Expressionate

by Lucy Smoke

  I step out of the tub again, water running down my legs and turn off the tap. It’s only halfway full. How should I do this? I think. Email? Paper? Phone call? I know she won’t hear the message on her voice mail until it’s too late. I don’t think so though. I’m much better at writing than talking. So which is it, email or paper? Paper seems more personal. I head towards my room and sit at my desk. I take a moment to appreciate that this is probably the last time I will be here. I run my fingertips over the pale worn wood. I need to do this. It’s important. I have to make sure the people I care about can be happy. I have to make sure Trisha is happy.

  Tax won’t be happy, the little girl pipes up. He’ll be angry. He’ll be hurt. Do you want to hurt him again? She shoves the barbs deep, letting them puncture me. What she doesn’t understand is that this pain is nothing like what I’ll suffer if I choose the only other way out. I can’t go back. I can’t let Danny have me anymore.

  Grabbing a fistful of paper from my desk drawer and a black ink pen, I ignore her. My breathing – loud even to my own ears – echoes throughout the bedroom. The paper crumbles in my fist and I throw it. My hand touches the typewriter when I do and I still, staring down at it. A sharp rage tears through me and I shove the heavy machine off my desk. It tumbles to the floor scratching the wood of my desk, a piece of the antique typewriter breaking off and sliding somewhere else in the room. My hands hurt, as though they are fighting the turmoil inside. But it’s too late. I can’t be saved.

  I HATE YOU. Her words mean to hurt me, but they don’t. Because I don’t blame her. I hate me too.

  17 years old

  It’s over. I’ve done it. I had sex with Danny so that he’d let me stay with him. I need a place and he has one. This is the only thing he’s asked for. It actually doesn’t feel as disgusting now that it’s over. It’s different from my first time. It feels almost good, sort of, like a massage except maybe harder and only in one part of my body, and sweatier, and well...It’s not so bad. I can live like this. Danny groans and rolls out of bed. I stiffen, freezing with my hands on the sheets and my body turned to the side. Don’t look at me. Don’t say anything. Don’t look at me. Don’t say anything.

  “That was good,” he yawns disobeying my internal wishes. I shift and cover up with the yellow sheets on his bed. He looks at me and shakes his head. “No, no, darl’n,” he laughs. “I wanna see what I’m paying for. If you’re gonna stay here, I wanna peek when I feel like it.” He waits, his eyebrow lifted. What do I do in this instance? I suppose he’s right, but still…what do women in movies do? They play hard to get. Even though I already know I’m caught, still, I fight.

  “Why should I let you have it whenever you want?” I challenge. “I should make you work for it.” His eyes flash, and he grabs the edge of the blanket, yanking it away.

  “I am working for it, you Bitch,” he chuckles darkly, crawling up from the foot of the bed. His hand runs up the outside of my thigh. “I’m letting you stay here until you get on your feet. I’m taking care of you. I put a roof over your head and food in your belly.”

  “Not for free,” I accuse. Though, why would I expect someone like him to help someone out for anything less than this?

  “Are you saying you don’t like it?” he asks his hand cupping my right breast. I have to temper myself and keep from recoiling. His hand grips and squeezes.

  “I never said that,” I deadpan. I won’t admit that I absolutely despise his touch on me. Otherwise, I would have nowhere else to go. Being Danny’s plaything is a lot better than being with Anne, I tell myself. At least this is my choice.

  “Of course you didn’t,” he whispers, kissing my ear. His tongue comes out and enters it and I shudder against my will, but he takes it to mean that I’m excited rather than disgusted. “You wouldn’t lie to me, now, would you, little girl?” Danny licks my neck. I hate it when he calls me that. His tongue feels slimy and I want to cut it off. I don’t want it on me. He moves lower and I have to keep my breathing steady.

  “I know you want it,” he moans, rubbing against me. Don’t throw up, I tell myself. Deal with it. Just deal with it. It won’t always be like this. I can do this. His hands touch me, and I wonder if he can get arrested for molesting a minor like this. I shake my head though, then I would be in the same predicament, trapped with nowhere else to go. Or worse, I think. The police will surely make me return to Anne.

  Danny’s beefy fists curl around my ankles. I didn’t realize he’d gotten that low again, and then he jerks me down. The sheets fall off the bed and I gasp in shock. No. I have to stop this. But I can’t. I need a place to live. I could live on the streets. No. The police will pick me up and I’ll have to go back to her. All roads lead back to her. I can’t bear to see that woman again. I don’t know what will happen when or if I ever do. I just hope, at the very least, I can see Trisha. Someday.

  Danny spreads my legs looking down at me hungrily. Without thought, my hands come down in between them to cover myself. He growls and looks up at me. His face is irritated, and I wrack my brain for something to say to draw him away from this. I don’t want him to dirty me with his hands or mouth. I can’t stand that I’ve already let me do this to me. An idea pops into my head.

  “Bath,” I blurt. His face contorts into a confused expression at my outburst. “Let’s do it in the bath.” Maybe if I take him there, I can keep myself clean while I do this. He grins and backs off the bed, taking my hand and pulling me with him. I look down at his naked body and wonder how any woman could find him attractive. He’s already ready for me to service him again, as he puts it, and I’m more than ready to get this over with, and go curl up in a ball. I’m lucky that he’s allowed me to have my own room.

  “Come on then, little girl,” he pulls me towards the bathroom. He must have a thing for minors, I think. I wonder if he’s raped anyone. I wonder if I ever actually do tell him “no,” will he ignore it?

  As the tub fills, Danny gropes my breasts rubbing his face between them. His beard scratches my skin, making me wince, as he licks my neck and kisses my shoulder. I’m glad he doesn’t kiss my mouth. I think he knows that I don’t like kissing him. He tastes like cigarettes. But as soon as that thought comes to my mind he lifts his head and grabs my hair, pulling me in. His tongue is slobbery, and I hate it. He kisses me and slides his nasty cigarette tasting tongue into my mouth.

  “Oh yeah,” he groans. “You like that, don’t you? You like it when I treat you roughly and kiss you like this, don’t you?” He yanks on my hair and I know he doesn’t actually expect me to answer. He rocks against me as the water fills the tub. He takes my hands and holds them against the bathroom counter until they’re sore. I want to protest, but I won’t.

  When the tub is full, we get in and he continues to touch me in ways I wish he wouldn’t. I think that if I were anyone else I would cry. I wouldn’t be able to choke on my breath and hold my tears at bay if I were anyone else. When he grabs a condom from the counter and slides into me, groaning, I just want to die. I don’t want to be here in his arms. I feel like insects are eating me alive when he begins to move. He moves back and forth, and he reminds me of a pig the way he grunts. He moves against me and I shudder in disgust.

  “Come on, baby,” he pants in my ear. “Just like that. Oh, yeah.” He grunts and groans then pulls back and slaps my ass. It stings. “Move your fucking hips,” he snaps. This is too graphic. This is too much. I close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else; anywhere else as I do what he says and start to move my hips back and forth.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Shhhiiiit.” He finishes quickly and when it’s over, I lie in the tub. “Nice fuck, little girl,” he says as he gets out. Stripping the used condom from his cock, Danny tosses it, and then takes a piss before ambling into the bedroom.

  I wash, and I wash. I spread soap over my skin, hoping it will at least take away some of this feeling. Bricks. I need bricks. If I build a wall around my emotions maybe I won’t hate this so much anymore. Maybe I
will get used to it. Maybe I’ll be able to deal with who I am, what I am. A whore. Just like Anne said.

  I feel sick as I close the letter, tuck it into an envelope, and seal it. I stand up, but my legs are so weak that it takes a moment for me to be sure they will hold me up. I walk down the hallway, my breathing the only sound. It’s deep and harsh and choppy.

  Soft sobbing echoes in my ears. It’s not mine. It’s hers.

  I leave on my already wet bra and underwear. The water has grown cold, but I don’t drain it and start over. I won’t be able to feel it soon anyways. I step into the tub and shivers begin to wrack my body. The water splashes against my chest. Goosebumps trail my arms. I try not to look at them. I reach to turn the tap back on so that the tub can fill up the rest of the way. My body sinks into the water slowly as I keep my face just above the surface. It will be like going to sleep, I promise myself. Though, how would I really know?

  Please, she tries one last time.

  I ignore her and lift the pills to my mouth – there’s definitely more than four. So many, but they’re so small, none of them drop out of the palm of my hand. They slide down my throat catching like rocks, almost making me choke. I let my hands go and lay back. I sink up to my neck in the cold water. It runs over the side of the tub, but I can’t find it in me to care.

  You don’t deserve this, Love. She’s never said my name before and hearing her say it now cuts deeper than any of the earlier barbs. I wish you could have seen that it’s not your fault.

  It doesn’t matter now. Nothing does. This is the best choice I could make. I hope it happens quickly, I think as I sink further. I hear the water slapping the bathroom floor, until it’s water splashing on water. Overflowing. My limbs are too heavy to move. I keep my face above the surface as long as possible, though I know it’s inevitable. I want it to be inevitable, don’t I?

  That’s the question, isn’t it?

  I just want it to be over.

  My face slips under and I close my eyes. In the distance, I swear I hear Tax’s voice calling my name. Funny…so close to death and his voice is the voice I hear.

  25

  Tax

  Blood runs over my chin and down the column of my neck. My abs feel like ground hamburger meat, my legs like noodles.

  "Is this really the best he can do?" I hear someone in the crowd ask. "I thought he'd be better than this. They hyped him up too much."

  No, I think. I am better than this. I'm the best.

  I roar as I sink my fist into my opponent’s face. Cartilage crunches under the weighted force of my rage. Yes, that's it. Bleed. I turn and drive my knee into his face as he goes down. I know I've broken his nose. I wonder what else I can do. Dislocate his jaw? Blind him? I'm not weak. I'm strong. This isn't my best. I'm just playing around. I've barely gotten started. Tax is a man. Tax is a monster. Tax is—

  "Tax!" someone calls me, someone familiar. I jerk my head up, eyes wild. Keith is standing there on the outskirts of the crowd. He's standing on something, so he can be seen over all their heads. Low brows drawn down, teeth clenched tight. He calls my name once more.

  “Stop, Tax! That’s enough! You’ve won!”

  I turn away from Keith’s yelling and look down. The man they threw in here with me, though he must have at least 50lbs on me, is out cold. His face is wrecked – nose twisted and obviously broken. One cheek caved in, blood on his lips. I did that. I stare down at the man and wonder… why did I crave this? What made me want this?

  The cage opens, but I can't find the strength to move as two people come over to my opponent, lift him into their arms, and carry his unconscious body away. A ringing sounds in my ears as I’m prodded into the cheering crowd. $500 is pushed into my hand. It feels like acid on my skin. I shove it into my pocket – let it burn a hole there. I shove my way through the crowd, every clapping pat on the back, every 'good job' hits me like a stinging slap until I make it to the very outer ring of people and Keith is standing there, waiting for me with a frown on his face.

  "How did you know I was going to be here tonight?"

  He frowns at me. "I still keep my ear to the ground, you know," he snaps. "How else would I have gotten that flier in the first place."

  I turn my cheek. Fuck. I never planned on anyone I knew being here. I move around him and head for the door. "Well, hope you enjoyed the show," I yell, "'cause it's fucking over."

  Keith catches up with me outside the abandoned warehouse, catching my arm and yanking me to a stop. "What the fuck, man." He glares me down. "I thought you were fucking over it. I thought you didn't fight anymore. The other night was supposed to be a one-time deal." He glares at me for several moments more. I don't answer before he smacks his head, closing his eyes. Grief marks the hollows of his cheeks, under the dark circles of his eyes. "This is my fault, isn't it?" he asks. "I dragged you back into this hell, didn't I?"

  I shake my head sharply. "Don't be a fucking martyr. My decisions have nothing to do with you."

  "Oh? Then why?" he argues. "Explain to me right here. Right now. Why are you in there fucking someone else's life up? Dragging out a fucking match like you did in there? He was done – he was out, and you kept going. You could have killed him!"

  "Because I needed to!" I scream it into the night, causing several of the people filing out of the building to start and look at us before slowly backing away and hurrying to their respective vehicles. That's right, I think, run little rabbits. Before the big bad wolf hunts you down and devours you.

  "No, man, you don't." Keith takes a step closer and I clench my fist, reminding myself that he's a friend – an old friend. I don't want to hurt him. No matter how much my blood is still throbbing to take a pound of flesh from someone, from anyone. "That's just the anger talking. You don't really need to be in that fucking cage anymore."

  He's wrong. I need it more than ever now. I close my eyes and picture Love's face in my mind. Her pale skin, darkness in her eyes. It's just too much for the both of us to handle on our own. I'm not her fucking white knight. I'm not her fucking savior or her hero.

  "The thing is – Keith – man, I never left the fucking cage." I finally open my eyes. "Just let it go. It is what it is." With that, I turn and head toward the Jeep in the back of the parking lot. If I get pulled over tonight, I know I'll be taken to jail. I look like I'm coming from a goddamn crime scene and, honestly, I feel like it. Because if I ever wanted a chance with Love...at love, I probably just fucking murdered it.

  Despite my thoughts, I don't get pulled over on my way back to the apartment. But I do spend an unhealthy amount of time sitting in the car, staring at the front door to my building before I manage to let myself out. Instead of going inside, I let myself around back, where the pool area is. To the side, there's a little outdoor shower. I stand under the spray with my clothes still on and let it wash as much of the blood away as possible. But it doesn't wash away what I've done. My cuts and bruises still remain.

  When I can't stand the spray anymore – can't stand what it can't wash away, I turn the knob and finally, as if walking into battle, I head towards the building. The hallways are empty, as they usually are. Tonight, though, it feels like a ghost is following me, hanging over my shoulder, weighing me down. I brace myself against the door to my apartment, but I can't bring myself to turn the knob. Ally is on the other side – so are Cross and Blake. As soon as I walk in – dripping with water the way I am, with a bruise the size of a fucking apple on my face – they'll know where I've been.

  My hand falls on Love's door before I realize what I'm doing. It creaks open and I blink, confused. It's never left open. I push harder, letting it swing and bounce against the opposing wall. She must have been in a hurry. Unless...she's still here?

  "Love?" I move further into the apartment. It smells nothing like her in the foyer. The place smells nothing like her at all, but instead like there's a wet dog somewhere in the recesses of the apartment. I get to the hallway and look down when my boots hit water and it
splashes on my jeans. It doesn't do much that hasn't already been done – my jeans are wrecked and soaked through. But...why is there water in the hallway?

  Frowning, I move further down the hall, my boots splashing again and again. Did a tap break? This is gonna be a serious damage charge. The sound of running water reaches my ears as I pass by the bathroom, I pause and put my hand on the knob. When I find it locked, something insidious digs its way deep into the recesses of my mind.

  My mind goes blank.

  "Love?" I knock on the door, shaking the wood enough that more water comes out from beneath the barrier. "Love?!" I don't realize that I'm sounding panicked until my own voice ricochets throughout the empty hallway and reaches my ears.

  I pull back and take a breath before I raise my booted foot to the door. I kick as hard as I can and the lock holding the door closed breaks. But the water that has accumulated on the other side keeps it from slamming open. Wedging my leg into the doorway, I shove it and a wave of water at my ankles comes pouring out. I stomp towards the tub, bending down and turning the knobs so that the water is off when I notice...dark hair, curling like long roots spread throughout the surface of the water. I reach under the surface and meet flesh as my eyes adjust to what I'm seeing.

  "Love?" I yank her up. Fuck…No…She’s not… “LOVE!”

  “BLAKE!” I scream as I heave her out of the tub. Water laps at my knees as I lean over her “CROSS!” I scream as I feel her throat for a pulse. No. Please, no. Let there be a pulse.