The Gorgeous Slaughter

by Christina Hart

  “Is this new?” she asks, confused. “It’s kind of perfect for a wake…”

  I swallow and start fidgeting with my shirt. “Yeah, I got it a few weeks ago. I thought it would be good for a job interview.”

  “You have a job interview?” she asks, even more skepticism in her voice.

  I stand up and take the dress from her. “No, but I’m sure I’ll get one soon. I’ve been applying to places. Let’s just go get you something to wear. I’ll drive.”

  “Okay,” she says.

  The tactic works and we leave my house. There’s an excitement in my step, the kind I hide well from Nikki. I get to be there for Charlie, really be there. As me. At least this way I won’t have to hide my face or come up with some excuse if anyone sees me there. Because here it is, an invitation. And if AJ thinks it’s a good idea for a bunch of people to be there for Charlie, then I’ll be one of them, even if he has no idea who I am.

  Forty-Three

  I graduated high school this last June that passed with a wink of its eye. I’ll be turning eighteen in September. You may be wondering why you don’t hear me speak about high school that often. It’s because I hated it, almost every second of the entire experience. I think I left that place mentally long before I threw the cap in the air and accepted my diploma from the principal who hated me. I had a reputation as a troublemaker, and I earned it. All the charges pressed against me, the arrests, the “intermittent explosive disorder” episodes as the one shrink called them. Better known to you and me as blackout rages. I had quite a few, and some just happened to occur inside the walls of that high school.

  I attacked a guy in my class with a chair once when he said to me in front of the whole class that my own father couldn’t love me. I don’t remember doing it. I remember waking up, if you want to call it that, in an ambulance. They had called the police because apparently I just wouldn’t stop. I’m not sure I believe the extent of which they said I hurt him. He did have a broken nose, I’ll give him that. You could tell. But the ribs? I think he was faking it for attention. I think he just didn’t want to admit a girl whooped his ass. Even though he deserved it.

  Violence, to me, is usually not the answer. Except when it is. I may not be conscious of it, but somewhere in me, allegedly, is this thing that just sort of snaps. Goes haywire. Short circuits. But it’s not my fault that people are cruel, that they say things that lead to that. If everyone would just leave me alone and behave properly, these incidents wouldn’t occur and no one would get hurt.

  And do you think it’s fun for me? Waking up in strange places, coming to, having no idea what just happened. It wasn’t just when alcohol was involved, that’s what my aunt didn’t understand. She couldn’t wrap her brain around the fact that someone could “blackout” without overindulging in a few too many jello shots. She doesn’t understand the way my brain works. And neither do I.

  And everyone defaults to calling me crazy. Like it’s something I am, like it’s who I am. But I’m not. People make me crazy. I’m fine otherwise. When I’m in my room, alone, or with people who don’t instigate, nothing goes wrong, nothing bad happens. And I don’t think the problem is me. I think it’s them. All of them, out there. The people who like to poke you until you want to hurt them. The people who say mean things, for no reason. Why aren’t they the crazy ones? I find most people morally flawed. At least some part of them, somewhere, just doesn’t add up to being a decent human being. Sometimes you find it faster, it’s more obvious. Other times it’s a slow process, it trickles out like a gas leak and you don’t even notice, don’t even smell it, until everything blows up around you. Those are the ones you have to watch out for. The sneaky ones, the quiet ones. The people who can manipulate you without you even realizing it until afterwards. They scare me. They should scare you, too.

  Nikki found the perfect dress to wear. Of course, it had to be nicer than mine, a little more expensive, a little sexier. I’m not sure who she’s trying to impress but there is something nagging at me, that she does like him. Maybe it’s obvious and I just don’t see it. I think there’s a possibility that she wants Charlie to be her next thing. But she doesn’t deserve him. And she knows I like him. She’s known I’ve liked him for a while.

  There’s just something about the way she’s a little too interested in him, in my feelings for him. Jealousy can run deep and I don’t trust people with hardcore jealousy issues. The kind of people who need to prove they can have someone just because they can. Nikki is like that. Even if she doesn’t really like someone, she’ll want them just to prove to herself that she can get them. It’s like a game to her. And once she has them, she cuts them loose. And they’re left with nothing, including the person they left for her.

  I start the timer. It’s just after midnight now. I look at Tracy’s Facebook page for any conversation between her and Troy but I see nothing and decide that they are bad at this. At the beginning stuff. I wonder what Sarah’s doing, where she is. If she’s okay, if anyone actually died. Probably not. She talks about killing people and murder like it’s the weather. The voices are always telling her to do something. I’ll take blackout rages over hearing voices tell me to kill people any day of the week. Depression? Anxiety? Sure! Why not? But schizophrenia? I can’t imagine how torturous that is, how draining, how confusing. The voices in my own head are enough. If they dressed up like other people or acted like detectives and what not, I don’t know how I would handle that.

  At least my voices don’t tell me to hurt people. They say silly things, sometimes. They even crack jokes here and there. The weird part is I can’t tell if it’s me or them and sometimes I question them. And they answer back. But aren’t the voices in our heads just, us? Us talking to ourselves? I heard once that they were our guardian angels and I chose to believe that for a while. I chose to believe that they were good, and helping, healing. That the voices were people beyond us here to guide us. So I listened. I paid attention to them. And if they were ever mean I decided that voice was my own. That it was just me talking down to myself because I felt like I deserved it.

  But that’s just one more thing they didn’t teach me at school, what they probably didn’t teach you. How to choose what voices to listen to. What to name them. Whether to believe they’re yours or someone else’s. They probably didn’t force you to take tests either, did they? I’ve had lots of them. Some in classrooms, some in psych wards, but every time, I passed. A few people told me I was too smart for my own good. I think they meant I was too smart for their own good. Because I think they hear the voices, too. They just pretend they don’t. I think they’d like to snap sometimes, the way I do, let out a little release here and there. Just because you don’t “remember it” doesn’t mean that it doesn’t feel good. And if you want to know a secret, something I’ve never told anyone before, sometimes, I do remember it. I just say I don’t. Sometimes it’s easier that way.

  Forty-Four

  Saturday comes like a slow-moving vehicle that you feel stuck behind for a century when you’re just trying to get where you’re going. Nikki is at my house and we are getting ready, putting on our makeup. I don’t overdo it, of course. I put on a little blush, eyeliner, and mascara, the usual for me. Nikki goes a little further. Eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick. Her face almost looks like she’s going to a club and I watch her apply more lipstick, wondering why exactly she’s getting so dolled up. Sometimes I feel like I’m on a train with her. We just keep going around the same track, in circles, never really getting anywhere. I pass different conclusions on the way. She likes Charlie. This friendship is not real. She doesn’t even care about me.

  I should probably get off this ride, eventually. Today is not that day. No, today we are going to Charlie’s mother’s service. I will be there for him and he will see that. And one day, we will reminisce about how I showed up for him when he didn’t even know me, how he felt better for some reason just knowing I was there, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on the why of th
at. And I will smile and tell him it was because what we have is true love, something you can’t fake or pretend. The kind of love that exists in you before you even recognize it. Isn’t that what we’re all after?

  We hear a horn outside and both of us know it’s AJ. I take one last look in the mirror. My black dress is fitting. I smooth my hands over it, check my hair. It’s curly today thanks to the heat. I figure if he’s going to see me for the first time he should see the real me, no straightener, no lies. No pretending. This is too important to me. I imagine the different scenarios in my head. The way this day could change everything.

  I grab my little white crossover body bag and head for the door, following Nikki who snaps me out of my thoughts and says, “Come on.”

  I say hi to AJ as I get in the backseat. The ride is quiet for the most part. AJ and Nikki are agreeing how sad this is, how no one could have seen this coming. I’m not interested in talking about how sad it is, because I know the way this feels. The way it kills part of you, too. I put my phone on silent, check my notifications. I message Charlie from POTG.

  “Stay strong today,” I say. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

  I don’t start the timer. I don’t need to.

  We pull up to the funeral parlor and the parking lot isn’t completely filled with cars. Charlie graduated a while ago, so it isn’t like back in high school when someone lost someone and practically your entire grade went. And it wasn’t because everyone necessarily cared, most people went just because they didn’t want to miss out on anything, even if it was a death. Even if it rocked your entire world. There are a decent amount of cars here, though, and I look around, eyeing the parking lot for Tracy’s car. I see it parked right next to Charlie’s Jeep. She’s taking all the spots where I should be.

  We walk inside. Nikki links arms with AJ and I’m left trailing behind them like the outcast, like usual. The extra. Always the girl here by association, that’s probably how everyone thinks of me.

  We walk inside and I take one of the cards. I put it in my bag and my eyes scan the room. I see a bunch of kids from Charlie’s class, everyone is dressed up. Kids in Jersey rarely dress like this unless there’s an occasion. Prom. Weddings. Funerals. Top three. I look between the people standing in front of me and I finally get the right angle, between Brian Stewart and some guy I recognize from AJ’s party. There’s Charlie, all the way up front by the casket, in the first aisle. He’s wearing a black suit with a silver tie and I remember the suit he mentioned, the one suit he said he owns. He’s shaking hands with someone and now hugging them. The man to the left of him I’m assuming is his uncle. He’s older, gray hair. He looks nothing like him but that’s to be expected when you’re adopted.

  And there she is, at his right. Tracy. Dressed in black from head to toe, a dress with long lace sleeves. Black stilettos. Her blonde hair is so straight it looks like it was flattened by a book. Shiny, golden. Even from here I can see how healthy it is. How slim she looks, curves in just the right places. I think I hate her more seeing her this time around. Being here, in her presence, knowing what hell she puts Charlie through just by existing.

  We’re walking up the aisle toward the casket, toward Charlie. How will I be able to talk to him with her here? My heart is beating, skipping, doing little frantic remixes of all the songs that remind me of him. We’re a few feet away now. AJ is hugging Charlie, telling him how sorry he is. Nikki hugs Tracy, for whatever reason. Then she hugs Charlie, she’s whispering something to him that I can’t hear. I stand here, waiting my turn to see the love of my life. Waiting for my chance to hug him. I look at Tracy and all I think is Go away. Go away. Go away.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” she says to me, widening her arms to hug me.

  Is this fucking real? I’d rather gouge my eyes out than hug this monstrosity. I don’t want to get any of her bullshit in my hair. But I’m here, and Charlie is there, and I let her hug me because causing a scene at a wake is something I wouldn’t even do, at least, not on purpose.

  “We’re happy you could be here,” she says, when she lets go of me.

  We’re? I feel like screaming at her that there is no We’re. They are hardly still a We’re and this is a lie. All of this, what they are standing here doing. She is pretending she’s supportive and he’s allowing it. My anger fades to compassion when I see Charlie’s face. He’s hurt, tired of smiling at people and putting on a strong front. I can see it in his eyes and in the way his knees look like they want to buckle. In the way he casts me a sideways smile and nods. I can’t tell if he wants to hug me, he’s probably sick of that by now, too. But I open my arms and hug him, tight. I press myself closer into him, inhale his scent. I can almost taste his sadness. I squeeze a little.

  “I know how this hurts,” I say. “I know words don’t make it better but I am so, so sorry.”

  And then it happens. He hugs me back, tighter. I feel the warm squeeze around me and breathe him in again. He smells like cologne, a fresh, light scent that I could make a home from. It feels so right here, in his arms, both wrapped around me exactly as they should be. I don’t mean to but I rub his one arm with my hand, gently. It does it on its own. I am still breathing him in when I hear my name.

  “Love,” Nikki says.

  When I break from the spell, Nikki and Tracy are looking at me like I have done the unthinkable. They must have seen it, there, how comfortable we were with each other. How right it was. This chemistry, this spark. The way it could set the room on fire if we let it.

  I look at Charlie before I go. “That’s my name,” I say. “I’m Love.”

  Nikki grabs my arm and pulls me away like we’re at a show and I’m some groupie trying to get with the singer of the band. She pulls me down into a row a safe distance away. “What the hell was that called?” she whispers.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You were basically dry humping him,” she says. “God. Be cool. His girlfriend was right there.”

  I stare ahead at Tracy. His girlfriend. Right there.

  The pastor says some words. Charlie’s uncle says something moving about his sister. And then it’s Charlie’s turn to speak. I watch Tracy give him a kiss on the cheek and pat his back. He gets up there, nervous. I can see his hands shaking as he holds the paper in front of him. He clears his throat and I am hanging on every movement, every subtle expression. His voice is shaky when he speaks.

  “I never met my birth mom and I was never sad about that, because I had the greatest mom anyone could ever ask for. I’m lucky to have known her. And I will always be grateful that she chose me, out of all those kids, she chose me. I didn’t tell her how much I loved her. I just hope wherever she is, she knows now.”

  He sits back down and the rest is a blur. We don’t go to see him again before we leave. He’s visibly upset now, sitting, hand covering his face. I see his shoulders moving. He’s crying. And Tracy is standing up in a group of people, talking to them like everything is fine, while the man I love is falling apart, alone.

  Forty-Five

  I get home from the service feeling different things. Sadness. Anger. Confusion. A strange sort of desperation that you could only understand if you’ve been in this sort of situation before. One where you love someone so much, with every fiber of your being, and you have to watch them be loved less than they deserve by someone who is not you. I cannot get Tracy’s smiling face out of my head, and Charlie crying alone a few feet away. She was supposed to be there for him. I should have been there, holding him. It should have been me.

  I open my laptop and check Tracy’s Facebook. A picture of the flowers at the wake and the pastor who led the sermon with the caption “Sad day”. #RIP. #AlwaysInOurHearts. #NeverForgotten. She really had to hashtag this? If there is an emotion beyond rage, I think I feel it now, just like I felt it then at the service. Her smiling face, carefree, so selfish. Another picture is posted. A picture of the roses, but not the poem. The caption says: “When the universe sends you a
message, listen.”

  I cringe. How dare she post a photo of the roses on the day of Charlie’s mother’s wake? The nerve. I have the urge to strangle her for a few minutes and shake her. I want to scream at Charlie to end this now. Can’t he see how bad she is for him? How careless she is with his heart? I would never do that to him. I would never accept gifts from another man. I check Troy’s Facebook and he posted a photo of his dog. “Today is a good day.” That’s what the caption says. His most recent post was yesterday. A photo of the chocolate chip muffin. The caption says: “A present from the universe.”

  Oh. My. God. I go to close the laptop but only make it halfway. I put my hand over my mouth before I realize I’m doing it. This is it. They are realizing the gifts are from each other, that this is how it should be. The two of them, together, at every holiday party going forward. And Tracy doesn’t care about the timing. She only cares about herself. That much is obvious. I almost feel bad, doing this to Troy. Setting him up for failure. She’ll never love anyone as much as she loves herself. But I think he’d be okay with being second best. The trophy boyfriend she wants but doesn’t really need. And it’s all coming together. Here, now. Tracy and Troy are right about one thing, the universe is responding. Only it’s responding to me.

  Tracy is home. She wouldn’t have posted that photo otherwise. It’s getting dark. And I decide. I have to go see Charlie. I have to go make sure he’s okay. And I’m going as me. This is it. I don’t know what I’ll say when I get there but he needs me. I have already broken several of my own rules and nothing matters anymore. And Nikki? She’ll kill me. I know deep down this is wrong on some level. It’s not even that deep down. It’s just below the surface, just below my selfish desire for getting what I want. But Charlie needs me right now. He just lost the only mother he’s ever known.