Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts

by Mary E. Palmerin

  I hear rustling around across the room. Welch must be waking. I’m both grateful and pissed at the same time. I want him to save me, but I don’t want him. I’m more confused than I have ever been my entire life.

  “What’s going on over there? Gwen, are you alright?” Welch asks.

  Claude barges further into our room and makes his way to Welch, bringing up his iron fist and slamming it onto his face. I hear nothing but the beat of his hand meeting Welch’s cheek. My heart breaks and I become more fueled by rage.

  “You sit the fuck down you rat-ass kid,” Claude churns to Welch.

  He stomps back over to me, then bringing my used panties up to his nose, inhales deeply. My mouth is agape and I am hoping that is all he has planned. He has my underwear up to his nose with his right hand and I see his left hand reach and grab his crotch. I hang my head and squeeze my eyes shut until they hurt. I hear stroking movements followed by a long groan resembling a dying animal and all I can think of is how it would feel taking a knife to his throat so I don’t have to hear that noise any more.

  His strokes cease and he says nothing. I hear him come closer to me until he is huffing at the edge of my bed. He drops my underwear on top of me and his footsteps leave, fading down the hallway. I exhale in relief and then I start to feel again. The tears become inevitable and stream down my face. I feel my world caving in on me and it is just a matter of time before I am suffocated by it.

  So I have two choices.

  Give up or fight back.

  I’m going to fight like hell.

  Welch is breathing heavily and reality is crashing down on top of me.

  “Gwen?” he calls out to me.

  Life is about choices. I am making another, choosing to take Welch along with me. I climb on all fours along the carpet and over to Welch’s bed, feeling it burn my knees as I go.

  “Pull your covers back, Welch.”

  “But-,” he interrupts.

  “Not everyone wants to have a feel-good party. Just pull back your covers.”

  He listens and I climb inside, welcoming his warmth against my body. I do feel safe while lying next to him, but being safe and sound only lasts for so long when you are trapped within the gates of hell. It’s time to devise an escape plan.

  I lay my head over his thudding heart and allow myself to feel again as the silent tears pour out of my eyes and mark his T-shirt. He wraps his arms around me and entangles his hands in my hair, squeezing me tighter.

  Life is for the living, that much is true.

  But Claude forgot to think of another factor… what about those that are dead?

  I’m becoming bored in econ class, so I raise my hand to walk the halls and head to the restroom. Last year I never would have been the type of girl to act out in such a manner with the rebel without a cause bullshit. I have a cause, though. Maybe that is why I am feeling better about my plans. Who knows? I’ve been subjected to so much wrong as of late, it makes it hard to believe that the world is a good place. I question my existence prior to my parent’s death and wonder how many others led a sheltered life. It truly is sickening. They say everything happens for a reason. I say fuck that with the only exception of getting even with bastards like Claude.

  “Yes, Miss Fitzpatrick?” Mr. Evans asks.

  “Restroom.” I state.

  He motions for me to come to the front of the classroom and I bring my bag with me along with my agenda book so he can sign my hall pass. He signs it and I exit the classroom without any snide comments from others. I’ve avoided Mr. Cocky so far, but it’s only second period and just a matter of time before he confronts me with another stupid saying to make himself feel better.

  Fucker.

  I sigh in relief at being greeted by a vacant hallway. I walk slowly, counting the cracks in the floor when I run into something hard that jolts me out of my stupor. I see a familiar pair of black Converse sneakers as I fidget nervously with my bag straps.

  “Gwen, we finally meet again,” says Mr. Cocky.

  His hand meets my face to tilt my chin up to see him smiling at me. I remember my mom telling me when I was a little girl that boys act like they don’t like you when they really do, but I don’t get that vibe from this guy. Not at all. His intentions are far from good-hearted.

  “You never allowed me to properly introduce myself. I’m Connor. Now… let’s be friends,” he says, grabbing my wrist.

  I yank away from him and squint my eyes in displeasure. I don’t know who this fella thinks he is, but being a friend to him is not going to happen. I shake my head no and try to turn on my heels. I feel a strong push along my back as I tumble over my feet and meet the cold, concrete floor. Warm liquid oozes out of my lip and I taste blood in my mouth.

  “Gwen?” another voice calls out down the hallway.

  I hear Welch’s footsteps turn into a run until he crouches down to me. I look up at him and I feel safe again. Damn it, what is he doing to me?

  “You’re bleeding,” he whispers.

  “I’m fine,” I retort.

  He puts his thumb inside of his mouth and licks it, then taking it to my tattered lip, he wipes the blood away. It brings me back to the moments we shared and what I did for him. Maybe I will ruin him, but now I am thinking the other way around. I am sure that Welch is going to ruin me.

  He helps me to the standing position as we hear a snicker of laughter.

  “Fuck off, Connor,” Welch states coolly.

  This isn’t a side I have seen from him.

  “What are you going to do about it, pussy?”

  Welch steps aside and strides quickly over to Connor, discarding his old bag and throwing his hoodie on the ground. His cheeks flush with anger and I feel like everything is happening in slow motion. I look to his face and I swear I can see tiny droplets of sweat forming on his brow. I see his jaw tightening in response to the emotions that he is feeling, yet I feel guilty because he feels the need to protect me; maybe that is good thing, but it can also be a very bad thing, too. He has a good inch on Connor standing at six-feet tall. When he reaches him, he raises his fist high above his head and slams it down on his face. Connor shrieks out in pain, then falls to the ground. Welch spits on him and the door to my econ class opens. Mr. Evans comes stomping down the hall.

  “What is going on here?” Mr. Evans interjects.

  We all remain silent as Connor is curled up on the ground. Welch and I look at one another, understanding that no matter what we say, being two poor foster kids we will get blamed.

  “To the office now,” he yells.

  One day out of school suspension is what is in the cards for us as Connor got off without a hitch. We sit in the back of Helen’s old red Grand Prix and the smell of the exhaust coupled with the rattling muffler is making my head spin.

  “I hope you two fuckers understand how pissed Claude is gonna be,” she says before taking a puff on her cigarette.

  The windows remain rolled up as she flicks her ash into the tray in the car. I try to take in my surroundings and fully understand how I got into this mess. My mind betrays me and I wonder how many other kids become displaced like us. How does the system fully work? There are so many families out there that really want children, yet here Welch and I sit in the back of some worn out vehicle on the way to home sweet home where we are bound to be punished for standing up for ourselves. It makes me ill to think how often this occurs. I suppose that the loving families that want more kids want babies. They don’t want washed up, emotionally detached teenagers who recently lost their parents with no other family to call their own. I’m filled with anger again. Why must this be the case? Why must society settle for the Claudes of the world for teens without families like Welch and I?

  God blessed us with only one angel, darling, my father’s voice calls out to me. The recollections of his voice tear through my soul as I am reminded once again of what I lost and how I was left all alone.

  Something needs to change. I know I can’t be the one to
do it. The world is made up of many people and places, but if I can make Claude and Helen understand that what they do is not right, I will do it.

  Helen turns right sharply down the road in which we live. The bags of trash from the day before are all torn open and the garbage is scattered about all over the yard. The same stray cat from before is tearing apart a paper plate in the middle of the tall grass. The front door is open and I see Claude standing in the threshold with a belt wrapped tightly in his hands. I look closely to see that his fingers are red like he had prepped them for a fight. My belly grumbles in terror as I feel a hand grasp mine and squeeze it tightly.

  I look to Welch as I feel my eyes water and he nods, an indication that he knows what we are about to endure. This is going to be the worst day of our lives, I am sure of it.

  “Get out of my car,” Helen spats.

  We try to open the back door, but neither of our doors will budge. Helen shuts hers and stands outside, pointing to us and laughing. The locks are unlocked, but the doors still won’t open.

  “Why won’t they open, Welch?”

  “They child-locked the doors, Gwen.”

  It’s humiliating. I know if I climb over to the front seat that will only anger her more.

  “What are we supposed to do?” I whisper.

  “Nothing. We do nothing, Gwen.”

  “How long are we supposed to just take this? It’s only going to get worse,” I murmur.

  “I know,” he says, rubbing my knuckles with his thumb.

  “We have to get out of here. We have to find a way. This isn’t right, Welch.”

  “We will. But not now. Now is not the right time, Gwen.”

  “Clearly, because we are locked inside of a goddamn car with a woman outside mocking us and a guy walking towards our way ready to beat the shit out of us.”

  My tone is rising as I’m fuming more and more with each passing second. The door swings open and I’m pulled out by my hair and plopped into the mud. The cut on my lip burns like fire as it re-opens again from the fall. I close my eyes and try to picture a better moment in my life, but I won’t allow myself to. I can’t. I’m not ready to say a final goodbye to my parents. These two days, without a doubt, have been the worst in my life.

  “Get out of the car, William,” I hear.

  Who is William?

  Welch exits the car and I see his feet walk past me. Claude lets go of my hair and I hear a snap, then see Welch hit the ground. I stumble to my feet and run towards him.

  “Get in the house you two. Now!” shouts Claude.

  I loop my arm under Welch’s and help him onto the concrete steps.

  “Watch it,” I say as we step over the gap.

  I feel a hard blow to my back as soon as my feet hit the dirty beige carpet of the trailer and stumble into Welch.

  “Get your filthy shoes off my floor!” yells Helen, kicking me in the back of the leg.

  I lean down to discard my shoes and a painful punch is thrown to my gut, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Still, I refuse to cry or give in. I won’t give them the satisfaction. I lay on my side, trying to focus on regaining my composure to breathe while thinking of ways that I want to rip Helen’s fucking head off after this is all said and done. I will show her and her husband of the year what is fair.

  “Leave her alone!” Welch boasts.

  The commotion of violence happens too quickly for me to comprehend what is going on. I only hear something hard hit skin followed by a cry out in pain. I feel a jab to my side just as soon as I was beginning to regain the strength to breathe normally again.

  “Get up!” Claude yells.

  I force myself to arise on all fours, because fighting is part of this game and I am not going to be a loser. I look to my side, seeing Welch’s face mauled by an unknown object. He is bleeding profusely, but manages to oblige Claude’s demands, sitting up on his bottom. The blood is streaming down his cheek and staining his once white T-shirt. I turn my head to the side as I watch the tiny droplets form perfect splatters on his shirt. I admire the beauty of it. Make no mistake, this is merely giving me the urge to get even. I’m sure that he expects us to brush this moment to the remote corner of our minds after it’s over, but not me. I am willing and able to remember every fucking second so that I can do this and so much more to that son-of-a-bitch.

  “You two are pretty dirty. I think it may be time to clean up. What do you think, Helen?” Claude asks in a tone that makes me want to vomit all over his muddy boots.

  “Yes. I think you are right, sweetheart. Maybe they should scrub up, huh?” she replies in a mocking voice.

  I peer up at the two as I flare my nostrils and clench my jaw.

  “Come on, cupcake. Don’t be shy,” whispers Claude.

  I stand completely and offer Welch my hand. Helen smacks it away.

  “He needs to learn to be a man, sweetie. This is all part of it. Let him get up on his own,” she spats.

  I look down at Welch and he gazes at me. I know he is hurting in more ways than one. This isn’t going to be an easy battle, but life is just starting for us. What gives them the right to take it away? Why do they get to change the course of our life? That is not justice. He offers me a nod, a gesture of his acknowledgment of what we are about to sustain. I try my best to focus on something beautiful in life, something that makes me realize that the world isn’t all bad, but doing that makes me revisit the girl I used to be and I can’t do that because I am not her anymore.

  “To the shower,” Claude chants, pointing to the hallway.

  Welch stands and leads the way down the haunting hall. The floor creaks with each passing step and my lungs can’t help but burn more and more with each passing moment. I suppose subconsciously my body is prepping itself for survival. Maybe I’m really not ready for this. How can one fully prepare themselves for such terror? You can’t. But it isn’t just about that. It’s about the ignorance of all the cold-hearted evil that surrounds the world. That is what I was numb to before. Now, part of me feels like I deserve it so others don’t have to suffer.

  Welch takes a second to pause before his hand meets the door knob. Time turns into slow motion again and I become fixated on his trembling hand, the same one that defended me from Connor this afternoon at school.

  “Me and the Mrs. don’t have all day. We got places to go. Get in there!” shouts Claude.

  Welch opens the door and enters. I follow suit and turn around to face the man that is sure to make us do unthinkable things. I don’t cast my eyes downwards because I want him to remember these eyes. He needs to realize that this look will disturb him. I will do everything in my power to do so.

  “You are such a dirty girl. I think you need to be washed off. Welch, turn on the shower. She likes it real hot,” Claude says, standing across me in the tiny hall.

  He pulls Helen closer into him. I guess I had it wrong. They are the devils who have front row tickets to the show.

  “Take her shirt off, buddy.”

  Welch remains still.

  “I said now! Unless you want me to be the one who does the touchin’!” he screams.

  I feel Welch’s trembling touch at my hips as he grasps the hem of my shirt. I can’t stand to be looking at that beast. I push Welch’s hands away and turn around to face him. Now, I must pretend to be in another moment to get through this.

  “Again,” I whisper.

  He looks at me with sad eyes as I take a deep breath in. I lift my arms up as he peels my shirt away.

  “Take the rest of her clothes off now. I don’t got all day. We got somewhere to be!”

  He reaches behind me and unclasps my bra, allowing my bare breasts to be exposed before him. His eyes remain on mine as he refuses to look down at me uncovered. I take my hands to discard his shirt and he pushes them away. I cock my head to the side, unsure why. He takes off his shirt on his own and I gasp in surprise, seeing dozes of black and blue bruises on his chest and belly. His detached demeanor is frightening as he
unzips his jeans and yanks his boxers away, becoming fully visible before me. I look down and see his erection, understanding that he has been conditioned to do this before. This moment in time cannot be helped.

  I take the lead and peel my leggings and panties off, filled with more fear than previously because I thought that I could get lost in another time with Welch. Now, he is completely cut away from reality and there is no way that I can get him back. He has been destroyed by these devils. That fuels my rage ten-fold.

  “Clean her up, buddy.”

  He lodges himself into the scalding hot shower. I step inside behind him as the steam chokes my throat while the water burns my pale skin. I decide to try one last time to pull Welch out of whatever place he’s hiding. I gaze at those eyes that were a comfort for me when I needed something most and I see pain, but I also sense hope. My heart drums faster with the thought of all hope not being lost.

  “You know the drill, son.”

  He nods towards Claude like he has been forced to do this before. I must be naïve about this situation along with Welch’s life, but we have not discussed where we came from because I didn’t want to know his story and I am not prepared to tell mine.

  But now I want to know him without giving myself to him. That isn’t going to happen, though.

  “I have to do things to you, Gwendolyn. Bad things to you-,” he pauses, clenching his jaw and scrunching his eyebrows.

  “The last thing I want to do is hurt you,” he states, looking down at the corner of the molded tub.

  Bad things?

  “Remember, just like before, Welch. Get to it,” shouts Claude as he watches our naked, wet bodies in the shower with the curtain pulled back so he can have a full view.

  He reaches his hand towards my face like he is going to cup it to comfort me. Instead, he goes past my face and grabs my hair. He pulls it hard and I shriek out in pain. Searing agony shoots down my spine as he yanks my head back and turns me around, pushing my bottom against his hard erection. The hot water is raining hard upon my face and I can’t see or breathe well. All I want to do is scream. Fuck fighting, I want to run.