Exorcism

Very gently, before he realises what he’s agreeing to, she has sought and received permission to lay him down and swing one leg across his torso so that he's safely scaffolded between her thighs. Then she lays her palms down on his bare chest.

“Will you do something for me?”

“What?” he asks, his face grimly professorial, wondering how this moment qualifies as a valid, logical experience.

“Will you let me rest my hands on your heart? Will you close your eyes and listen - really listen - to what I’m about to say?”

“Hmm”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, yes,” he says, annoyance already creeping into his body. She can feel it between her legs.

“Ok, close your eyes. Listen.”

The heat from her palms warms his chest. He draws comfort from it. He feels trapped.

“What if I’m not a mad woman? What if there's a world filled with people like me, who feel deeply and live by that? Where people rage when they’re angry and love when they’re truly ready to love? What if in that world, you are the mad man? What if your words & performances fall flat, lacking the weight of sentiment and truth? 

“What if I’m not actually overthinking? Or underthinking? What if I am thinking the exact amount required for the moment? What if it’s ok to be this person? Not just ok, but rational, sensible and good? What if it's a superpower which allows me to see everything you struggle to understand? What if this way of being, and my appearance in your life, was designed to help you heal?”

His lips curl up into a smirk. He is indulging her, she knows. But her palms are warmer now.

“Stay open, love. Just a little while longer.”

He stops smirking.

“You're missing out on the best of me when you discard me as a mad woman. Maybe mad women are who you need. I am proud of my madness, I cultivated it with love and fought to keep it alive. It allows me to see your heart, how hard you try, how tired you get sometimes and also how strong and steadfast you are. It allows me to see how fiercely you love your son.

“Understand this - the part of me that unsettles you the most is what'll make me your faithful ally. Trust me, this is the woman you want to be loved by”

Her thighs tighten around him. He squirms.

“Why does a woman showing you her full self, make you angry? When did me being me, become an offense to you? 

“And what if it’s just me, love, showing up for you?”

He opens his eyes. He is angry. She knows she doesn’t have much time left. 

“Close your eyes. Just a little bit more.”

He shuts his eyes again. His jaw is rigid. She wants to hold his face in her palms and kiss him. But not yet. She can feel his heart beat in her hands.

“So listen. This could go two ways. 

You could choose to continue calling me crazy as though it were a disease. You could choose this moment to run out of patience with me. With us.

OR you could choose to listen to that one, lonely voice inside you that wonders if I’m right. That maybe, just maybe, trusting this mad woman might bring you relief. Choose this and I promise to protect your heart with every fibre of my being.

“But if you pick option ‘a’...,” she relaxes her grip around his body, “then you’re free to go. We've reached the end of our time together.”

She lifts her hands off his chest. 

“You can open your eyes.”

She touches his face gently. There are storms raging in him. She is nervous now. 

“So what will it be, my love?”

He takes a long breath. She feels him rise and fall under her. He opens his mouth to answer.