The Bra Salesman Ch. 12

"Dosteovsky-ish," I said as plainly as I could. As I watched her face slack into a vapid blankness, my heart sank. It's one thing to know she had been hypnotized, but watching her now fall into that hypnosis was just fucking horrible.

"Tasha, you are going to go to sleep. You will sleep for eight hours. When you wake up, you will be exactly as you were before you were hypnotized." Damn it, something is in my eye. "You will ignore all the commands you were given over the last few months." Shit, whatever is in my eye is making me tear up. "You do not have an overwhelming fetish for bondage." No, you are not going to fucking cry now. Goddamnit, if you're going to do this, at least be a fucking man about it.

"You are not gullible or dumb. You are the smart, intelligent person you were before the hypnosis." Will you stop the fucking crying already? "You don't like Brittney and don't want her in your life anymore. You will no longer respond to the word Dosteovsky-ish." You're doing the right thing, so for the love of God stop crying like a fucking baby.

"You will..." come on, shithead, grow a pair and say it. "You..." Jesus, will you get a hold of yourself and just spit out already? Try to be at least as articulate as a Miss Universe contestant answering some ridiculous question about pay inequality in America as though the Miss Universe pageant was the central nexus people tuned into to get information about societal trends and the policy ramifications of... oh I get it, I'm trying to get off topic so I don't have to say what I don't want to say. Just. Do. It. Fuckhead.

"You will forget you knew me, or that you met a bra salesman." That's it, now I'm fucking crying. "You will forget all the things you did under hypnosis." Fine, go ahead and bawl like a big fucking infant. You will remember what you did at work, but you will forget all the people you had sex with for the past several months." Sure, get your shirt soaking wet with your tears of despair. Great, just be that way. "When I snap my fingers, you will go to sleep and wake up as yourself. Your real self."

She is still looking at me with a vacant stare. At least I think she is, I can't see shit with all these goddamn tears welling up in my eyes and streaking down my cheeks. I know I'm supposed to snap my fingers, but for some reason my hands won't move. No, they will, I just don't want them to. The world goes strangely quiet in an eerie way as though time has stopped turning, and I can hear the sound of her breathing. I mean I can literally hear the air going into her lungs and every molecule of oxygen being converted into carbon dioxide inside that unbelievably beautiful body of hers. I can see Tasha lying on the bed from all angles simultaneously, as though my eyes were looking through some Picasso-like camera that both distorted and crystallized her image in my brain. Other than the tiny bits of dust I could see floating in the air above her, the rest of the world might as well not even exist.

I feel myself snap my fingers, but I don't even remember consciously thinking the thought. Tasha closes her eyes and her entire body goes limp. I get up, put on my clothes, and then gently put my arms underneath her and carry her to her bedroom. As I pull the sheets over her, I take one last look at her gorgeous flesh.

As I sit on the bed beside her, I touch her face one more time just so I can remember what her skin feels like. My entire body feels like a lead weight so that I can't move. I can't believe this is it. I'm really letting her go. My brain is numb and my hands are now resting lifelessly on the bed. Goddamnit this totally sucks. I feel like I have to literally use my brain to create enough electricity in my nervous system to finally stand up. I need to just get the fuck out of here.

My brain uses what little electric signals remain in my body for one fleeting thought. I lean in, whisper some words into her ear, and then lightly kiss her on the forehead. I have been such an asshole for all of my life, so as much as this agonizingly hurts, it also feels oddly good to know, I mean really know, that I'm doing something good for a change. Maybe I'll be a better person for all of this, although I'll probably revert back to being selfish prick. But I hope not. I hope I can eventually become a decent person. At least this is a good start. My lead feet sluggishly propel me zombielike out of her bedroom. I turn around to get one more look at her then let myself out the front door.

Epilogue coming in a day or two