Apologizing and Taking at the Same Time

Five minutes after “I’m not defending him” — a hug in the empty restroom, “I’m sorry,” “give me time, I’ll fix it.” Simon calls things by their names: “you trained your fucking guard dog so well that now you don’t even know how to stop him.” And then a kiss that holds “guilt — and a hunger that didn’t care about guilt.” Jacob apologizes and takes in a single motion; the hand on the back of the head “leaves no choice.”

This is the classic reconciliation phase of the cycle of abuse: the remorse is sincere, the promise is real — and nothing changes, because the apology here does not give up power; it restores access. The test is simple: after “I’m sorry,” does the other person have more freedom or less? Here — less: the edge of the sink in the lower back, “nowhere to retreat.” Simon’s body responds, and he “hated himself for it for exactly as long as he had the strength to” — one second. The door will open and he will be shoved onto the tile: the apology will end where it began.