Like a beaten dog, or spouse, or almost anything, he kept going back to her. But this idea of her, a picture, framed in his mind just above his consciousness. And then no, no, he'd draw himself away, shun the thing, go over and over again in his mind the things she'd said to him not all that long ago. Stop, he'd tell himself, stop, he'd say. But he couldn't, or he didn't want to, and that's always enough. And none of t was her fault, she was no abuser, she knew very little of this. But he imagined what she might say, her look at the picture and hear it talk, telling him no, and no, and no again. Asking him to stop.
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