Chapter 6: Dance at the Brink(第六章:临界点的舞蹈)
Lauren's evening routine was different tonight. She moved with a restless energy, pouring a glass of wine instead of water. She scrolled through her phone, a frown etched on her face. The call from yesterday, perhaps. David. The name echoed in my mind, a ghost at our feast. I watched from the closet, my cache of stolen intimacies feeling like a lead weight in my pocket. She was hurting, and my presence, instead of feeling thrilling, suddenly felt… predatory.
劳伦今晚的作息有些不同。她带着一种焦躁的能量活动着,倒了一杯酒而不是水。她刷着手机,眉头紧锁。也许是昨天那个电话,大卫。那个名字在我脑海中回响,像我们盛宴上的一个幽灵。我从衣橱里看着她,藏匿的贴身战利品在口袋里感觉像铅一样重。她在伤心,而我的存在,非但没有带来刺激感,反而突然感觉……像捕食者。
She drained her glass and stood up abruptly. She walked to the stereo and put on music, but this time it wasn't ambient. It was something with a deep, pulsing beat. She stood in the center of the room, eyes closed, and began to move again. But this wasn't the sensual exploration of yesterday. This was raw, almost angry. A dance of frustration and loneliness. She whipped her hair, her body carving sharp, desperate angles in the air. The silk of her robe flew around her. At one point, she let it slide from her shoulders, standing there in just her panties and a camisole, the fabric damp with a sheen of sweat. The sight was devastating. It was vulnerability and power fused into one. She was a storm, and I was caught in her eye.
她喝干酒杯,猛地站起来。她走到音响前放音乐,但这次不是环境音乐。是那种带着深沉、脉动节拍的音乐。她站在房间中央,闭着眼,又开始移动。但这不是昨天那种感官的探索。这是原始的,几乎是愤怒的。一种充满挫败和孤独的舞蹈。她甩动头发,身体在空中划出尖锐、绝望的线条。睡袍的丝绸在她周围飞舞。有一次,她让睡袍从肩头滑落,只穿着内裤和吊带衫站在那里,布料被汗水打湿闪着光。这景象具有毁灭性。是脆弱和力量融合为一体。她是一场风暴,而我被困在她的风眼里。
My heart was a jackhammer. This was the pinnacle. She was offering a version of herself I was sure no one had ever seen. The urge to step out of the shadows, to make my presence known in some way, was overwhelming. Not to touch, never to touch, but to… connect. To let her know she wasn't alone in her pain. It was a stupid, romantic, dangerous thought. The prison stories flashed again, but they felt distant, abstract compared to the raw humanity in front of me. I took a half-step forward, out of the closet doorway. The music was loud. She wouldn't hear me. I could stand right there, at the edge of the living room, and just… be with her.
我的心像冲击钻。这是顶点。她正在展示一个我确信无人见过的自己。走出阴影、以某种方式让她知道我的存在的冲动难以抗拒。不是触碰,绝不触碰,而是……连接。让她知道她的痛苦中并非独自一人。这是一个愚蠢、浪漫、危险的想法。监狱故事再次闪现,但与眼前原始的人性相比,它们显得遥远而抽象。我向前迈了半步,出了衣橱门。音乐声很大。她不会听到我。我可以就站在那儿,客厅的边缘,只是……陪着她。
And then she stumbled. The wine, the emotion, the frantic movement—her ankle turned on the edge of the rug and she cried out, falling hard onto the floor. The music pulsed on, oblivious. She clutched her ankle, her face contorted in pain. A string of soft curses escaped her lips. She was hurt. She was right there, maybe ten feet from me, vulnerable, in pain, and completely alone.
然后她绊了一下。酒劲、情绪、疯狂的动作——她的脚踝在地毯边缘扭了一下,她叫了一声,重重摔在地板上。音乐仍在无知无觉地脉动。她抱住脚踝,脸因痛苦而扭曲。一连串轻声的咒骂从她唇间逸出。她受伤了。她就在那儿,离我也许十英尺,脆弱、痛苦,完全独自一人。
Every instinct screamed at me to go to her. My body thrummed with the impulse. This was it. The ultimate test. I could help her up. I could get her ice. I could be her phantom guardian angel. I took another step. The floorboard creaked. A tiny, almost inaudible sound, but to me, it was like a gunshot. Lauren's head snapped up. Her eyes, wide with pain and surprise, scanned the room. "Hello?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Is someone there?"
每一种本能都在朝我尖叫,要我去她身边。我的身体因冲动而震颤。就是现在。终极考验。我可以扶她起来。我可以给她拿冰袋。我可以做她的幽灵守护天使。我又走了一步。地板吱嘎作响。一声细微、几乎听不见的声音,但对我而言,却像枪声。劳伦猛地抬起头。她因痛苦和惊讶而睁大的眼睛扫视着房间。“喂?”她低语,声音颤抖。“有人吗?”
I froze. The fantasy shattered. The reality of the situation crashed down on me. If she saw a shimmer in the air, a disembodied hand reaching for her… it wouldn't be salvation. It would be terror. It would be the end. The police. The prison. The stories. The fear was instant, absolute, and paralyzing. I stood there, not even daring to breathe, a statue of conflicted desire and sheer terror.
我僵住了。幻想破碎。情况的现实压垮了我。如果她看到空气中一丝闪烁,一只无形的手伸向她……那不会是拯救。那会是恐怖。那会是终结。警察。监狱。那些故事。恐惧瞬间袭来,绝对而彻底,令人瘫痪。我站在那儿,甚至不敢呼吸,一座充满矛盾欲望和纯粹恐惧的雕像。
After a long minute, she sighed, believing it was her imagination, the pain playing tricks on her. She slowly, painfully, pulled herself up, leaning heavily on the couch. She hopped on one foot towards the kitchen, presumably for ice. The moment was over. I had my answer. I could not intervene. I could not connect. My role was to observe, to steal, to fantasize. The line between voyeur and participant was a chasm I could not cross, paved with the stark terror of consequences. I retreated into the deepest shadows of the closet, my body trembling with adrenaline and a profound sense of shame. I had danced at the very brink, and looked into the abyss. And the abyss, in the form of a simple, creaking floorboard, had stared back.
过了漫长的一分钟,她叹了口气,相信是她的想象,是疼痛在作弄她。她缓慢地、痛苦地撑起身子,重重靠在沙发上。她单脚跳着朝厨房走去,大概是去拿冰袋。那一刻结束了。我有了答案。我不能干预。我不能连接。我的角色是观察、偷窃、幻想。窥淫癖和参与者之间的界线是我无法跨越的深渊,铺满了对后果的鲜明恐惧。我退回到衣橱最深的阴影里,身体因肾上腺素和深深的羞耻感而颤抖。我在边缘跳舞,凝视了深渊。而深渊,以一声简单的、吱嘎作响的地板的形式,也回瞪着我。