“The darker side of one’s life never quite comes full-circle.  That’s because one never really does get the chance to fully explore or express it.  As a society, we prefer to think of ourselves as ‘liberated’.  If that were so, one is inclined to believe that perhaps society may not even truly exist anymore.  If we were truly to break the boundaries of our societal cocoons; if we were truly to be ‘liberated’, then how long would we survive before chaos ensued?  Every unit is contrived of its own moral coding, its own intrinsic inner values, however structured or otherwise.  We may believe the old taboos of yesterday surmounted, only to realise – or perhaps not even to realise at all – that the line has simply been redrawn.

       “The depraved, the sadistic, the sociopathic – they are the ones who are truly liberated.  Which leads one to suspect that if liberation may lead to a misinformed decision, then perhaps restriction is more useful to the human species than it believes it to be.”

       She raises her head, pondering over the paragraphs in the book, chewing absently on her lower lip.  Sitting by the pond, shrouded in the night, swallowed whole in the darkness, she feels her gut wrench at the odd hypocrisy in the words written before her.  For the longest time anything and everything had seemed possible, but not this perceived descent into madness.  The campus plaza, with its rubbish-filled pool, was an ugly place; yet ironically, it was the only place that instilled in her a sense of sanity in this godforsaken country.  Maybe it was the fact that in the dark – just like herself – it didn’t seem so hideous anymore.  Perhaps it was that the untamed bower that enclosed the pond held her in some measure of security, however false.  She had learnt not to question why anymore.  When all the kissing couples had gone, when all the old men with their evening papers had passed away, when all the students toiling feverishly over their books had disappeared, the pond felt strangely like home.

       “Cigarette?”

       That unmistakable voice, soft and silky as the night itself greeted her, and she swivelled, half relieved that he had come, half annoyed that he had arrived so late.

       “You know I don’t smoke,” she returned curtly, thumping the book shut and holding it protectively to her chest.

       “Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “Good read?” he began again, nodding at the book, “Looks kinda long to me.”

       “It’s called self-justification,” she returned, holding the tome tighter to her.

       “Oh.  I see.”  He plumped himself down on the bench beside her, popping a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it deftly.  Only the glowing tip cast any light across the darkened setting, illuminating the thin, roughly sculpted features of his pale face, his heavy-lidded, seductive expression framed by the uncombed raven hair. “Could’ve chosen a better meeting place,” he spoke up again, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. “There’s an Italian down in Wangfujin – great lasagne, and an even greater year of Chardonnay served chilled right from…”

       “What?” she interrupted heatedly, looking him up and down. “Go out to dinner?  Dressed like that?”

       He glanced down at the scuffed jeans, the tight T-shirt and black bomber jacket.

       “Seriously, you got a problem with the outfit, I can change it.  I can be whatever you want me to be, remember?”

       “That’s what worries me,” she murmured, looking away from him.  He’d look just as damned attractive in a bin liner as he would in an Armani suit.  It unnerved her.

       “Nat’rally,” he retorted, taking a drag with a blase air. “You and…oh, let’s say, the other 95% of the world’s population.”

       “Hey, mister, I got a conscience!” she spat at him, losing her temper.  The book slid off her lap and onto the floor.  The words ‘Diary, 2001’ were emblazoned across the front in black ink.  Feeling suddenly embarrassed she scrambled to pick it up. “God knows why I’m even talking to you anyway,” she muttered.

       “God has nothin’ to do with it,” he told her, taking another drag. “So tell me, dear. If you’re writing that self-justification – or is it just self-indulgent? – crap, why the hell do you want me here anyway?  Still bakin’ your noodle over the, ah…incident last year?  Wantin’ some…inspiration, right?” He leaned into her, putting his arm round her suggestively, but she shrugged him off.

       “Shut up,” she threw at him sullenly, shifting away from him.

      “Hey darlin’, it’s not my fault you chose to question your conscience.” He backed off, shoving his hands into his pockets for warmth. “Y’seem to forget, it was me who supported you out of that hard time, me who was the only one who listened to you, me who stopped you from goin’ on over the edge.  An’ here I am, still sayin’ I’m gonna work things out for you regardless!  You owe me big time, girl!”

       “You didn’t help me!” she shot at him scowling. “You just made me a whole lot more unbalanced than I was in the first place!  Well, thanks, but hey, I want out!”

       “You want out?” He got to his feet in an outrage. “After all the time we’ve spent together, after everything I’ve done for you?!  Is this the thanks I get?!”

       “I needed you,” she shouted back, “You helped me.  Thanks, okay?  But I don’t need you anymore.  I’m getting my life back together now.  I’m edging myself back over the line again.  I don’t need your safety net anymore.  Besides,” she lowered her voice, “The better I get, the less I can trust you.”

       He sighed, glancing up to the sky as if to ask for strength. “You’re hurtin’ me real bad, girl.  I had special feelin’s for you, y’know what I’m sayin’?  Special.”

       “Oh yeah.  For me and every other crazy girl in town,” she mumbled under her breath.

       “Hey, give me some credit,” he said, tossing the cigarette away and stomping it out with his heel heavily. “I came all the way here ‘specially for you.  Does that sound to you like the actions of someone who’s untrustworthy?”

       That was true.  He had done that for her.  And looking at him now in the pale light of the moon, he did look so damned attractive…She shook her head vehemently.

       “Oh, come off it,” she shot at him hotly. “You and I both know that’s a crock.  You can be wherever you bloody well want to be.  How do I even know you’re not somewhere else right now, sweet-talking some other…”

       “Because I belong to you and no one else,” he interjected quietly, an element of frustration to his tone.  He half turned away from her, his hands in his pockets again. “Man, who said the devil was omnipresent?”

       “You’re not the devil,” she scoffed softly, crossing her arms.

       “Yeah, well, that’s a moot point.  ‘Sides, the fact is I can come in various shapes and forms and sizes, and I can’t keep track of all my different duplicates are, can I?  You made me, darlin’, and that…well, that just make our meeting more than just yuanfeng.”

       “Yeah, I ‘made’ you all right,” she stood up, gesticulating bitterly. “So why the hell can’t I shut you up?”

       “B’cos you still need me,” he told her matter-of-factly, “B’cos you’re still scared you’re goin’ insane, and when the light side or whatever-the-fuck-you-want-to-call-it can’t help you, you only got me.” Seeing her distracted expression he moved towards her and took her hands, meeting her gaze with a dark look. “Why don’t you trust me?”

       “Why don’t you respect me?” she asked him in return.

       He sighed. “Look, darlin’, tell me what’s up.  You tell me, and you see if I can’t help you.”

       She looked up at him then, eyeing him squarely.

       “In the 1400’s, the witch hunts of the Inquisitors – countless thousands of men, women and children across Europe – primarily women – were killed on account of their supposed dabblings in witchcraft.”

       “Ancient history, my love,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling.

       “And the 1200’s; the Crusades, thousands of soldiers slaughtered over a period of a 100 years for the sake of one’s religion, one’s beliefs?”

       “Even more ancient,” he smiled.

       “1962, three civil rights workers die in a Ku Klux Klan instigated attack on those aiding the cause of equal rights for whites and blacks.”

       “Terrible, wasn’t it?” he tutted softly.

      “1939-1945, millions of Jews, gypsies, homosexuals, Catholics and the disabled are gassed in concentration camps across Nazi Germany for the supposed furtherance of genetic racial purity.”

       “Tragic,” he agreed, nodding.

       “And you’re going to tell me that you’re not responsible for all that?”

       He shook his head with a sigh.

       “An unfortunate by-product of one thing, my dear,” he explained solemnly.

       “What?”

“Fear.”

She furrowed her brow.

       “I don’t get it.”

       “Well look.” He reached into one of his many invisible pockets and pulled out a notepad. “These are the rules you wrote, dear, not mine – just you remember that.” He flicked deftly through the pages. “ ‘Sex before marriage is wrong’ – oh damn, this must be an old entry.  Ah, here it is.  Something interesting you wrote yesterday, I believe. ‘If something sinful is done for a good cause, then it can no longer be considered a sin’.”

       “So what?” she scowled. “I had a good reason for making that decision.  Maybe I’ll change it one day.  Who knows.”

       “Why must you always miss the point?” he sighed with frustration. “What the hell is a fucking sin anyway?  Is the fact that I swore just now a sin?”

       “Don’t be dumb.  You know it’s an open debate.  Me, I have no problem with it.  But my grandmother, on the other hand…”

       “Ex-act-ly,” he interrupted theatrically. “And my whole point is made.  That was the line you drew, darlin’, and the point is, who the fuck cares?  My job, incase you hadn’t noticed, is stripping away those godforsaken lines – and for your information, I never did say I liked my job, but hey, somehow people like me attract that kind of prejudice.”

       “What the hell are you talking about?”

       He rolled his eyes. “You people, you think the modern world bought you your freedom from constraint.  And that is the ‘crock’, darlin’.  Why in fuck’s name should you need to draw any freakin’ lines anymore?  But you do, and the only thing this so-called ‘freedom’ has done is to make you terrified of crossin’ over them!”

       “But aren’t you supposed to help us get over that?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

       “Hey, what d’you think I am, a bleedin’-hearted shrink?” He jabbed her in the chest with a sharp finger. “Man, I get called in by people like you, I get paid to do what you tell me to, an’ I do it, no questions asked!  I take away your inhibitions and your chains, but your fear?  Sorry, lady, but that’s for you to deal with.”

       “So you’re saying that if you fear your dark side, you go…crazy?” She finished off the sentence on a whisper, forcing out the horrible word.

       “Oh, some go crazy.  The lucky ones just fall into their own insular little dream world.  The unlucky ones, as you’ve so helpfully given me some examples of, start inflicting their insanity on other people.”

       He looked annoyed.  She guessed people didn’t often question his work.  She suddenly wanted to ask him: - ‘Does one’s dark side have a dark side itself?’

       “Now if you don’t mind,” he began, looking at his expensive gold watch (she wondered where he’d got it from). “I have a date to keep.  Hopefully she’ll be a lot less…demanding than you are.”

       “I knew it,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

       “What?  That I was cheatin’ on you?” He grinned. “Girl, how many times do I have to tell you you’re special to me, before you start believin’ it?”

       “And what exactly makes me so special?” she asked him sardonically.

       “Because you’re the greatest challenge I’ve had yet.  An’ you know what they say – the players are always attracted to the women who present the biggest challenge.  Hunter-gatherer thing, y’know.” He gently took her hand in his and kissed it, before turning to leave.  When he had reached the other end of the pond, she called out to him.

       “Hey!…Am I going crazy?”

       “Hmm, let’s see…At the moment you’re greatest fear is of going crazy, so I’d say yes – you are going crazy.”

       All she could see was the flash of his white smile as he melted into the darkness.

       “I’ll cage you yet, you bastard!” she cried to his invisible form.

       “I’m sure you will,” his disembodied voice replied. “After all, only about 95% of the world’s population gets to bring their darker side full-circle.

       “And I’d call that a pretty fair chance, wouldn’t you?”