She didn't know how she'd gotten there. One moment she was in her room, watching the rain fall onto the concrete outside and stain it as though it were some kind of paint, watercolour maybe, the next she was standing in front of his room, standing at the door, hand on the smooth wood, listening to the unmistakable sounds of him in the throes of a good fuck.

And she could hear his grunts and the little shrieks of the woman in there with him, and she could smell the arousal and the sweat and the sex, and she could see it so clearly in her mind that she wished, for the first time ever, that he'd never given her his remarkable senses. That he'd never touched her at all. Because then she wouldn't know the pain of being without it, the anguish, the feeling of renting inside that came with the realization of betrayal.

And she knew the moment he knew she was there, could almost see him still as he caught her scent, and she didn't move, didn't walk away, even though she knew he'd come to the door and see her and know she knew. She *knew*. Because she wanted to look into his eyes and see the truth, she wanted to look into his eyes and know that she wasn't enough, would never be enough, because she wasn't what he needed.

But when she heard his footsteps slowly pad towards the door, towards her, she turned and she ran. Because, at heart, she was a coward, and seeing her own knowledge reflected back at her would be too much to bear, even if it was no surprise, at least he hadn't said it. She at least had that.

And then she was outside and the rain was crashing down like the discordant notes of an untuned piano, and she stood in it and revelled in the cold water that beat at her unmercilessly. Revelled because it was cold and it was wet and it was absolute. Emotions were finite, too painful to explore at length, unable to pin down, unable to isolate, unable to shut off.

She couldn't allow herself to think, couldn't stop herself from feeling, no matter how hard she pushed at him, pushed him out of her head and tried to force him from her heart, exerted so much effort that she fell to her knees and felt blood pour from her nose onto the ground. And the watercolours were red now, mingling with the water, turning pink and quickly rushing away in a flood that should have surprised her, should have made her jump to her feet - after all, hadn't she learned never to turn her back on a wave? If you did, they caught you by surprise, swamped you, knocked you to your knees and left you breathless and drenched.

And there was no wave, not this time, but she was on her knees, breathless and drenched and something more. Something she didn't want to think about, something she couldn't define. She thought she could feel just one thing, feel an emotion and lock onto it like radar, but with one came a whole host of others. With hate came equal parts love and self-loathing. With hurt came shame and fear and degradation.

Because if she'd been enough, if she could have just been enough, she would still be standing right now, feeling the warmth of the sun and the grainy sand beneath her toes, watching children make sandcastles and gulp big mouthfuls of seawater and wail. She would still have her dreams.

Her clothes clung to her and she couldn't breathe for all the water that filled her mouth and trickled down her throat and strangely it tasted salty, like seawater. And she could almost feel the sand squelch beneath her toes and hear the children screaming as she swallowed and choked and felt her eyes burn like a thousand needles had been jabbed in them, and she realized with a great deal of shock that the salt was from her tears.

And that the sound of the sand crunching against her skin was actually her nails breaking from the impact of being slammed repeatedly against the concrete, and that the god-awful screaming was coming from her, from inside her, like a geyser that had released and couldn't be shut off.

Over the scent of blood and tears and rain, she could smell him, coming towards her, and she wasn't ready, couldn't handle this, not yet, not now. And this time when she ran, she ran blind, headed off into the darkness of the trees that had once seemed frightening at night, but didn't scare her at all any more, because what could she possibly have to fear now that her greatest one had been realized?

And she was in the woods, surrounded by darkness and when she fell she could hear the telltale crunch of broken bones and she knew, somewhere deep inside, that she should care, that she should feel something other than satisfaction that this external pain was strong enough, almost, to block out the terrible wrenching inside.

She moved her ankle and nearly fainted from the excruciating agony and she giggled when she saw him rushing towards her, horrified that she was hurt, because what were a few broken bones when compared to a shattered heart?

He told her not to move and she needed, *needed*, to contradict him, so she wiggled her ankle yet again and then felt her head swim with the delirium of it all. And when he picked her up she fought against him, tore at his skin and shredded his shoulder and raged against the wounds that healed almost instantaneously. And for a moment she thought of placing her hands against all that bare skin and simply holding on, not letting go, allowing everything he was to seep into her, to blind her and block who she was so that maybe she wouldn't feel any more.

She could see from the wary look in his eyes that he knew what she was thinking, but still he didn't put her down, carried her towards the mansion and the rain still sheeted down and suddenly she gave up, let her head drop onto his shoulder and just gave up.

And oh, it felt so good to be carried like a little girl - she could remember asking her daddy if he was supposed to put his hands there and was it supposed to hurt? and hearing him answer that it was right and natural and she should just relax like a good little girl because he knew she wanted it even if she didn't - but she couldn't forget that it was his arms around her and that his arms had been wrapped around someone else, that he'd been fucking someone else while he proclaimed undying love for *her*.

It was that thought that did it, more than any other, and she was galvanised into action, because she couldn't stay in his hold for a minute longer, not knowing what she knew.

When she jumped from his arms and heard that audible snap of bone and the slight squish of it pushing through flesh, she didn't care, couldn't, because if she did she'd let everything else in and she couldn't go back to the mansion, just couldn't, and that was where he'd been taking her.

She crawled on her hands, pulling herself and thanking whatever gods were out there that she had as much upper body strength as she did that she could drag herself along the ground, away from him.

He picked her up and locked her to him so she couldn't move and she could feel the hot tears burn like acid down her cheeks, scarring her, internally at the very least, which was strange as earlier, when she'd heard him and known of her failures, he hadn't scarred her.

The damage was too bad and too bloody and agonising; some wounds never heal, never scar over.

Then she was in the medlab and she lost track of time from then on, letting her mind float through the debris that cluttered it, feeling some small degree of peace deep in there, until the following day when he came down to see her.

He told her how much he loved her and said how sorry he was, that it would never happen again. And she said nothing, merely stared at him until tears filled his eyes and he left, a broken man.

And he came, every day after that, saying the same words, meaning them, pleading with her to take him back, to say *something*, anything. But she never did, and in the end, it was her silence that condemned him as much as his actions had, more so, because her silence carried with it everything that she'd never said.

And when she was old and aged and on her deathbed, and he was still young and handsome though somewhat haggard - he'd never fucked another, any, woman since the night she'd caught him, her silence had seen to that - and he told her he loved her and he said he was sorry and he begged, *begged* for her forgiveness.

And for the first time in over sixty years, she opened her mouth and said something to him, one word,

"No."