
Michael picked up his shoes and stepped toward the door. He looked back at Mary.
MICHAEL: You loved it.