Christopher WunderLee - Moore's Mythopoeia

Just for good measure: “Oh Vincent, this is so nice…”

* * *

Captain Vincent could not get her out of his mind, she leaked into every one of his thoughts, despite his attempts at ignoring her. When he filled out reports, Elisa was reading them over his shoulder, when he talked with another agent, she was scrutinizing whatever he said, when he was away from her, she never left his side. He tried to laugh at his own foolishness: it was absurd to involve himself with a subject, one that he knew was not interested in him, but using him for information; but he was oddly obsessed with her. Though no one at the agency knew of the relationship, and he could easily keep it quiet, Captain Vincent felt that he could have no peace until she was legitimized and his completely. He was afraid of the humiliation, should she acquire information from him and it was discovered by another section. He was afraid of the humiliation of being used, of not being in control of his emotions, of other people finding out he had been romantically involved with one of his subjects and that she had gotten the best of him. Vincent made up his mind that he would give her nothing and take what he needed. He told himself over and over that he would use her, gratify himself, and call in Section 9 when he was finished with her. She would have nothing to tell Arthur Dodger and the others; she would have prostituted herself to his will, and be cornered. Then, he would give her an ultimatum, one she could not refuse. Vincent would offer her up or she would offer herself to him. For now, he would keep their relationship on his terms, he was an engineer, he worked downtown, he would see her when he had time. He refused to give her any opening she could exploit, although, admittedly, he knew that her sexuality always left him at a disadvantage, that she controlled him in those instances, that he could not handle her nudity, her smell, her wanting eyes, that she could get anything she wanted out of him by exploiting herself. And she was willing to do it.

Captain Vincent needed to control himself. He would leave her hanging for a few days, not call her, she had no way of contacting him, and then, just as she began to wonder, he would show up. He could tell her feelings from that, all he had to do was restrain himself.

The struggle with himself had taken no time, the afternoon of his decision to not see Elisa for a few days, and he found himself at the door of her apartment complex, unable to avoid his desire. Still, he reasoned, he usually came to see her early in the morning; he had made her wait until well into the afternoon. It would still be useful, how she reacted to his delayed arrival.

“I assumed you weren’t coming today,” Elisa said at the door.

Vincent reddened noticeably; his heart rate quickened, and beads of perspiration appeared around his temples. “I was detained, I apologize.”

“No matter, I always forgive trespasses,” she moved aside to let him in. His response seemed to satisfy her and he felt concerned, perhaps his plan had not worked. She didn’t seem to mind his absence at all. She was wearing a plaid miniskirt, a sheer white blouse and a necktie (a grown-up schoolgirl) though, and he comforted himself in the idea that she must have worn it in expectation for his arrival (a begrudging promise made after much begging on his part).

“I really am very sorry for my late arrival,” he repeated, following her into her studio.

“Don’t fret, Vincent, I really don’t mind. However, I must say, I didn’t put this costume on this morning for my own benefit,” she responded nonchalantly, immersing herself in a drawing. Vincent was pleased; she had expected him and had dressed accordingly; he saw the time approaching when it would be his turn to control the situation and he would have her completely. He looked at her as she worked, an ophelimitic quality to her profile, her hair in two pigtails, matching the innocence of her clothing, long white stockings, little brown penny-loafers, the entire assortment for him. Vincent grew weary, although it was he who asked for her to dress in such a way, it suddenly seemed like another way for her to control him. He already found himself staring at her naked thighs, he had already found himself imagining her disheveled, her shirt torn open, one stocking on and one off, her little plaid skirt lifted over her waist, her hair partially torn from its perfect order. Elisa’s body was Vincent’s labefaction, he knew it, but couldn’t help himself.

“What are you working on?” he finally asked, trying to begin a conversation.

“You know me, Vincent, my clothes are designed not so much to make a girl look good as to make men look good.” Conversation did not go very easily between them, for she never responded honestly and Vincent was never sure exactly what she meant, whether she was making a joke or serious and whether it was at his expense.

Elisa had her back turned to him, standing at her drafting table, slightly bent over it, absorbed in her drawing as if he wasn’t even there. Vincent was growing restless; he tried not to look at her but he couldn’t help himself; he enjoyed it altogether too much. Her short plaid skirt ended just at the beginning of her legs and he could see the faint shadows of the slopes of her posterior. He wanted desperately to drop his pants and take her as she stood, but this was as she wanted. He needed to control the circumstances. She shifted her weight and stood with her legs further apart, arching her back over the table.

“Feeling a bit thorny today?” she finally asked, breaking the silence. Vincent was pleased with himself; she had addressed him first. She cocked her head slightly and turned slightly back towards him, raising her eyebrows and indicating to him with her eyes her exposed skin.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, wetting his lips uncomfortably.

“I hope you weren’t just lost in thought, my dear, you’d be a stranger in a strange land.”

“No.”

“You poor man, I don’t mean to be rude, you’re unarmed and I’m trying to engage you in a little battle of wits.”

“I know I’m no Greene, Elisa. However, I’m no idiot, that I assure you. I don’t see why you feel the need to be so combative all the time.”

“Are you trying to have a conversation with me? I apologize, I hadn’t realized.”

“Do you want me to go? Are you angry with me for being late?” Vincent offered, hoping that this was the case and that she’d confess to it, that she’d give him some indication of her feelings for him. He was very anxious to pretend that he didn’t mind her urticant words, but he was seized with a feeling of inferiority. He had an urgent desire for her to be near him and the temptation to contrectate her was growing irresistible.

“We’ve settled that, I don’t mind you’re a whimling of sorts. I just don’t see why you want to focus on it by talking to me. We both know why you’re here, I dressed accordingly, so let’s not bother with the formalities.”

“Elisa, I’m not just interested in you sexually, I adore you.”

She had no mercy for him. He looked at her legs and she grabbed the edge of her skirt with two fingers and raised it slowly. He watched carefully despite what he had said. She had a coy smile on her face, as if she was taunting him and he wanted to smack her as hard as he could. At the same time, he wanted to embrace her and for her to weep in his arms.

Captain Vincent told himself that Elisa had to have emotions and sensibilities like everyone else, that he only needed to comfort her, to awaken them within her and that then, she would return his feelings. It was simply a question of watching for the opportunity, allowing her to maintain her control, wearing her down with small conquests, taking advantage of the physical attention, which she seemed to want solely, making himself a stable figure that she would come to depend upon.