The Gorgeous Slaughter

by Christina Hart

  “No,” I say, sitting up closer to the edge of the bed. “Should I be worried about anything?”

  “There any reason in particular you have a fake ID?” he asks.

  “Many, actually. Are you going to arrest me just for having that thing?” I’m bold now. Questioning him. My tone is accusatory.

  “Well, while it’s illegal, it’s not enough to bring you in, really. So, to answer your question, no. I’m not. But I do need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, let me just start by saying I’m sure you’re aware that your record isn’t exactly the cleanest. So whatever it is that you think you might lie to me about, just get that out of your head now. It’ll do us both better if you’re just honest with me here, okay?” he says.

  I breathe in just enough to try to calm myself down without making him think that I’m nervous about anything. I shift a little. “I don’t know what makes you think I’m a liar, but I’m not. So go ahead. Ask away.”

  “All right,” he says, folding his arms together. “Where are you heading? You were going the direction opposite of your house.”

  “Yeah, I was. I was on my way to a friend’s house. He just lost his mother.”

  He nods and looks down, seemingly embarrassed to be being such a dick at a time like this. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I nod. “Anything else you want to know?”

  “You don’t seem to be under the influence of anything,” he half asks, half says.

  “I’m not.”

  “Why the fake ID? You know I have to ask. It’s, not only suspicious, but illegal to lie about your identity, as I’m sure you’re aware. You seem like a smart girl.”

  “I am a smart girl. And yes, I’m aware. But tell me, officer, do you have any idea what it’s like being a girl? Having to worry about walking down the street after dark by yourself? Wondering if you need pepper spray or a blade?”

  He clears his throat and is about to speak. “Well, n…”

  “No, you don’t. You also don’t know what it’s like to have an ex-boyfriend who likes to slap you around. Visit you in the middle of the night when you’re sleeping. Follow your every move. So yeah, I have a fake ID. Now that I’m turning eighteen soon I’m thinking about putting apartments in that name, just to be safe from him so he can’t find me when I move. But you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”

  “No. I guess I wouldn’t. Well, Ms. Landry, I’m going to have to put this on your record, and list it as an alias, but if it’s a safety precaution, I won’t confiscate it. I wouldn’t want to be the one to put you in harm’s way, is all.”

  I stare at him, without responding with words. Just a glare so he knows I’m not happy about this.

  He nods. “Well, your things are all here. You made a fine impression on the young paramedic who helped you tonight. He insisted we didn’t tow your car. It’s out in the parking lot, in a guest visitor spot in the front.”

  “Thank you. I do appreciate that,” I say. At least my car is here.

  “Of course. I appreciate your time, Ms. Landry. I hope you get well soon.”

  And with that, he tips his hat and leaves.

  And all I think is that was too easy.

  The doctor comes in a few minutes later to tell me I have a sprained wrist. He hands me a soft temporary cast and says I’m free to go.

  Forty-Eight

  I leave the hospital with my soft cast on and my discharge papers and my ziplock bag of belongings and my purse. I wish I could stop, find the paramedic who did this for me, and hug him and thank him and kiss him. He saved me tonight. He doesn’t know it, but he did. I would have kept going, blindly, in the rain right into a possibly worse storm by going to Charlie’s. It wasn’t a good idea from the start, and now I see that. Fate intervened. It wasn’t the time. The rain has tapered down and it’s barely a drizzle now. It’s the kind of weather that makes you feel damp just by being outside for fifteen minutes.

  My clothes cling to my skin like it’s their lifeblood. I am watching the grass try to dry as dew drizzles all over it. Fog. Humidity. Newness.

  The sinking feeling sets in. The police have my alias. I was just pulled over with it with no excuse, no real story. They will dig to see if I’ve used it before for things. It is possible they will find my Instagram page, my business, but I doubt it. There are too many Marissa Blacks out there, I’m sure. But if they do? Marissa Black, Psychiatrists on the Gram. They will not care what came before, or during, or perhaps even after. I am calculating how much money I’ve made this year in my head. Before, I never thought the IRS would come after me—I’ve made too little to be a real threat—but now? I’m not sure. I feel something in my gut, shouting at me. Call it intuition. This feeling. With a reminder. A soft cast on your right wrist after you hit a deer trying to be there for the man you love. Your patient. The person you are supposed to be consoling right now. The person you are trying to help heal while you’re out here running over wild animals.

  I get in the car and I want to throw up everywhere. I open my phone and have two messages from Charlie.

  “Call me when you see this please,” he said. “I need you.”

  Still in the parking lot, I plug my phone into the charger. Before I call him, I get out to assess the damage. The right tail light is broken. Smashed. There’s blood on the front of my car. Smeared across the front bumper with splashes of it all over my hood and windshield, along with a little hair. I feel ill as I look at it and I decide it’s best to look away for the time being. I make a mental note to go to the self-serve car wash near here so my car doesn’t look so disgusting.

  I get back in the car and turn it on, turn on the air. My pre-paid phone is at home. I didn’t think I would need it since I was planning to go see him. I block my number and dial his. He picks up immediately.

  “Hello?” he says.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I say.

  “I thought it might be. I normally don’t answer restricted calls,” he says. “What happened to your phone?”

  “I’m not at home right now, but it sounded urgent. Are you okay?”

  He laughs a little. “Do you not trust me with your actual number?”

  “Of course I do!” I say. I just can’t give it to you because one day you will have it. One day you will have it memorized.

  “Well, everything is okay, I guess. I don’t know. I think Tracy definitely has something going on with her coworker. That guy. They got each other stuff, presents.”

  “Presents? Why would they get each other presents?” I ask. Here’s my chance. Reel him in. Make this seem real because it is real. Plant the seeds, the doubt.

  “That’s a great question. Tracy left my mom’s service today and posted something. A picture of roses. They definitely weren’t from me. And there’s only one other guy who would have done that. The same guy I had a feeling about this whole time.”

  “Did she say they were from him?” I ask.

  “No, she didn’t have to. It’s obvious.”

  It really is, Charlie. It really, truly is.

  “And she got him a muffin,” he says. “Can you believe that? She got him a fucking muffin.”

  “Why would she get him a muffin?”

  “I don’t know! If she should be getting anyone a muffin, it’s probably me, don’t you think? I haven’t gotten anyone a muffin since I met her. Actually, I’ve never gotten anyone a muffin at all. Because one, that’s kinda weird. Two, I wouldn’t give gifts to other girls, even if they’re edible. I’m pretty sure he didn’t need that muffin to survive. He doesn’t look emaciated. The guy is like the hulk. He actually should probably stay away from the muffins if you ask me, but that’s beside the point.”

  “Yeah, he probably didn’t need the muffin.” I’ve never heard anyone be so infuriated about a chocolate chip muffin but this is all good, music to my ears. I let him rant and rave about the incriminating muffin and I smile a little bit. I’m even impressed with
myself here. And the universe. All of it. It’s beautiful sometimes, how it all works out, isn’t it? Sometimes magic does happen.

  “Ugh,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I just went on and on about a god damn muffin.”

  “It’s okay. Sometimes you need to freak out about a muffin,” I say.

  And he laughs. It’s a sweet sound. I haven’t heard him laugh in a while.

  “You wanna hear something weird, though?” he asks.

  “Always,” I say.

  “There was this girl today who came to my mom’s wake.”

  Thump. Thump. Thump. “Yeah?”

  “She…I don’t know. This is gonna sound crazy. But it felt like, she knew me. Like she knew what I was going through.”

  “What makes you say that?” I ask. My heart. It’s beating wildly again, and this time, with purpose. He felt it, too. This is real. Tell me this is real.

  “I don’t know. She hugged me and said she knew what I was going through. I think she lost her mom, too. Tracy doesn’t understand. She has no idea what this feels like.”

  “It’s important to feel connected with other people. Vital, actually.” I egg him on. This is right, Charlie. Feel that. Feel it course through you. “Had you ever met her before?” I push. Have you ever seen me, noticed me? Did you ever look at me and wonder who I was?

  “Not really. I saw her at a few parties. She’s friends with one of my friends. This girl who used to have a crush on me. She told me that girl was crazy, so I just sort of stayed away like anyone would, you know?”

  Red. I see red. Nikki. I knew she had feelings for him. But she told him to stay away from me? My best friend has been blocking this the whole time? Bitch. My eyes focus on a pole in the parking lot and I stare. I want to hurt her. The rage builds but it’s quieted by the high I’m feeling from his words. I’ve never felt this before. This mix of rage and excitement. My brain becomes foggy, delirious with hope.

  “Well, it sounds like that girl still has a crush on you. I’m sure that other girl isn’t crazy. Women do crazy things when they’re jealous,” I manage to say.

  “That’s true. I don’t know. I just, I almost don’t even care about Tracy right now. I feel like I should just end it before she does. Maybe give it a chance with this other girl. Try to get to know her.”

  “I think you should,” I say. “You deserve a chance at something special. You’ve been unhappy with Tracy for a long time.”

  “That’s true. That’s why I needed to talk to you. Okay. I think I’m gonna do it. Break up with Tracy.”

  “You should. I would do it now. Rip off the Band-Aid,” I say, encouraging him. “What’s the point in prolonging this any further?”

  “You’re right,” he says. “I’m gonna call her right now. And hey, you wanna hear something crazy?” he says.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Love.”

  “What?” I say.

  “Her name is Love.”

  Forty-Nine

  I hang up the phone with Charlie and savor this feeling, wishing I could bottle it up and sell it. It’s better than a drug, than booze, than the best high you’ve ever known. Have you ever been on a roller coaster? That feeling you get in your chest right before you take off? It’s like that. It’s like wanting something for so long, and then watching it start to manifest and take shape right before you, almost to a point that you can reach out and grab it and make it yours. My future, I just heard it come from the lips of the person I want to share it with. I just witnessed my destiny shake hands with karma and make a deal. I know what this means now, fate. Serendipity. It’s real. Good things do happen to good people sometimes, if you let them. If you force the universe’s hand a little.

  I look at my phone. I check Tracy’s Facebook. There’s nothing yet. It’s too soon. Charlie is probably telling her that it’s over right now. I almost smile, there, alone, in the driver’s seat of my car that has blood and hair mangled together all over the bumper. It might be a little messy, the way things work out for me, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  And then I realize I was wrong earlier. It’s not that I shouldn’t have gone to Charlie’s before. It just wasn’t the right time for it. The universe sent that deer out in front of me to stop me, to pause this, before I ruined what was coming my way. I almost accidentally altered my own course. And if everything happens for a reason, then I have faith that this was the reason. Charlie just needed a little more time.

  I get a text from Nikki.

  “Can I come over?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. “You can never come over again, actually.”

  She starts calling me, and I send her to voicemail. She calls me again, and again, as I pull out of the parking lot of the hospital.

  I head to the nearest self-service car wash. It’s about seven minutes away. During the short drive there I turn the music completely off, listen for any sort of odd noises coming from my car, and I hear none. Any sort of damage that was done seems like it was strictly on the outside. The car is driving fine. No lights inside are on and all the ones outside are. Nothing is broken. Nothing is ruined. My car is fine, and I am more than fine.

  My phone is still ringing as I pull into the car wash. I grab my wallet to find a few singles and head to the quarter machine. I make my way back to the single car station where I’m parked and look at my car. Did the deer make it? Is she alive? Is she dying alone somewhere in the woods? I look at it all. And I decide to leave it. The blood. The guts. All of it. So Charlie can see what I went through to be there for him. So he can visually see the way fate intervened, stopped me, let him come to this realization first.

  I inspect. The exterior damage isn’t bad, but I can see a difference. More scuffs and dents than before. But for a used car it’s not an eye sore. My phone is ringing again. I know it’s Nikki, calling incessantly, and I know I don’t owe her a response. But for all the years that we’ve been friends, I feel like I do. I watch the rain start pouring again from under the safety of the single car space I’m parked in and I silently thank the world that I have shelter above me.

  I answer the phone without giving her a chance to speak. “I know what you told Charlie about me. This will be the last time we speak. Don’t call me anymore.” I hang up the phone and watch the rain about twenty feet from me and try to breathe. I close my eyes and start to count. One…two…three…

  I hate her.

  I wait until the rain dies down. This summer rain, it comes like a force to be reckoned with, and then stops. And sometimes it comes again when you least expect it. I may have hurt Nikki physically, but this? This was worse. This was knowingly sabotaging your best friend’s life. Being so vindictive that you would tell the guy your best friend likes that she’s crazy and not to talk to her, while parading him around in front of her. While giving her false hope at the same time that there could be something there. It was evil.

  And I’m getting off the ride now.

  I couldn’t let her speak, let her defend herself. The only potential outcome of that would be me forgiving her, and I’d be back in the endless loop of her hurting me and putting me down. Sometimes you realize who you friends are based on their actions, their behavior, and sometimes you realize who your friends aren’t in exactly the sane way. I know what this means, that my friend count that was a whopping total of one just deflated to zero but you know something? In this moment, I don’t really care. It’s almost funny how quickly things change. How your world can go from nothing to something in an instant. I’m so used to it happening the other way around. Just a few hours earlier, I thought Charlie was just another mirage. Water in the desert.

  I get in my car and open my phone and check Tracy’s Facebook again. Her status says she is still “In a relationship with Charles O’Sullivan”. I check his Facebook, and his status hasn’t changed either. They could still be on the phone, I tell myself. This is real. It’s happening. They are breaking up. I check my messages on POTG and still have nothing ne
w from Charlie. I’m sure they’re on the phone right now. And when they’re done, he’s going to message me. But he won’t need the fake Love anymore. He’ll have me, the actual Love. And I’ll show up for him like he deserves.

  I watch the rain falling and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to fully let up this time but it does die down a bit. I check the weather, it’s calling for rain all night. But it’s okay, it just adds to the romance of it all. I pull up Charlie’s address in my GPS. The last address I had in here before the deer ran out in front of me and pressed pause on my plan, on our future. The inevitability that we were always meant to be together. You can’t stop these things. If something is meant to be, it will be, one way or another. And now, with Nikki gone, there’s no one left to tell me I’m crazy. There’s no one left to tell me not to go and do this. To tell Charlie how I feel. And in my heart, I know it isn’t crazy.

  Because he feels it, too.

  Fifty

  I drive to Charlie’s, listening to alternative indie love songs on Pandora. It’s the perfect playlist for our lives right now. I drive in the light rain, slowly, carefully. I have my high beams on when there are no cars in front of me just so I can see if any more deer are around. I’m thirteen minutes from Charlie’s house and every minute spent away from him is excruciating.

  I watch the time tick on the radio, counting down the moments until I’m in his arms. Finally. Where I’m supposed to be. I will tell him everything. Well, not everything. I can’t tell him about Psychiatrists on the Gram. I’m not sure that part of my life can stay now that he’s here. I don’t want to start our relationship off by lying about anything, and if there is even a miniscule chance that he might be creeped out that it was me the whole time, I can’t risk it. As much as I care for my patients, I care about him more.

  Charlie is worth starting over for. He gives me purpose, hope. Reason to believe that things will get better. And if it means giving up part of me to do so, then that’s what I’ll do. Because sometimes love asks you to sacrifice things. And in your response is the truth of how far you’re willing to go, how much you’re willing to compromise. Your response will tell you everything.