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“There is no such thing as a Bajoran woman…”
It disgusted me, the implication that I was no different than the spineless, insipid comfort women that surrendered under your control for personal savior- still, I remained silent.
“...who cannot be tamed.”
The notion that I was a mindless animal instead of a calculating creature of conviction insulted me- still, I remained silent.
“Some require a more... suitable handler...”
I hardened, determined to prove to you that I was forged of steel, that I refused to bend, that the spirit of Bajor was something you could never own- still, I remained silent.
“I look forward to such a challenge.”
Patiently, I waited, reflecting on how I would degrade and humiliate you the way you allowed them to do to me, seeking guidance from the Prophets, for Them to grant me strength- you never came, but the barless door of my cell was, at last, wide open to stay.
After five years, patience turned to ruthless obsession, but I kept the vow of silence, head held high as I walked out of my prison, still refusing my robes, my fellow Bajorans throwing food at me, spitting in my face, blaming me for all of the lives lost due to my “pride.”
How could they not see it was their pride, their recklessness, that killed their families and friends? How had they not realized hit-and-run tactics would not end our suffering? Had they no faith in the Prophets, or had they thought the Federation’s involvement the sign the were looking for?
The Federation. Another would be oppressor on our doorsteps, openly invited without so much as a consideration for the way of life we wished to restore- that I knew we must restore. Though I had never felt Their touch, I knew this was not a sign of freedom, but a sign of true slavery, of sadistic evil, a threat to the very fabric of our faith in Them.
You would have to wait, I decided- the immediate danger being more important than my personal agenda. The Prophets would grant me the patience I had lost, would guide my way until I could enact Their vengeance for what you had done to me, to all of Bajor.
I took whatever means necessary to restore the faith of the misguided children who believed an outsider, a Federation officer, to be Their Emissary- including covering my soul with the filth of greedy, easily manipulated men who had no inkling of what holding true power meant.
Wisely, I was chosen to be Kai, yet they refused to see that without my leadership, they were lost, wandering blindly into snare after snare, allowing this supposed Emissary to poison their minds as you had once tried to do.
Again, I had become consumed, this time with proving myself worthy of a place I was naturally meant to be, knowing that Bajorans needed a strong, faithful light such as myself to guide them from the darkness.
My failure to recognize your voice plagues me. I had memorized every inflection, the timing of every dramatic pause on point, every vicious laugh that froze my anger in place through the ancient wood that had separated us during the Occupation.
I had grown complacent, I know that- past indiscretions pushed far down into my stomach, making me too out of focus to hear the treachery you whispered in my ears.
Perhaps the truth of the Prophets’ deception had blinded me to yours, perhaps I was all too eager to believe I had finally been rewarded for my blind devotion- perhaps the warmth of your smile, the gentleness of your touch, blinded me more than I wish to admit to myself.
I’ve opened my eyes, now. I know there was no Anjohl Tennan at all, only a more dangerous Emissary than the one I had already determined to prove false- and now you’re in my bed by choice, your deceptively serene face content, as if you had achieved a goal you’d set long before now.
Your lie-soaked touch still lingers on my skin, causing my insides to flutter like a school girl. It nauseates me, though, I must admit, not as much as the vile film of grime Jaro left upon me- I don’t know if that disgusts me more, or gives me temporary relief.
The Prophets forsake me, but perhaps there was something to be gained from the Pah Wraiths’ touch. Surely if They had chosen to smile upon me, it meant that They wouldn’t forsake me, that They are who would walk with me as I brought about faithful peace to my children.
You roll in your sleep, your arm reaching out to for me, your eyes lazily opening when you find nothing but empty bed beside you. “Back to bed, Adami,” you demand with ease. “We have a long walk tomorrow.”
I smile, the love on my lips equal to the hate in my heart, my voice locked in my throat as it had been so long ago. I slide back to my place, what’s left of my pagh in as many knots as my stomach. You pull me into an embrace as deceptive as your skin, and I mold against you with the same ease of your demand, knowing that this was the only way to accomplish my goal- as it often was.
“Why so quiet?” You drawl the words into the crook of my neck, your breath sending an intrusive shiver down my spine.
“Thinking of yesterday...” I reply, my shaky voice silky enough to strangle as I feel the smugness permeate my skin- a smugness that I am not at all ashamed to admit to myself is your most attractive quality. “And of tomorrow, of course.”
Your non-verbal response is disappointingly predictable, yet I find myself craving the next kiss against my shoulder, as I have never before with any man, as I possibly never will again. I know I should feel shame to go with my loathing of you, but I also know it will get me nothing. Giving into this, allowing myself to feel something beyond bittered disdain, is the only way to save myself- and Bajor, of course.
I will use this to my advantage, as I always do. I will allow you to briefly handle my body as a means to an end, but know one thing: my spirit will never be yours to tame.
"Adami."
And, simply put, you've run out of time to try.