Free Ruin: The Waking by Lucian Bane

that he could connect. How did she even read this? Why, would be the bigger question? The only place that had any kind of practical knowledge was in Proverbs and maybe Psalms, and even that was enshrouded in dense terminology.
    The sound of her shower reached his ears and pictures of her breasts glistening from the water making his manhood instantly and unbearably hot and hard. He stood and paced, remembering his earlier intention before she’d passed out. To give her a massage. Mostly to relieve her stress and be able to touch her. He had to touch her one way or another in the same way he had to eat. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when, and it may as well be for a dual justified cause. She needed the physical liberation.
    He needed…the physical torment.
    As much as he wanted to contemplate why he needed the torment, he couldn’t, because it amounted to ignorance and that amounted to weakness which only added to his need for punishment. Ruin went back to picking at the puzzle called the Bible, and continued reading. He sighed in relief at the sound of her getting done, saving him from the frustration mounting in him from the convoluted book. The word of God? Maybe it wasn’t the word of God, how would she be sure it was?
    The sudden need to know what her privates looked like struck him again. He hadn’t seen any in a book, or anywhere else. Yet. And he found that he wanted that data, which she seemed to hold in high esteem and secrecy, to be the very first thing in his mind.
    “You’re welcome to take one next,” she gasped, coming out with a puff of steam and her head wrapped in a towel. “But you’ll need to wait until the hot water builds up. I’ll make us coffee while you wait .”
    He eyed her as she went to the kettle, his gaze roaming over her robe in burning curiosity. “You like to mop.” He remembered how she danced, at least he thought that’s what it was called that first night he actually met her.
    “Yes, I plan on doing that while you shower. ”
    The idea of going without clothes seemed much more reasonable, but he’d respect her privacy wishes. He remembered what he’d learned in the medical encyclopedia, the one particular thing that stood out. Override memories with new ones. That meant creating new events in the brain could help override damaging ones.
    His mind went to work contemplating a solution that would override the trauma she’d just seen, at least to a point that it didn’t adversely affect her, and while giving him the self-torment he craved.
    ****
    Isadore had the water boiling and her Roux dissolved when the shower shut off. Ruin. What an awful name. And yet… there was something about it that appealed to her. Maybe that it was so sad to have that name. Did he like it? Want her to use it? She’d need to ask. She kind of liked calling him JD.
    The door opened and Isadore’s stomach jolted. Amazing. She’d just spent fifteen minutes preparing for his exit. But it was pointless to pretend his presence didn’t shake her to her very core in every way. She’d accepted the reality of it and had settled for at least not humiliating herself with such telling reactions. Surely it’d get easier. “Ah, good, the clothes fit.” So much for thinking daddy’s memories would help her with her fixation. It was supposed to make her want him less, not more. But the simple blue jeans and black t-shirt made him devastating to look at with those green eyes and black matching hair. How was she supposed to not be affected? Impossible.
    “Yes, they do.”
    Isadore stared at him, confused. What did what do? She called up what they were talking about and remembered. The clothes. The clothes did fit.
    “It smells amazing in here.” He glanced at the stove.
    “Ah, nothing like Cajun gumbo.”
    He went to the pot and sniffed. “I’m starving.”
    “Well, I heated you some of the leftovers, this isn’t going to be ready for a while, still.”
    He turned to the table and went straight to