Transformation
(Yours, In Murder)
–
There has been no transformation. No sudden – or slow – change. Tom hasn’t become a saint, and everything that he is, is not something to be cured. He knows that Harry, despite his studies and knowledge, thinks that something fundamental in Tom has changed. That he has mellowed out, seen the error of his ways.
Harry is wrong.
Not that Tom doesn’t love the man – he does. He really does. But it hardly matters, really. Loving Harry has nothing to do with getting horny while dreaming of the things he could do to a person, given a knife and fifteen minutes.
Tom sighs and turns on the bed to look at Harry, who’s asleep and oblivious to what’s keeping Tom awake.
‘I could do it,’ Tom thinks, touching Harry’s shoulder lightly with his fingertips. There’s an abundance of knives in the kitchen. He’d have more than just fifteen minutes. He could really get into it, do all the things he has ever wanted.
He won’t, though. Because he loves Harry.
And that’s what love is, to him. It isn’t about sex or dates or being domestic with someone. It isn’t about sleeping in the same room, showering together and eating breakfast while dressed in practically nothing. Love isn’t flowers and kisses and a series of embraces.
Love, to Tom, is a chain. The chain that stills his hand and keeps it from wrapping around Harry’s throat. Love is what keeps his mouth shut when he knows just the right words to cause pain. Love is what keeps him from all the things he desires to do.
No, there has been no transformation. Nothing has changed.
Something new, however, has been added into the equation, and that matters.
marlowfication 