by Bella Drake
I struggled to get the other strap unbuckled, at the same time looking over at the clubhouse expecting someone to come out any second. I managed to undo the buckle and opened the flap. There it was, still wrapped in the handkerchief. I looked over at the door then back at the gun. I hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if this was the best plan. I didn’t want these fucking bottom-feeders to have this gun on me, I just couldn’t. I grabbed it and quickly put it in my waist belt. I ran back over to my bike and, luckily, it kicked over the first time. I pulled out onto the highway and sped off. I kept looking over my shoulder expecting the entire gang to be chasing me.
Where would I go? I thought. I needed a plan and I needed one fast.
Chapter 2
Lucy
A steady stream of tears fell down my face. I gulped my glass of rosé as I signed the last page of the divorce papers to husband number two.
“Way to go, Lucy. You’re a two-time loser,” I said to myself.
I was originally from the San Francisco Bay area and had moved to Portland, Oregon after marrying Jeremy, a wealthy real estate mogul. After two years of lies and cheating, I'd had enough. Even though Jeremy had an iron-clad prenup, he agreed to leave me the lake cabin we built together last year. We planned on settling there after we had kids.
I shut my eyes, reminding myself that things could be worse. Luckily, my last delightful divorce left me with enough money for two lifetimes. I couldn’t believe that at just Twenty-Eight I had been married twice to men who both lied and cheated on me.
How could this happen? I thought as I struggled to open my second bottle of rosé.
“Fucking asshole!” I yelled as I finally popped the cork. Foregoing the glass, I took a big swig straight from the bottle.
“I'll never trust another man as long as I live.” I looked out over the Portland cityscape.
I was in his precious high-rise apartment. I had one day to vacate this place and move to the cabin. I was taking my own sweet time as to not do Jeremy any favors by moving out early, which I easily could do. No, he would need to wait until the last second, the two-timing bastard.
“Why! Why do men do this to me?” I cried aloud.
I was alone and had no friends. Well, real friends. All the people I had met in the city were Jeremy’s friends and let's just say they picked him. I needed a clean start and I just wanted to be alone for a while to figure out my life…and maybe also why men kept walking all over me.
My wonderful first husband, Charles cheated on me with his secretary and my now ex-best friend, Chloe. I always wanted to be a mother and have a fairy-tale family but now all I could be thankful for was my lack of children with these two men. Chloe had been trying to get in contact with me but I wouldn't return her calls. “Who does she think she is?” I would say to Jeremy about Chloe. I hoped he would help me try to mend my wounds. But, all this time Jeremy was doing the same fucking thing, lying and cheating. I thought about the long talks we had about trust and loving only one person. The asshole knew how fragile I was.
“How can such a sweet man turn into such a monster?” I asked myself. I was crying hard and I knocked my wine glass over as I slumped over the couch. Oh shit, I thought. I jumped up to go get the steam cleaner he bought me last Christmas. I should have seen that as a sign. A fucking steam cleaner! What am I, his fucking maid?
I stopped and sat back down. “You know what? His new girlfriend can clean it up. She’s probably in her twenties. She probably likes it in the ass, the whore!” I threw my wine glass across the room and smashing it on the wall. The shattering of the glass caused me to sober up for a moment and I realized I was out of control.
“Get a hold of yourself,” I said. “Don’t let him win. No, he will never win. No man will, not again.”
In a moment of desperation, depression, and drunkenness I thought of the unthinkable. “He will never forget what he did to me if I, if I...”
…killed myself, I thought, unable to finish out loud.
The idea buzzed around in my brain until it seemed like a reasonable option. Who cared if I lived or died anyway? As I thought about it, I started to grieve for myself before the act. I imagined I was dead lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Or maybe I would hang myself from the mid-century modern chandelier that he got for me on our one-year anniversary. He would never be able to live here then. His girlfriend would never stay with him either after that.
I went to the kitchen and pulled a knife from its wood block holder. I rubbed the blade carefully across my finger to test its sharpness. The blade slid and nicked my finger just enough to make me wince. “Ouch!” I would never be able to cut my own wrists. I can’t even handle a paper cut. I abandoned the knife and decided on option two. I searched the apartment for some rope knowing that it didn’t exist, but I searched anyway. All I could find was a short, white extension cord. I pulled it taut testing the strength.
This will never hold, I thought to myself, dropping the cord. I plopped down on the couch, staring out the window at the city. I’m too afraid to jump, I thought, remembering how I hated this apartment because of how high it is. No, I could never jump. I started to cry again. You're so fucking pathetic, you can’t even decide on how to kill yourself.
I got up and went back to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of rosé and took a big gulp. Then another, then another. I was staggering and staring at a photo of me and Jeremy on the wall across the room. My anger built until I was in a frenzy. I had gone to the point of no return.
I started walking towards the photo of us smiling and in love. I remembered that day. It was spring and we had just had sex not twenty minutes before the photo was taken. I now realized he was fucking another woman at the same time. I began to breathe hard, and as I took a deep breath I screamed so loud my ears popped from the pressure. I gripped the bottle and threw it as hard as I could at the photo. I missed and the bottle crashed against the white wall just to the right of it. The rosé wine covered the wall with a huge splatter of and dripped spilling down the wall and onto the carpet.
I felt crazy, but I didn’t care. My mouth hung open and I was still breathing hard. I was almost growling like an animal. It felt good. I was still staring at the photo when I noticed the huge red splatter on the wall. At that moment I remembered. There was a gun. Not here, but at the cabin. Jeremy had purchased a shotgun afraid of intruders or bears. I had laughed at him for buying the gun, thinking it was silly and teased him for being scared of bears.
That’s what I'll do, I thought. I'll shoot my fucking brains out with his stupid gun all over that damn cabin. Yeah, that’s exactly what I'll do. One way or another, I will ruin him.
An evil smile came to my face thinking about it and a sense of relief came over me. No man would ever hurt me again. I would prevent any future heartache. I would be at peace and the men that hurt me would surely pay.
Chapter 3
Matt
The motor of my bike ran like a top speeding down the highway. In my mind, I was being chased but in reality, I wasn’t.
“Slow down,” I said to myself. “All you need is to get pulled over with the gun that just killed some guy.”
I slowed down and realized the first thing I needed to do was get rid of the gun. I decided the best place would be to throw it in the Rogue River. I pulled off the highway and after a few miles of twists and turns, I came to the pier and pulled into the parking lot. I shut off the bike, scanned the area and found no one in sight. It was dark and everything was still. My mind, however, was alive and spinning a million miles per hour. I got off the bike, pulled the gun from my waist belt and hurried over to the edge of the river.
I threw the gun into the middle of the river where it was moving fast and deep. I knew no one would ever find it. I knew it was just a matter of time before Razor and Brian realized I was not at the party and I knew they would soon find the gun missing. I stared into the river and wished I had the guts to jump in and do myself in. I wasn’t the type though a
nd I wasn’t going without a fight, that’s for sure. I was no stranger to fighting and these fucking murdering fucks would need to find me first.
Now that I was done with the gun I hit the throttle and raced as if my life depended on it because it did. I headed home to pack up and split town. I pulled a block away and parked my bike behind another apartment building. I knew I would never see my bike again. I gave it a pat as if it was a horse I was setting free by slapping it on the ass. I ran down the street and then up the stairs to go inside my apartment. I grabbed my rucksack, a large army bag, and filled it with clothes and essentials. I had a small safe that held my own gun, my life savings of ten grand, and a few photos of my daughter. I grabbed the cash and the gun and quickly flipped through the photos.
Cassie, I thought.
Cassie was my beautiful daughter. She was everything and my whole world. Her mom Angie and I were in love and we were a family proper like. I had a good job and Angie was a nurse. One day Angie came home crying. Cassie had been feeling tired all the time and losing weight. Angie took her in for a wellness check. She told me that Cassie’s doctor who had taken blood tests a week earlier had given her the results. She said the doctor thought Cassie had leukemia. I remember thinking: Cancer! My entire world came crashing down and it didn’t stop until my daughter was gone and my wife left me for the doctor. I lost my shit and ended up in jail for six months for aggravated assault after I beat the shit out of that doctor. I would do it again, I thought.
A knock at the door snapped me out of my daydream. My heart pounded, I grabbed my gun and went to the door. I looked into the peephole. It was my landlord Mrs. Kay.
Fuck, what does she want? I thought.
“Matt, are you in there? I don’t see your bike.”
She must have heard me. We had a break-in the week before and she was up on her neighborhood watch.
“I’m gonna call the police whoever is in there,” she warned.
I hurried and opened the door, setting the gun down. “Mrs. Kay, hey! How are you? It's me. No need to call the cops.”
“Oh, thank goodness, Matt! I was thinking we had another burglar,” she said, standing there in her paisley robe. She was an old lady and always had a cigarette in her hand no matter what.
“No, we're all good.”
“Oh. I didn’t hear your bike,” she said.
“Oh yeah, it uh, broke down up the street.”
“Oh dear, that’s not good.”
“No, I'll get it fixed though. I have the van so I’m fine.”
“Well okay then, you have a good night.”
“Alright Mrs. Kay. You too. Night now.”
I listened for any sounds of motorcycles in the distance but there were none. Maybe they were still just partying and hadn’t found me gone yet. I hoped but I could not be sure. I headed back inside and finished packing whatever belongings I could fit in my army bag.
I grabbed my keys and went out back where I had my cage, a Ford Econoline work van, parked. I slid open the door of my cage, threw my bag inside and jumped in the driver's seat. I started it up and drove North towards Portland. My sister Laura lived there and with any luck, I could crash there for a couple days to get myself straight. I hadn’t seen her in years. Since our parents were both dead, there weren’t too many family gatherings. The last time we got together was when she bailed me out of jail after I pummeled the good doctor. Well, surprise sis. I’m coming, I thought as I drove up the I-5 highway towards Portland.
I shook my head as if to try to wake myself up from a bad dream, but this wasn’t one. My life would soon be on the run. As soon as they knew I was missing, the club would be looking for me. All I could think about was those fucking assholes Razor and Brian. I knew they would come for me, they didn’t have a choice. I was the only link to them and the killing. I hated them but I didn’t blame them. I put myself in the situation and I had no one to blame but myself. I slammed my hand hard on the steering wheel and yelled out loud: “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!”
I never prayed, but I talked to my daughter all the time. “Are you up there Cassie? Daddy needs your help girl, daddy needs a place to hide.”
Just then my cell phone buzzed and I just about jumped out of my skin. I pulled it from my jacket pocket and it was Danny. I let it go to voicemail. He called again and again. I switched it off. They knew I was gone and the shit just hit the fan. I could see Razor's face right now after finding the gun missing. He must be freaking out, but what would they say? There is no way that anyone knew Razor and Brian were planning on killing that guy. No one else knew where we were going and there is no way the club would just kill someone to get free drugs. No, only the two dumb fucking meth heads could think of such a brilliant plan.
Oh fuck, I thought. I knew exactly what would happen. Razor would say that I stole the drugs that they scored for the club. He would tell them I stole cash too. Whatever they had to say to get the club in an uproar. Fuck, Danny and Jay were probably getting grilled by the other guys trying to find out where I lived and who my friends were. I know they cared about me, but they were the club and the club was them. At some point, they had no choice but to help the club, their family. They could tell that there was something wrong with me when I talked with them back at the club, they could smell my fear. They both know I don’t use drugs and there’s no reason I would ever steal from Razor and leave everything behind. I mean, for what, a bag of dope and some cash? Still, they would try to stall any posse coming after me for as long as they could. At some point, I would need to talk to them and tell them what happened, but not now, not tonight. Tonight, I needed to get to Portland and lay low.
“Come on Cassie,” I said. “Find me a place where no one will find me. I love you girl.”
Chapter 4
Lucy
My head was pounding. The sun coming in through the window was blinding.
“Ugh!” I crawled from the couch where I passed out and pulled close the curtain blocking the sun. I was on my back on the floor with my hands on my belly, suffering the worst hangover ever.
Oh God, why did I drink so much?
I looked over at the wall and was thankful I had thrown the last of the rosé, as I would have surely drunk it and felt even worse than I did. No longer being drunk though and now thinking clear, I remembered my plan. With that, I flipped over and struggled to my feet, steadying my stance by holding on to the curtain I had just closed.
“Whoa!” I said out loud to myself with my other hand on my head. “Steady girl, you got this.”
I slowly stumbled to the bathroom. I flipped on the light and the brightness pierced through my brain in a stabbing motion. I closed my eyes. Slowly and one by one, almost like taking a bandage off, I carefully opened each eye little by little to acclimate them to the neon light of the bathroom.
My kingdom for a dimmer switch, I thought.
I walked over to the vanity and planted my hands on the edge of the sink counter with my head hung down. I lifted my head and got the first glimpse of my condition. It wasn’t good. I looked like I went ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Both my eyes were totally bloodshot and my mascara had run completely down my face and neck. My typically straight and long brown hair was now a frizzy ball on top of my head. I looked like a 1980’s Goth with too much Aqua Net hairspray. I mustered a laugh. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” I said to myself. It wasn’t easy but after a hot shower, some extra-strength eye drops and the usual MAC application, I was looking like my regular self.
I felt like a zombie walking around the apartment while packing the rest of my belongings. I needed to get everything. I didn’t want Jeremy's new whore to have my nice things. I decided I would burn them as a grand finale at the cabin before….
I choked up. Was I actually thinking of going through with it? Could I even go through with it? I shook my head. I wouldn’t think about it now. First, I just needed to get everything out.
I had trash bags full of Prada, Gucci, Dior, and even my treasured Birk
in Bag that Jeremy had bought me on our trip to New York City. He was so generous and loving back then. I admired each item as I stuffed it in the trash bags as if it was just Christmas morning wrapping paper. Only instead of wrapping paper, I was stuffing precious things that I loved… my fashion collection that most women would die for. I was going to die and I still loved them.
Finally, I stood at the front door with my five Hefty bags of couture, purses and shoes. I took one sweeping look in the apartment. It was a mess and I started laughing, imagining the look on Jeremy’s face when he showed up. I slammed the door for the last time.
I dragged each bag to the elevator, filling it. Then I stepped inside and pressed G. The garage felt good. The air was cold on my face. I pulled each bag to my Range Rover and piled them into the back. I opened the front door and sat in the driver’s seat and began to cry.
I had sex with him in this car, I thought. Everything I had was a reminder of Jeremy and our very sexual relationship. I can’t understand how he wasn’t satisfied. I was really good at sex. God, that fucking insatiable asshole! I could only imagine what he was doing with his new little plaything. He was no doubt showering her with gifts and fucking her anywhere and everywhere. That man was a walking hard-on.
I looked in the rearview mirror and wiped the tears from my eyes, preventing any residual mascara from running. I had to keep it together and get to the cabin. I decided if I was going to do this, I mean really do this, I was going to go out with a bang and a party. One last hurrah.
I started the Rover and I headed to Gelson's market. My basket looked like I was having the biggest party of the year – only the finest of booze, food, snacks. Oh, I had it all. Not to mention, I was off my fucking diet that I had started when he fucking pointed out to me that I looked like I gained five pounds. “I'll see you five pounds and raise you ten bars of organic dark chocolate, you fuck,” I muttered. “Oh, and don’t forget the Ho-Hos. I fucking love Ho-Hos.”
