by M. Billiter
“That’s a little extreme. Your cat died. Big deal.”
But it was. It was another loss. And the more that David couldn’t get that, the greater the distance between us grew.
“Bonita, I’m so sorry.”
I went to the kitchen and grabbed the trash can and the broom. Bonita was heavier than I remembered. I carefully yet sturdily brushed her body into the garbage.
I didn’t think it was possible to hurt more than I already did. My breakup stripped me raw.
I loved her. I thought she was the one. God, I really loved her.
“Love? You’re joking, right?”
“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”
“I’ll be quiet once you get this shit out of your system. Fuck, just write about it. And now that the stupid cat’s gone, you have no more excuses.”
“Bonita wasn’t stupid. If I hadn’t listened to you, she’d still be alive.”
“Bullshit. You hated her as much as I did. She took from you. She always took from you. Everyone takes from you.”
I reached for the bottle on top of the refrigerator, broke the seal, and drank greedily. The sooner the amber-colored liquid got in me, the sooner everything would fade to black.
“Fuck this.”
I couldn’t agree more.
I opened my laptop and started typing, only this time I changed the title of my entry from “A Killer’s Journal” to “A Killer’s End.”
* * *
A Killer’s End
* * *
Every day I feel alone. My family has always been there for me, but my loneliness gets the better of me. I’ve always been betrayed by those who are closest to me, so I never fully feel committed to family or anyone who attempts to help me through life. Once I trust someone, it’s only a matter of time before they stab me in the back. Or worse, break my heart.
Love is too heavy a price. It always brings sacrifice and despair. For all the love I’ve given, I’ve never truly received the benefits of its warmth. I’ve fought so hard to keep afloat in the darkness that always surrounds me, but every time I believe in the love of others, it only betrays me.
The only person you can depend on in this world is yourself. Once you lose sight of that, you’re truly lost. Friends are an illusion. Even David. He’s just another crutch so I don’t have to face the grim reality that my life is meaningless. The only thing an individual can rely on is their own personal strength and how they do without someone. And the truth is I really don’t have anyone.
* * *
The bottle of Wyoming whiskey beside me was a gift. And tonight it did exactly what I needed it to do.
* * *
I write so much better when I’m intoxicated because the fear of those reading my work disappears.
I normally write these entries when I’m drunk. It allows me to release feelings that are usually too much for me to handle when I’m sober.
Relationships die all the time. So do people. Why should I ever feel bad about either? There were so many times throughout my childhood where I wished my father would die, yet for some reason, God ignored my prayers and focused on someone less important.
David may be the name of the voice in my head, but he is ever so real and takes control whenever I choose to lose control, especially when drinking. He’s promised to never bring harm to me, my twin brother, or anyone in my family, but Bonita is dead, so his word is worthless. It also needs to be known that when I disappear, that’s when things get bad. And right now things are really bad.
Emotions and love work well for most people but not me. No sooner do I begin to feel the warmth of love and think that maybe things will work out for me than love betrays me.
All I want is for someone to love me—I mean truly love me—the way I love them. I want someone who will make sense of David. He’s only as strong as he is because no one is stronger. There is no one who protects me the way he does. And he never leaves. Everyone I’ve loved leaves.
* * *
I paused for a moment, stretching my fingers.
* * *
“See, writing helps. I’m the only one who stays. Everyone else leaves.”
“Not everyone leaves.” I shut my laptop and picked up my phone. There was one person who hadn’t left me—yet.
She picked up on the first ring.
“Mom.”
“Aaron, what’s wrong?”
31
David and Aaron
I didn’t know how she knew that I needed her. I lowered my head, and the years of hiding rolled down my face.
“Sweetheart, are you okay? What’s going on?”
“I’m….” I didn’t know where to begin.
“Now what? Are you really going to tell her about all the things you’ve done? How about that sorority girl duct-taped to the goalpost? Why not start there? That’s a good ice breaker.”
You did that!
“Sure, keep telling yourself that lie.”
I didn’t know what you did until after it happened. And even then I wasn’t sure.
“Oh, buddy, that’s what every psycho says.”
I didn’t! You took over my thoughts. I was lost to your influence.
“Do you even hear yourself? You sound weak and pathetic, and we both know your mom doesn’t do either of those well.”
You’re wrong. She’s my mom. She’ll understand. I’m her son.
“No, Branson’s her son. You’re just the spare.”
“Aaron, please, you’re scaring me. Say something.”
“My cat died.”
“Oh.” She took a beat. “I’m sorry.” A moment passed. “I didn’t know you had a cat. Does your apartment complex and lease allow that?”
“Lease? She’s more concerned with how this will affect her deposit. She doesn’t care about you.”
Shut up.
“Sweetie?”
“If this was Branson, she’d already be in the car driving to him.”
The more David and my mom competed to be heard, the more I sank into the darkness. It felt like I was drowning, and I just needed someone to throw me a lifeline. I reached for the bottle and drank until I thought I’d puke.
“What can I do?” she asked.
Grab it. My voice, not David’s. I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my shirt. Tell her.
“Ma, I’m not okay.” My voice cracked, and I began crying. “My cat died, my girlfriend’s pregnant but she’s not keeping it, and I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind.”
“Oh, Aaron.” Her voice was home. “Pregnant? Oh, sweetheart.”
I swallowed, but my voice was still stuck in my throat.
“That’s a lot. You’re not losing your mind,” she said with a gentle chuckle. “Dear Lord, that’s a lot for anyone.”
I nodded. “Yeah it is.”
“That’s right. Keep it to the minor league. Cat died, girlfriend’s pregnant—she can handle that.”
Fuck you.
“So tell me about this girlfriend,” she said.
“We’re not together anymore.”
“I’m sorry. Is she okay?”
“If you mean did she have the abortion yet, I don’t know,” I said and instantly regretted it.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Ma, I’m sorry. It freaks me out how much I’m like Dad.”
“Don’t say that. You’re nothing like your father,” she insisted.
“No, seriously I am. I would get super angry at my cat and hit her.” I tested the waters. How much could I tell my mom?
“Is that how she died?”
It was a legitimate question, but it made me sick. I took another chug before I answered.
“No. I mean, I don’t think that’s what killed her. I’d get these heat flashes and hit her with the broom or a dart gun.” Every crime against my cat poured forth as easily as the whiskey. “She was always making a mess, so I tied her to the water heater.”
My confession was met by silence.
“Ma?”<
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“I’m listening,” she said, and I laughed.
“Or are you trying to figure out how to disown me?” I asked.
“Aaron.” Her tone was sharp. “I’m trying to understand. The things you’re telling me don’t sound like you. That’s not my son.”
“Ma, you don’t know what I’m capable of.”
“I’m sure that’s true. But I know you.” Her voice cracked. “I know my son. And he’s the light of my life.”
I lowered my head. “No, Ma, that’s Branson. Or Jack. It’s not me.”
“Is that what you think?”
I shrugged. “Ma, I’m the one you go to when things are broken.”
There was a brief pause, like she was weighing what I’d said against the truth. “Oh God, Aaron, I’m sorry. That was never my intention.”
“Eh, it’s nothing.” I tried to brush it aside the way I did with Bonita. “I’m used to it.”
“Sweetheart, I think you’ve had a lot going on, and it sounds like you may need to talk to someone.”
I laughed. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ma. I just told you that I tied my cat to a water heater and occasionally hit her, that my girlfriend would rather terminate our baby than have a relationship with me, and you think I may need to talk to someone? I think that ship sailed a long time ago—like when I was five and you hid me in the washing machine so Dad wouldn’t find me. Remember that? Or how about the many times you got that babysitter who locked us in the closet so he could have his buddies come over. Maybe if I talked to someone back then, I wouldn’t be so fucked up now.”
The only sound I heard was the muffled cries of my mother.
“Oh, Aaron, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for what Dad did.”
“You’ll find out when you get older that when your children are hurt, you hurt.”
“Yeah, Mom, I kind of get that. I have a child—”
“You had a child.”
Fuck you, David.
“Are you ready for a baby?” she asked.
The question took me off guard. It was like my mind blanked before I could answer. “I don’t know.”
“A baby is a full-time responsibility. It’s a lot for anyone. I was in my late twenties when I had you and your brother, and I wasn’t nearly prepared.”
“That’s because of Dad.”
“No.” Her response was instant. “There were a lot of good years between your father and I before… before the abuse progressed.”
My mom didn’t talk about her marriage to my dad. Or not with me, at least. I didn’t get the heartfelt talks; I got the to-do lists. I sank into my futon, tucked my bottle beside me, and listened.
“It’s taken me years of counseling to understand the control dynamic that was in my relationship with your father. It was there from the get-go, but I was young and in love and only saw what I wanted to see,” she said.
I did the same thing with Hannah.
“But even with your dad by my side, I was overwhelmed by the thought of motherhood. I didn’t know if I had what it took.” She softly laughed. “And I’m sure you and your brother would agree I was in over my head. I know I wasn’t ready for a baby when I was in college.” She paused. “Anyway, I’m not sure if any of this helps you.”
Her voice felt like a hug.
“Hannah said it wasn’t part of her plan.”
“That must’ve been hard for her to tell you. And I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you to hear.”
“Yeah, she was pretty broken up.”
“I imagine. Aaron, I don’t know any woman who makes that decision lightly. I know I didn’t.”
I sat up and the bottle rolled away from me. “What? You had an abortion?”
“I did.”
“When? Was it with dad?”
“Oh, Lord, no. He was too controlling with sex. There wasn’t any chance for an accidental pregnancy.”
“Okay, ew.”
She laughed. “Well, you did ask.”
“So if it wasn’t with Dad, then when did it happen? Was it with Jack’s father?” I never mentioned that scumbag’s name. I didn’t know what was worse, an abusive father or one who abandoned his child. My little brother was only four when that douchebag hitched up his fifth wheel to his truck and walked out on us. He left my mom and his only son so he could be with his “one true soul mate.” Turned out his soul mate was Megan, a much younger woman he used to work with at some cattle ranch. Whatever. I hope he got a disease.
“Why are you focusing on him? Some people are just damaged goods.”
I shook my head, trying to ward off David’s voice. Shut up.
“No, it wasn’t with Jeff. It happened much earlier in my life. Right after college,” she said, and my mind was blown.
“Really? Who was the guy? What’d he think?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean? You don’t know who the father was?”
She laughed. “No, I know who the father was, but I never told him.”
Her honesty pushed me back into the futon. “Mom, that’s pretty fucked up. He had a right to know.”
“That may be where we differ.”
“What the hell, Mom? It was his child too.”
“Aaron, there were circumstances.”’
“What does that mean?”
“It means that it’s something I don’t talk about and won’t discuss with my son. But I can tell you that it was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No.” Her voice regained strength. “I think that’s why I don’t dwell on it. At the time, it was the right decision and the choice that made the most sense with where I was in my life.”
“Huh.”
“But this isn’t about me,” she said. “You’ve lost your cat and now this young woman.”
“Hannah. Her name’s Hannah.”
“Aaron, it’s a lot. Plus, you’re in your senior year of college. There’s a lot on your plate.”
“Yeah, maybe it’s better this way. It’s not like I can change anything.”
“Couldn’t you?”
Shut up.
“Sweetheart, if cancer has taught me anything, it’s to not dwell on the things you can’t change. I can’t change that I had cancer—or have. But I can change how I view it. You can’t change that your cat died. And you can’t change what happened with you and this young woman. All you can control is what you can change.”
When I didn’t say anything, she continued.
“You can change how you treat animals. And you can change how you view this breakup. You can focus on it and hurt and shut yourself off from the world, and trust me when I say I know that doesn’t work. Or you can choose to move on.”
“It’s not that easy,” I said.
“Oh, dear heavens, don’t I know that. It’s not easy, and it stinks. There’s a time to mourn, because that’s what it boils down to is loss. When I lost parts of my body, I had to mourn that. So feel the hurt, but just don’t get stuck in it.”
I nodded as if she could see the gesture.
“I’m not sure if Branson’s told you, but he started going to this counseling center on campus. It has an awful name like ‘depression depot’ or something like that. I can’t remember, but I know it’s helping him. Is there something like that at your campus?”
“I don’t know.” And I didn’t. “Ma, I’m not a fan of shrinks. I mean, look at what happened with Branson. He’s had two different shrinks, and they always screw with his medications. And Trevor still came back. It was a nightmare.”
“This isn’t a psychiatrist, it’s a therapist.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not that far gone. I have things under control. Branson’s problem is that he lost control and let Trevor take over.”
“Trevor came back because Branson didn’t know what was happening to him.”
“Oh, he knew. Trust me, Mom, he knew. It’s hard not to know.”
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“Aaron.” Her voice subtly shifted. “What do you mean?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“No, it’s not nothing. Are you hearing voices?”
“Look at Mom. Isn’t that the million-dollar question? So now what?”
I don’t know. Shut up.
“Is that why you thought you were losing your mind?” Her tone was filled with tension. “Do you need to see a psychiatrist?”
“I don’t know what I need, Mom. But I don’t need a lecture.”
“This isn’t lecturing, Aaron.” Her backbone came out when I sounded like my dad, who forever told her she lectured him. “I’m your mom, and I’m worried. You’re an identical twin. There’s something like a 40 percent chance that you could have schizoaffective disorder.”
“Not that you did the research,” I said.
“Of course I did the research. I’d be a fool not to.”
“I don’t like this version of your mom.”
It was the first time in a while that David and I agreed.
“Yeah, well, I’ve done my own research. I know about the genetic predisposition, but that’s all it is. There’s no evidence that says I’ll be as screwed up as my brother.”
“Stop! That’s enough. Your brother is no more responsible for his mental illness than a diabetic is responsible for their diabetes.”
“Oh, but that may be where we differ,” I said, mimicking her. “Someone can eat their way into diabetes the same way your favorite son fanned the flame of his psychosis. The first time he had a mental break, I get it, he didn’t know. But when Trevor came back, he knew. But hey”—I shrugged—“it was Branson, so no one held him accountable.”
“That’s not true.”
“Shit, sell that to someone who’ll buy it, like Carson or Jack. They’re still drinking your Kool-Aid.”
“Aaron.”
“Uh-oh. Now you did it.”
Shut up. You’re not helping.
“Oh, what, Mom, too harsh?” The alcohol finally did what I wanted—I no longer felt anything. I was numb.
