by Poppet
There is no way in hell, or earth, that I would ever run to her for help. When I started dating after I left school and started working, she still scolded me as though I was ten. And she hated Gary for taking her reins, for dominating my time with hikes, holidays, dinners and movies.
And nothing could get me to ever turn to my dad. He's just as scary. Give him a drink and watch the dark side come out. I can't run away to family in my hour of need. Because of their scorn and judgements, I am here, alone, desperate.
That’s what I tell myself anyway. In the back of my mind I know that I chose to return to him. I wanted to believe that happy endings are possible with your first true love. He was special and once was wonderful. I learned this lesson the hard way. Too late.
I have no money and don’t want to go home to my parents. I gave him all the power and it’s backed me up to a ravine. It’s broken my will and my mental resilience. I thought he was good to me, considering mom and dad’s volatile marriage.
But the truth is, I traded one victim role for another. I chose to stay a victim instead of acting on the signs that were there to make me run from him. Instead, the self-blame game that victims play had me running right back to him.
Why take responsibility for your own life when you can just hand it over to someone else and then wonder why they can’t respect you? This is my fault as much as it is his. But that doesn’t change the current stalemate or how desperate I feel. I’ve lost all hope and have nothing left to live for.
I sit up and unscrew the cap and take angry gulps. My last drink on planet earth. I brought the bottle deliberately. I intend smashing it on this rock when I'm done. And then I'm going to slice my flesh open and bleed to death over this rock. It will be such a welcome release. I almost can't wait to initiate my exit.
Unbidden, words come floating back to me, now that I have time to contemplate.
"He took her in when she lost her job."
Why does he do that? Why can't he ever say, “I love her, okay. I didn't want to lose her, so I fucked up her life instead.”
"She's anorexic."
No darling. I'm just desperately miserable. I have to be happy to maintain an appetite.
"He's so jovial."
No, he's not. He's mean and vindictive. He has stolen every ounce of security and dignity I ever possessed. He did it systematically, over a period of years. Love is so very blind. I had to lose absolutely everything before I lost the hope that things could get better.
I suppose it's true. You never get over your first love. Gary was my first true love. And that made him precious. As much as I truly despise him right now, it only hurts because of how deeply I love him.
Gary jovial? Oh no. He wears a mask every day. I am the only one who's witnessed that mask off. And when he's not wearing it, the beautiful man he seems falls away to reveal a cruel and detached monster. A man who does not care what he has to do to get his desires met.
It doesn't matter who he hurts or uses along the way. Gary has a hole inside of him that will never be filled. The first thing he speaks of in the morning when he wakes, is money.
He eats like a glutton, has sex like a glutton, consumes everything in his path, as a glutton. He's consumed me as a glutton, and all that's left now is this skinny shell. He's depleted me so effectively that I feel constantly worthless.
He has persecuted me emotionally and psychologically for so long that I don't even know who I am anymore.
I stare at the empty bottle, aware now that my time has come. I have a weak feeling in my lower body. I am overwhelmed with acute despair and remorse.
His words come back to taunt me. ‘Only cowards commit suicide. Fucking losers.’
So, I'm a loser. I am. I've lost everything. This is the final sacrifice. But it's the only one that can set me free from this excruciating inner pain. Tears are cascading past my nose as I stand up and jump off the rock.
I'm not a coward. The choice is easy. Death is easier than life. I am not afraid of death. It takes courage to live. So maybe I am a coward because I want to anaesthetise this pain. I want to kill it. Please God, stop this pain!
I turn to the rock with the bottle firmly in my hand. I've seen this on TV a thousand times, so think I know what to expect. With a fair amount of force I smash the bottle into the rock.
Ow!
Fuckenhell, this bottle is stronger than it looks. I massage my jarred wrist. That hurt. Anyone watching this would be laughing now. I am so pathetic I can't even smash a Coke bottle. I pick it up from where it bounced out of my hands with the impact jarring my hand and wrist.
The pain caused me to let it go, and it bounced quite a distance. Angry with it, I launch it with all that I have, swinging down at the rock.
Fuck me!
I want to cry with the pain in my elbow and hand. Tears of frustration rise up. Why is this happening to me? Why can't I even break a fucking bottle? I pick it up and launch it, yelling with an outraged scream of frustration, this time not caring, JUST BREAK DAMMIT.
It shatters into huge chunks of glass. Wow, the glass is a lot thicker than it looks.
Feeling a faint thread of satisfaction I pick up a large shard and seat myself back on my pity rock. I've had enough, I really have. Everything in my life is this difficult. Illustrated perfectly with a stupid Coke bottle.
Anger flushes my cheeks as I push my sleeves up. You see, I've had three hours to contemplate how I'm going to do this. I'm a blood donor and know exactly how to find a vein.
I can't see the wrist thing being effective to be honest. I've also considered the fact that someone might find me before I'm dead. And then I'll have visible scars that I can't hide for the rest of my life.
This has just accelerated my inner agony. I've proven that I have a high pain threshold internally. How much fun has this life been? I thought it would get better, when I could run away from home.
Love? What the hell is that? Does it even exist? A deprecating laugh runs free from my throat. Am I bitter? Hell yes. You’d better believe I’m more acerbic than cactus juice on a good day.
Sobbing, I take the shard and shove the point into my elbow, where the almost green vein is always prominent. And I push and push. No. No. No. Goddammit, let me fucking DIE.
PLEASE.
I look at the thin skin and can't believe how resilient it is. I can see the vein. For heaven's sake does anyone have a piece of paper handy? A paper cut is more effective at drawing blood.
Determined, I start jabbing into the inner elbow. It hurts, I won't lie, it hurts. But I'm not stopping now. I want to die.
I swivel the shard, pushing the glass as hard as I can into my elbow, until finally I have a gaping hole. I pull the glass away and watch the blood come gushing out, baptising my leg and the rock.
Fuck, this bloody hurts like a son of a bitch. But I feel triumphant. I gave up control of my life, but I intend to choose how I leave it. This is the only thing I seem to have any power over.
It's flowing fast, and I'm unprepared for the sudden pounding of my heart.
It feels laboured.
Soon, every beat begins to hurt.
Well, this is apt.
Then the veins right through my body start to burn. Why am I burning?
I collapse backwards, smacking my head, staring dazed at the waning blue of the sky above me. I close my eyes, and wait for the peace of death to embrace me.
Chapter 37
Another failure
I regain wakeful alertness and am horribly disappointed that I'm not dead. Instead I'm covered in ants. They're crawling all over me. Little fuckers couldn't even wait for me to die before coming to clean up my mess. That sums up life right there. It continues around me, with gusto, oblivious to my pain, going so far as to smother me because of my painful spillage.
Fuck.
I sit up, my arm really hurts. I can't bend it. But, determined, I gash my arm open again. This time I keep a watchful eye on it. Night has closed in, but I can see thanks to
the illumination of a street light wearing an angelic halo.
This is disastrous, it stops bleeding quickly. I try to hold the glass in my other hand, to slash again into my unharmed arm. But I have no strength. I can't clasp it. Bitterness engulfs my mouth, suffusing a wretched aftertaste. Anguished sobbing begins as I thrust the glass deeper and deeper into the arm to resurrect my demise.
It's too bloody cold.
My blood just clots and mocks me. With my mouth twisting dramatically like the tragedy mask, I have to face the unthinkable.
I can't stay here. It didn't work. I failed at leaving. The devil isn't letting me off that easy. Ever greedy, he's feeding off my pain. I forgot he was an angel. He can probably manipulate situations just like this. Oh how gleeful he's going to be when I have to knock on Gary's door to be let in.
He's probably not even there. He's probably gone off to be pampered by his staunch supporters. Poor Gary. Such a good guy. How did he ever end up with mentally deranged Stefanie.
There was nothing wrong with me when Gary got hold of me. I was full of energy, hope, anticipation and joy. I was old enough to look forward to leaving home. To determine my own fate. But then the dashing prince of darkness crossed my path.
Sighing heavily, I force my legs to slide off the rock. I am so dreadfully tired and cold. I'm aching everywhere. Darn, I even have blood in my hair. I really hope I don't bump into anybody. I don't know how to explain this.
Eight minutes later I ring his doorbell, standing before it in defeat. My blood has soaked the entire left side of my body. My jacket and jeans are covered in bright red stains of pain, the edges already darkening. But the cold wetness of it strips me of the meagre energy I have left, after not consuming any fuel for three days. I'd kill for a cigarette now.
I stop breathing as the door swings open and a refreshed and drop dead gorgeous Gary stands confronting me with a haughty expression.
I'm ready for the scorn. Just waiting for "Loser! Coward!" to come lashing into my mutilated heart.
I glare at him and hiss, "I don't want to hear it, okay."
I storm past him, straight to the bathroom where I strip my body of the cold damp jeans and remove my jacket. Bundling them up I stuff them in the bottom of the laundry basket. Systematically, I wash the blood off me, and glare at the pathetic puncture in my elbow, causing my entire arm so much discomfort.
I put a plaster over it, brush my teeth, and head for the bedroom, pulling on stretch pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
He appears like the god of wrath in the doorway.
"What happened to you?"
"Nothing."
"Jesus, Stefanie. Where's the blood from?"
I had a voodoo ceremony to curse you. I had to seal it with my blood and slaughter a chicken. "None of your fucking business. I'm just sleeping here tonight. I'll be gone tomorrow and I promise you, I'll never bother you again."
I almost want to laugh and say, I said I was going to kill her, didn't I?
He stares at me in silence. Then disappears. I wait until I hear the front door close. Launching out of bed I head straight for the kitchen where I pour myself a huge glass of water, grab the only tablets in the house and head straight back to the bedroom. I swallow as many of the headache tablets as I can. Until I just can't face swallowing another one. I'm feeling so weak that all I want to do is close my eyes.
I replace the lid on the now half-empty bottle, pull the blanket over myself and pass out.
* * * * *
I'm woken by ice cold hands shaking me, "STEFANIE!"
I force my drowsy eyes open and stare up into his mother's face.
I smile at the kind woman. She's the best member of his family. Maybe Gary's adopted.
"Sit up, love. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
Just play act the way Gary does. Lie your way out of your hell. Why won't anyone just leave me alone to die in peace?
"Gary's worried."
Sure he is. You lot will swallow anything. I smile with conviction, "I'm just really tired. I have such a headache."
"Stand up."
I sigh inwardly. Here goes. She was a nurse in her day. I'm about to get busted and have to go to a real straitjacket. Within the next hour I'll be assessed mentally unfit to be allowed in society. The population is safer without me. Lock me away and lose the key. Set it in concrete and throw it into the ocean above the Bermuda Triangle. That should work.
I stand and let her manhandle me. She pushes my sleeves up which thankfully bunch at the elbows, and examines my wrists. She even checks my thighs. Yes I know, I thought of using that vein too. Now I'm glad I didn't.
Satisfied I haven't tried to harm myself, she smoothes a worried hand over my face. "Darling, what happened?"
I can never tell you. But your caring is shredding my heart. I want to cry with abandon now. Why couldn't he be more like you?
"I just had a bad weekend, and am exhausted. Do you mind if I go back to bed? I'm very tired."
She hugs me tightly to her, "Sure. Okay." She holds me at arms length, tracing her hands down my arms to squeeze my fingers, "Call me if you need anything. We're all very worried about you."
I nod, "Thanks." I force another smile. I've grown to love this woman. I wish I could keep her.
I climb back into bed. These tablets really work as a sedative. My head is spinning, and I pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow.
* * * * *
"You're seriously fucked up, you know that?"
Goddam. I'm still not fucking dead! Oh yippeefuckingkayay. I look at Gary standing next to me, staring down at my slumbering form. I'm awake now. I resolve to keep quiet.
"I want you gone. You hear me? I'm not having some fucked-up bitch hanging around here to screw up my life. You're fucked up!"
I heard you. Yes, I am fucked up. Astute assessment Doctor Fuchs. I pronounce the patient, fucked up. There is no medication available at this time for fucked up. Like a leper, she must be excommunicated as quickly as possible. Outcasts are not welcome here. We must keep the mask in perfect alignment. The impression we make is paramount. All fucked-up individuals must be swiftly removed for the sake of our pristine appearance to the world around us.
I almost want to smile as I imagine introducing myself at my next job interview, "How do you do, I'm Fucked Up. And you are?"
"STEFANIE? Do you hear me?"
"Yes."
He seems frustrated as he stomps from the room. Within moments I hear the resounding slam of the front door.
I lay there for some time. Seeking a solution. Finally I find one. Cindy and Graham are moving. In fact, if memory serves me well, they have already left, this morning. On assignment, out of the country, for two years. I found this out when I spoke to Cindy's sister a while back. Out of everyone, at least she still speaks to me. They'll be renting their house out. I walked past it just the other day and it was empty. Maybe I can call Cindy's mom and get her to let me stay there for a week or two while I apply for work. I just need a place to stay.
Chapter 38
Lucas
You know what? I've just about had enough of this heathen's attitude for one lifetime. Seriously! Hurling back the duvet, I stomp to the phone and snatch the handset, punching Selene's number hard enough to jam the buttons.
"I have to get out, now. Please can I stay at your place?"
"So miracles do happen. Sure. My brother has a spare key and he's not working today. I'll get him to pick you up."
"I owe you more than I can ever repay."
"Seeing you leave that backwards prick is enough payment. See you later."
"Selene?"
"Hmm?"
"Ask Sinclaire if I can have my old job back?"
"Yeah, okay."
"I love you girlfriend."
"I know. You owe me a roast chicken!"
"Done!"
"Bye."
"Bye."
Yanking on clothes, I bolt to the twenty-four hour service statio
n on the corner, purchasing smokes and withdrawing some of my dwindling funds. Rather pleased with myself, I return to Gary's home to prepare for my exodus.
Stalking into the kitchen I unearth the clean ashtrays, plonk myself down in the lounge, and light three. Smoking one, I then leave one in each of the other ashtrays to burn themselves out, with all the windows closed. Just call me Shirley. I Shirley will do everything you told me not to.
Deliberately ashing on the tiles on my way to the fridge, I unpack all of the ciders into my cooler box. Rifling through the wine collection I help myself to half. Actually, fuck that. Feeling like a fishwife with a smoke dangling from my lip, I use both hands to unpack the wine rack into packets; they're coming with me. How can I celebrate freedom from slavery without enough booze for a frat party? He'll only waste this stuff seducing other victims so I may as well try and save them any way I can, starting with removing the ammunition from the corked shotgun.
Systematically I help myself to supplies, including the chicken that Selene will have waiting for her with potatoes and all the trimmings when she gets home from work today. Only people who love me will get to eat my cooking from now on. My newly discovered malicious streak is tempting me to leave the freezer door open. I battle it for a few minutes while I get packed; eventually integrity wins and I close the blasted thing.
With much pleasure I switch off the geyser. I wonder how long it will take him to figure out why there's no hot water? Giggle. I then take an entire box of tampons, unwrap them, and dump them one by one into his toilet. A little reminder of a woman scorned and messed with for the last time. Moving to my hairbrush I remove all of the long hair wrapped into it and stuff it into the shower outlet, running some cold water to secure it in there.
While I wait for Selene's brother I sit and smoke another cigarette in the bedroom, on a deliberately unmade bed. Call me pathetic but I'm thoroughly enjoying this rebellion, which in my opinion is about three years overdue.
