Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit: That Which Destroys Me with The Alternate Ending

by Kimber S. Dawn

  Dammit! Focus, Stella.

  “I like whatever you like, babe. You tell me which one to choose. If ‘Twisted Obsession’ was yours, what cover would you want to represent it?”

  I blush before ducking my head, hoping he doesn’t see. I look at each cover, one by one. After I’ve looked at every cover, I pull the original two that I felt best fit the story away from the pack and point to the first one. “This one I like because the main character had so many conflicting emotions which in the end fractured his mind. His inability to speak, to voice what he was feeling, I believe was the main reason his sanity finally snapped, turning his love into a sick perversion or… ‘Twisted Obsession’. When I look at this cover, even though it’s a woman under the shattered stained glass screaming, I think it portrays the message behind the book perfectly. Who’s to say even though Renee seemed happy that she was? She could have very well been just as broken, if not more than John was. We can’t say because we only read his point of view. So, I think that concept ties this picture to the story as well. I see, man or woman—doesn’t matter - someone in the midst of a silent scream to stop their fracturing sanity with the broken mosaic of stained glass representing said sanity.” I smile at Jude waiting for his response.

  He nods thoughtfully and stares at the picture for a long time before looking up and smiling at me. “That’s deep shit, babe. I love it. You get this story on so many levels. I love that about you.” He points to the second picture, “Now, tell me what you see in this one.”

  I look over the picture slowly and smile. There isn’t any one thing about it that I can put my finger on or say to explain why I love it. In my opinion… I speak my rambling thoughts aloud, “In my opinion, it depicts the epitome of his obsession. Everything he ever wanted to touch, to see, but never got the chance.” My eyes run up the curve of her spine. She’s sitting on a bench, completely nude, with her arched back turned to the camera. Her hair is twisted in a sloppy French twist and her face is slightly turned, making her beautiful profile visible. In the picture, it looks as though she feels someone watching her and is just about to look over her shoulder in search of the person.

  Staring at the picture, I whisper, “She is his ‘Twisted Obsession’.” I tap the picture with my finger, “Bottom line, it’s so simple I don’t need to decorate my reasoning. It’ll only take away from the utter simplicity.” I shrug sliding both cover pictures in front of him. “That’s my two cents, babe.”

  His gray eyes flash to mine and I wink at him. “I can flirt just as well as you can, Mr. Preston.”

  He smirks, “Well, I’ll be damned. You most certainly can.”

  Jude and I meet for lunch. He kept calling it our first date and I kept telling him, and anyone he said it to, it’s just lunch. It was also exactly what I needed. He is always so much fun to hang out with. I forget all the problems plaguing my mind. And I laugh - constantly. Our lunch was so fantastic that when he drops me off outside my building and asks for a real first date tomorrow night, I don’t bat an eye before wrapping my arms around his neck and squealing, “YES!”

  However, now that I’m sitting in this cramped, God forsaken doctors waiting room… I don’t feel so hot anymore. Actually, I feel like I’m going to be sick, again.

  After sitting in the waiting room for a damn hour, the nurse opens the door holding a file. She finally, thank GOD, says, “Stella Reese?”

  I walk towards her and smile half-heartedly. “Hi,” I say when I’m close enough for her to hear.

  She holds the door open and motions for me to walk ahead, “Hi, Stella.” She points to the scales. “If you want me to hold your bags, I just need to get your weight.”

  “Oh, sure. Thanks.” I hand her my stuff and step onto the scales.

  Huh. You’d think without eating for a week I’d drop a few lbs.

  “Okay. Follow me.” She leads me to an exam room and points to the paper covered table. “You can hop up there. So, what’s been going on? You told the receptionist you’ve been nauseated for… Oh, wow. Five days as of yesterday. What about today? Any nausea?” She looks up at me.

  “Yeah, earlier. But I did eat some soup and a few crackers for lunch and kept it down; well, so far.” I shrug my shoulders.

  “Hmm… Okay, let me take your vitals first.” She opens a cabinet above the sink before setting a container beside it. “Then I’ll need you to give me a urine sample. If that doesn’t give us any answers, Dr. Thomas may want to draw some blood.” She walks over and wraps a blood pressure cuff around my arm before shoving a thermometer under my tongue.

  After the monitor beeps, she scribbles on my chart, removes the cuff from my arm, and takes the thermometer out of my mouth. “Your vital signs are perfect. That’s good news.” She smiles at me like I passed a test or something.

  Yay! Way to go vital organs! You win again!

  She hands me the container. “Here, follow me. I’ll show you where the restroom is.”

  After she points to the bathroom and explains what to do with the betadine swabs - that I refuse to elaborate on - she says, “Just leave your urine specimen in the metal cabinet. Then head back to your exam room, room number five. The doctor will be with you as soon as he can.”

  I have scrubbed my hoo-ha with cold brown cotton balls, pissed in a cup that I wrote my name on and put it in a metal cabinet with two way doors, washed my hands and awkwardly - because I know that all these people know that I…just now, in that bathroom… scrubbed my hoo-ha with cotton balls soaked in brown stuff - walk back to exam room numero five.

  Another thirty minutes passes and I’m on the brink of declaring to never, under any circumstances, return to any doctor – ever - when the doctor walks in.

  Hmm… Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?

  “Ms. Stella!” The older man cheerfully announces. He’s impressed with my vital organs, these things are always showing off, I swear.

  “Doctor Thomas!” I mock his excitement.

  He laughs and shakes his head before flipping through my chart. “Your vital signs are awesome. That’s good. Urine came back okay, other than you’re dehydrated, but with the number of days you’ve been sick, that’s expected.” He looks up from my chart and smiles before sitting down.

  “Crap. So now you’re gonna take my blood?” I really did not foresee me getting stuck today. My blood is fine, ask my vitals, they’ll tell you.

  “Ahh… Well, yeah. It’s kind of standard protocol for your diagnosis, Ms. Stella.” He sets my chart down on the counter before pulling his glasses off and setting them on top. He pinches the bridge of his nose for a second then looks at me with stark seriousness rather than the cheerful happiness that was there seconds before.

  Fucking dread bathes me inside out. I suddenly become terrified of the words this man is about to say. I want to tell him to shush! Not to tell me. I’d rather live in ignorant bliss! I chastise my epic failure of an excuse for vital organs…for only behaving when the nurse is around.

  Please, God don’t let it be Cancer. Please, God don’t let it be cancer!

  “Ms. Reese, when’s the last time you’ve had a well women’s check-up?”

  Wait. What?

  I blink at him.

  “An OBGYN? A woman’s doctor… They specialize in women’s health? Babies, menstrual

  cycles…”.

  “Oh! Okay.” I laugh. “Hell, doc. I don’t know? More than five years, I think.”

  His nod and facial expression leads me to believe my answer isn’t exactly sufficient.

  “Is the reasoning behind that because you’ve just recently become sexually active?”

  Whoa! Whoa! Nuh uh, no damn way, doc. I know where this shit is headed and my stomach bug has nothing to do with my vagina or how frequently it bleeds.

  My defenses have triggered and been raised. The therapy patient inside me flares to life and ensembles my use of closed-ended answers.

  “Yes.” I nod curtly.

  “Well, that’s certainl
y understandable.” He smiles. It’s awkward and fake as hell.

  “Hmm.” I respond, unsure if a yes or no is appropriate.

  “Okay.” He pulls a prescription pad from his pocket, gum wrappers that were also in his pocket fall and litter the floor unnoticed. “I’m going to refer you to a very good friend of mine. Best OBGYN in New York City. You’ll love her.” He says while writing something on his pad.

  “Sounds fun.” I lie with the same fake ass smile still on my face knowing damn good and well that God himself won’t be able to drag me to see this ‘friend’ of his.

  “Are you interested to know why I’m referring you to the best OBGYN in New York, Stella?” His voice is laced with authority and condescending tones that raise my hackles even further.

  “Because you care about the health of my vagina?” It takes everything I have to not giggle like a damn girl.

  “Stella, your urine pregnancy test came back positive.” Exhaustion coats his statement.

  Whoa! Wait! I’m fucking sorry… WHAT?!?!

  “Positive? Positive, as in YAY! I passed?” I’m scrambling for straws over here, mister. Shit! Give me something!

  Please let it be cancer, please let it be cancer!

  Dr. Thomas stands and, before leaving the exam room, hands me the prescriptions. “This is your referral to Dr. Hughes.” He taps the piece of paper. “And this one is a prescription for your prenatal vitamins. Congratulations, Stella. You’re pregnant.”

  Ahh… Again, I’m sorry, Fucking WHAT?!?!

  Chapter 28

  Vengeance

  When your world has been ripped from beneath your feet, when the only sliver of goodness, the one and only thing you’ve ever loved, the last snippet of purity, spoils before your very own eyes, it doesn’t just leave you angry or disappointed…

  …It rocks you to your very core, the fundamental cellular level that lies beneath. It churns curiosity fervently, generating a mere habit into a maniacal infatuation.

  My demons are insatiable with Beauty. However, where I want Beauty’s blood coating every inch of my skin, the demons only yearn to be the reason she smiles.

  After the first night, she pleased Mr. Sims and apparently liked it enough to keep quiet as well as never mentioning it to friends in an effort to prevent the rumor mill from learning about her whorish behavior. Even with all the disappointment she laid upon me, I still made a vow to myself to always, no matter what, be there when she needed me. The problem with my vow was, nine times out of ten, the codependent is too confident to accept that they are indeed codependents or they are in denial.

  Those key factors mix, preventing her from seeking out my help before she understands I am the only thing that can truly save her. Her lost pureness leaves nothing except stained Beauty in its wake.

  At first, I tried convincing myself that her age put her at a disadvantage. I wanted so badly to believe her too naïve to understand what she was doing was unacceptable. And it helped choke the anger out for almost a year.

  Until it dawned on me one night as I lie there listening to their grotesque concert orchestrated with his grunts and her cries with the squeaking springs, she has done this before. Her dreams alone, the same dreams that lured me in, bewitched me into falling in love with her, are enough proof that she isn’t naïve. No, of course she isn’t. All along, this was Beauty’s game… And I played right into it. Consuming any and every glance, smile, or sound I could gain for sustenance.

  Like every man in the history of men starting with Adam and Eve, I’ve allowed myself to be blinded, used as an emotional puppet, pushed around on a chessboard by a mastermind that I – me - I was naïve enough to wholly believe and profess her beauty derived from her pureness.

  A switch flipped inside me. Rage. Rage more potent than any other emotion I’ve ever felt surged and surged through my through my veins, driving forcing my sanity to its brittle brink.

  I sat quietly concocting and strategizing the perfect plan. Watching. Weeks turned into months and I was patient, I continued to plan. Until the day came and I set the wheels in motion that would lead to Beauty’s ultimate downfall.

  Leading to my long awaited payment, my vengeance… Her blood.

  The plot I created was easily enacted; A note placed here, a note placed there. An inconspicuous minute tattle tale whose weight was great enough to trigger a man into unleashing his ravaging beasts upon a girl.

  I spoke. To another human. Once I knew my conspicuous notes had been found in the order which I’d intended, I muttered shyly with confusion apparent on my face the tiny tattle tale to Mr. Sims. “I saw her and her friends giggling and only caught a part of what she told her friends. “His is the smallest I’ve ever seen, I thought when boys grew to be men, everything else grows with it. It’s so boring. I’ll probably just tell the teachers or school counselor, so I won’t have to pretend I’m not so bored anymore.” All of her friends broke out into a fit of giggles.” After I apologized to Mr. Sims for not knowing what she meant, I walked away smiling, swearing to never speak again.

  I had to bite down on my own fist until I tasted blood to keep the cheers of delight from escaping me while I lay under the bed that night, listening to her horrified and agonizing screams—much like the ones from her dreams.

  The best part, what coursed through me like a drug and made me feel high, was knowing that it was me responsible for every one of her tortured cries.

  Chapter 29

  Teacher Vs. Dom

  Weeks have gone by since Stella shouted her safe word. I’m no closer now than I was then at understanding what I feel is missing. Or understanding if my course of action in response to her safe word was the correct path.

  It sure as fuck doesn’t feel right. I’m uneasy and my restraint is wearing thin. My control is slipping. I know I’m supposed to wait for her to understand. I know I can’t have her or take her until she realizes that she is the one that holds the key. That it’s not my Dominance over her, it’s the submissive within that is the key.

  The idea she might never understand this concept drives me fucking mad. It abrades the snippets of restraint and the reins I barely grasp for control. I spend my days talking myself into staying in check, maintaining the rule… And I spend every night talking myself into just giving in, let the threads of control just slip through my fingers. They aren’t worth losing my angel.

  I’m unsure how much longer I can withstand this torture. I’ve lost my ability to concentrate on anything that isn’t her. In meetings, I have people - important people - standing directly in front of me speaking; however, I have no idea what the hell they’re saying. Because every single part of my anatomy is honed in and focused on Ms. Stella Jolie Reese standing outside her office in a black pencil skirt, red silk blouse and those damn black stiletto’s which I know lead up between her thighs to her naked pussy!

  “Wesley!” I snap my eyes to my business manager. “Which one?”

  Shit! Which one what?

  I quickly flip through my mind searching for what this meeting was for. When all I come across are recollections consisting of Stella, I get creative and mentally search for Stella and meeting memories.

  Ding! Ding! We have a winner!

  This is why I am so adamant on morning schedule meetings. See how useful they are when you least expect it.

  I glance at my watch. Nine-thirty. First meeting. Editors!

  “I like Shane best. Of all the applicants, he’s definitely the most suited for not only our team, but the company as a whole.”

  What? He really is. See? I have my shit together; I just have to go about finding it a little differently these days. It’s called adaptation. Look that shit up, people.

  “Perfect. We’ll start the paperwork and I’ll let you know when to expect him.”

  After we shake hands and everyone has left, I sink into my seat exhausted.

  It’s only nine-forty. Why the hell am I exhausted at nine-forty?

  Stella fucking Reese - tha
t’s why. I narrow my eyes before scanning across the office from behind the glass walls of the conference room in search of the man-draining woman.

  When my eyes finally land on her, they soak in the sight of her, famished beyond reason. Goddamn she is beautiful. Radiant. The essence of beauty. Pain slices through my chest as I watch her. The suffering is so excruciating that it causes my eyes to water.

  “I can’t take this shit any longer. She broke. Oh well. So did I, dammit.” I dart from my chair and stalk from the conference room headed on a one way track to ‘fuck it all’ and ‘damn the consequences’ when that son of a bitch, Jude goddamn Preston, steps from my periphery and stands directly between me and my angel. And it pisses me off.

  I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. Finished. She’s mine. Period.

  It feels like I run smack into a glass wall that someone Windexed the hell out of when he leans down and she greedily accepts his kiss.

  NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. What the hell is going on?

  My feet are cemented to the floor.

  I shake my head trying to clear these… these delusions. Please God, let them be caused by my mind playing tricks on me. Please.

  A red mist floods my vision as I watch my woman in the arms of another man. She is MINE.

  Stell’s smiling up at him like… Shit, like she smiles up at me—or used to smile up at me!

  Hell no! No. I’m Wesley fucking Jacobs. If I say it’s mine, then it’s mine! And that damn smile, that damn woman –is mine!

  I storm toward them my fury like a tornado and ram my shoulder against into Jude’s hard enough to cause him to back-peddle several steps to keep from busting his ass. Immediately my hand circles Stella’s arm yanking her toward my office. I growl over my shoulder at Barby, “No one. And I mean NO ONE is to disturb us, is that understood?”

  Her eyes are as wide as saucers as she nods her head.