Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts

by Mary E. Palmerin

  “Let’s get even first,” I pant between the pangs of shooting pain.

  He nods his head yes. There is no turning back now. So much for giving up. I’m ready for the bloody battle now that I know my reason to live is still here and not unjustly taken away. It’s going to take everything in my body to fight, but this is my life, not theirs. I won’t let them have the power to determine how it turns out.

  Fuck that.

  Welch scrambles to his feet over to my clothing bin.

  “No. Let me.”

  He steps back and I push my body up, settling on my bottom as my weight rests on the palms of my hands while Welch studies my movements to ensure I am strong enough. I won’t let anyone take this away from me. Away from him. Away from us. I clench my teeth hard from the burning, beseeching ache between my legs as I stand, making my way to my clothes. I unknowingly grunt between each step, crouching down to grab some clothes, putting on some leggings and a T-shirt.

  “Grab a bag. Any kind and throw some of our clothes and such in it,” I state.

  Now I have myself back. I’m thinking clearly. He moves across the room to empty his backpack, pitching some of his belongings inside, then striding over to me as I throw some of my stuff inside, filling it to the brim.

  “To the bathroom. Shampoo and toothbrushes.”

  He stops for a few moments, cupping my cheek. I let myself lean into him because he is the only thing that I have while I am still unsure what happens when we leave. The world is a scary place. It could very well get worse.

  “It’s just you and me now, sweet girl. I won’t ever let anything happen to you again. I love you, Gwendolyn.”

  I want to tell him that I love him, but the fear of loving someone then losing them still hangs on my back like a wicked demon. I keep my eyes fixated on him, only nodding my head yes. He curls his lips into a smile. God, his lips. That smile. He brushes them against mine and then goes down the hallway, scrambling about to get the rest of our stuff into his bag.

  I stand alone in my room and close my eyes, touching my belly and then feeling my damaged sex with my hand. I allow a barrel of screams to escape my mouth as the fangs I longed for erupt through the surface. I adjust my posture to stand straight as my fists become tighter, burning my palms and reminding me that I have lost my goddamn mind.

  I’m breathing heavy, letting the oxygen make its way to every cell so that I can be as hard, strong, and ready for this mêlée that will soon ensue. I feel the air hit my gums, realizing I am baring my teeth like the tiger I wished for before. A growl comes from my chest and I can’t help but laugh at this moment.

  Hello, little monster. Are you ready for some damage?

  Another Jekyll and fucking Hyde moment. Fuck it if I care. Bring the cunts to the front lines. Welch comes to the room smiling at me. But his smile isn’t like the ones that I wished for as his lips grazed my thigh. No. His smile is hard, full of determination and pride. He’s proud of me. I see it. We are two fucked up lost souls getting wilder as the thought of blood whispers itself in our crazed minds.

  “There’s my monster,” he slyly whispers between his glimmering teeth.

  I smile at him. Mine is one of pride too.

  I follow him to the kitchen as he wears the backpack that holds all of our belongings. He rustles around in the drawers until he finds what he is looking for, pulling a long, shiny object out that is set to destroy. His dark, chocolate eyes look at mine and I walk to him.

  “Allow me?” I ask, with my hand open.

  “Of course, sweet girl.”

  He places the kitchen knife in my hand and I curl my fingers around the black handle tightly, letting the hard end mold around my palm, memorizing every curve and dip to make sure it stays where it belongs.

  My fucking hand.

  He crouches down and opens the cabinet, fidgeting around until another smile curves the edges of his mouth while a sigh emulates from it. His hand retrieves a black, cast-iron skillet and he stands. Again, full of so much intent the air could crack. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eyes blaze with fire like this before. I feel so many things, most of all… safe.

  Such a beautiful disaster we are, thanks to a failed system, the abusers and users who treat us like trash and dogs.

  Forced to fuck.

  Forced to obey.

  Now, at this second in the early morning hours we have reached our glory moment. Welch grabs a flashlight from beneath the dripping sink, then we rush through the house to turn off all the lights. The pain between my legs coupled with the stinging on my breasts and stomach is a constant reminder of my rape. It fuels the fire that is soon to explode because I’m a goddamn stick of dynamite yearning to let my insides burst out, free.

  Free. Free at last.

  “What now?” I pant while Welch and I hold onto one another with our free hands.

  “We watch. And wait, sweet girl.”

  We stand behind the front door, leaving the curtains to the two bay windows open so we can see the headlights when they arrive home. My heart starts to surge as I see the broken headlights pierce the darkness.

  “It’s time, sweet girl,” Welch whispers before pressing his mouth onto mine.

  I lean into his kiss, opening my mouth up for his as his tongue tickles mine briefly. He pulls himself away, resting his forehead on mine. No, we don’t have a plan on what we want to do to these devils. We are just going to let our internal monstrosities unleash themselves and do the dirty work.

  The muffling car comes to a grinding halt and my breathing becomes low and even. I squeeze onto his hand, understanding this is my last chance. I may not make it out alive. I reach up on my tippy toes until my lips touch his ear and whisper, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, sweet girl.”

  He grasps onto my hand tighter as the devil’s footsteps become heavier and closer to the front door. I feel a strange sense of excitement the further up they come, as time turn into slow motion. Helen’s hard breathing and cough makes me sick with rage.

  Bring it, bitch. I’ve got my claws out ready to fight with my handy dandy knife ready to take your life.

  The door opens and Claude walks in with Helen behind him. It’s dark inside, not yet dawn, as we remain unseen. Welch frees my hand and steps in front of me, turning on the flashlight. The two devils turn around wide-eyed.

  “Are you ready to meet my friend?” Welch asks calmly.

  I step up from behind the shadows to make my presence known with the sharp, shiny blade in my hand. I laugh loudly when they see us standing next to one another, knife in one hand and iron skillet in the other.

  Aimed and ready to kill.

  “Meet who?” Claude slurs.

  “My friend, karma.”

  Claude elevates his hands up in the air like he is raising a white flag. It’s far too late for that shit.

  “Don’t worry, cupcake,” I sneer.

  Welch laughs at my remark before taking the iron skillet above his head and bashing it over Helen’s face. Claude cries out in objection, but I keep my stance knowing it isn’t yet my turn. He crouches down to her unconscious body while Welch brings the skillet up above his head once again, smashing it over the top of Claude’s dirty head. I’m filled with pride again, proud of my personal monster; the boy that I have come to love during this tormented time, because during tragedy we’ve found love. It’s sardonic to refer to love during such a horrendous time. But that is us.

  Monsters molded from the bad of the world.

  He slumps over the top of his fat wife. I’m angry. I want them to feel pain. Worse than what was bestowed upon me, but something is overtaking my body and I can’t stop it. Welch won’t stop me either. I yell out, pouncing on top of their bodies, bringing the knife up and then stopping right before it meets Claude’s skin.

  Why can’t I do it?

  “Roll him over, Welch.”

  I’m out of breath as I stand, watching him listen. I realize I have as much influence over him
as he does me. Yen and fucking Yang, that’s us.

  “Turn her over, too.”

  He obliges, it taking more effort for him to turn her round, large body over.

  “Find something to tie their hands together.”

  He doesn’t think twice as his hands make their way down to Claude’s belt, unclasping it and ripping it away. He ties their hands together tightly until their hands turn white. When he is satisfied with his work, he stands to look at me. His movements are so beautiful and fluid, making my heart beat faster.

  “Now what?” he asks.

  “Now I make them pay.”

  He takes a step back as I pull Claude’s pants and tight underwear down, all while the burning between my legs reminds me why this is valid and okay. It’s now that I realize death would be an easy way out for him. He needs to live with what he has done for the rest of his days.

  I take his flaccid penis in my hand, unaffected with what I am about to do, and push the knife to his wrinkled skin, sawing at the flesh until I hear a rumpled groan. The moan turns into a scream as he tries to move his legs.

  “Welch, sit on his legs.”

  Welch moves over to his thighs, straddling them to keep him still.

  I continue the back and forth motions, sawing into his flesh until the base of his penis is detached from his body. His cries bellow in the air as he attempts to free his hands, still adjoined with Helen’s, waking her. She bellows loudly at the sight of all the blood. Perhaps it’s because I have her husband’s detached penis in my hand, but I can’t be sure.

  “Oh, don’t worry you stupid cunt. Your turn is next,” I cackle.

  Claude is still breathing, but no longer conscious. I hope he lives so he can look down and understand what was taken from him and why.

  “Sit on her legs, Welch.”

  He moves swiftly over to her, sitting atop her knees to ensure she is still for the artwork I am about to instill on her body. I take the knife and slice open her shirt, then her bra, letting her saggy tits hang open and exposed.

  Yes, exposed and humiliated. Doesn’t feel so good, does it?

  I take the knife and start at her right breast, cutting away slowly, agonizingly, just enough to make her stay awake until her nipple is free from the tissue. I complete the same action on her left breast until she passes out from pain. Finally her screams cease. They were pissing me off.

  Bitch, I’m not done yet.

  I stand up with my hands and arms covered in blood. I hear Claude awakening, gurgling with pain.

  “You… fucking…. whore…. I will kill…,” he stammers.

  Something breaks inside of me. I live the daydream in real life, prancing over on top of him and looking deep within his eyes. I see nothing but evil as I push the knife to his throat, slicing it from ear to ear, watching the blood pour out of his neck. I gaze into his eyes deeper as his life is slowly sucked out and I feel what I expected.

  Content.

  Helen stirs to life and I stand, not quite ready to finish her off. I spread her legs and stab her cunt, awakening her fully and laughing as she screams out in sheer pain. I slice and stab again until her cries stop, then taking the knife over her heart, I push down hard until her chest stops moving. Again, the sentiments that I longed for wash over me.

  I’m content.

  Free. Free at last. It’s just me and my boy. But our love isn’t safe from the world’s ghastly ways.

  Welch and I have been driving Helen’s old Grand Prix for hours now leaving from southern Illinois. The sun is shining brightly and all I can think about it a proper shower and sleep. Before we left the house, I rinsed my arms free from the blood and bits from their bodies, but I have spatter all over my shirt. I don’t want any more reminders from the life that I had with them. Gone is that Gwendolyn. I’m turning the page now.

  If only life was that easy.

  We rummaged through the house, grabbing bread, a few cans of soda pop, Spam (fucking Spam sucks!), peanut butter, a pack of cigarettes, and collected $136 between the two bodies. That’s all we have, but we are built for survival. We can make it through anything, right?

  Luckily for us, they had just filled up the gas tank. Welch and I decided to drive west as far as it would take us, not stopping for anything unless we needed to relieve our bladders. Even then, he would piss in a can if it was my turn to drive. We do have a lot more than memories to run from.

  Murder. We are running from murder that I committed, whether it was just or not, in the eyes of the law it’s a life lost, even if there was rape or abuse beforehand. I find myself wanting to speak, needing some sort of solace, but I can’t muster the words to describe how I am feeling. It’s a mixture between confusion, relief, and yet beneath it all still lies terror.

  I stare out the window wishing there was something to look at. I don’t even know what state we are in now as the flat plains make my head hurt with the monotony.

  “Where are we?” I finally ask, watching my breath fogs the glass.

  I reach between the consoles and grab a cigarette, not understanding why because I don’t smoke. Guess now is the time, being through so much stress and all. I pull a cig out and light it, inhaling the smoke deep into my lungs. I surprise myself when I enjoy it and don’t cough.

  “Nebraska,” he returns, void of any feeling.

  I puff on my cigarette again, prying deep under the fucked up shit and make myself speak, communicate, whatever it’s called.

  “You okay?” I ask, rolling the stag between my thumb and forefinger.

  I look at him through the corner of my eyes and I am not able to read him. He seems deep in thought and I would pay money to know what he is thinking. Too bad it isn’t that easy to just hash it out. If so, I would have told the counselor all that time ago what was happening.

  “Welch?”

  He continues to remain nonverbal.

  I let him be. I guess this is his way of coping. Pushing him certainly is not the right thing to do. If anyone understands boundaries, it is me.

  “Worthless William,” he states blankly as he grips the steering wheel tighter.

  I scrunch my eyebrows as I keep puffing along on my cigarette. What does that mean? The vibe he is giving off is scaring me; not in a physical manner, more of an emotional one. I want to reach out and touch him, to let him know that it’s me. That he is safe and I won’t let anything happen to him. But words aren’t my friends. I’m not good with them. Finally, I reach out reluctantly and place my hand gently over his cheek. He instantly relaxes into me.

  “I’m Worthless William,” he whispers again.

  How can he love me when it was merely a sin for him for all that time? It is truly a remarkable thing to be hated for so long, yet be so easy to love. But for me, I was loved so easily for so long, now I am making it hard for him to love me. It should be the other way around. I sense that I am nearing his story and I am unsure if I am ready to hear it.

  “What does that mean, Welch?” I return, my hand leaving his face as I toss my cig out the window and curl both hands in my lap.

  I’m feeling insecure again, like I am soon to revisit a gory place. You know the kind of feeling when you are a young kid and you wake up in the middle of the night and you have to pee, but you won’t leave the comfort and warmth of your bed because you are scared of what is on the other side of your door.

  You are terrified of the unknown.

  That is me right now. There is so much I don’t know.

  He shakes his head at himself and sighs loudly. I know he is less than pleased with his admission.

  “Never mind, sweet girl. Let’s find a place to rest our heads, okay?”

  We arrive at a cheap motel off a desolate highway. I don’t even catch the name, only hearing the buzzing from the neon lights that are still hammering to life in the daylight. The parking lot is nearly vacant which provides me with some relief. Welch walks out of the manager’s office with a key in hand. His demeanor appears the same with a hard look
pressed on his face. How can I blame him? I’ve put him through hell. Panic slowly rises, piercing the surface as I think back to the words he spoke.

  I could’ve left.

  But he didn’t. He stayed for me and he is in this mess because of me. He could have been any place he dreamt of if it wasn’t for me. I am finding the urge to run. But, what good would that do? I can’t leave now. My head is a swirling mess of chaotic emotions and I wish for one goddamn second I could make sense of it all. I wish for easy once. Just once. One break is all I am begging for.

  He opens my door and holds out his hand. I take it as he helps me to my feet, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of my mouth.

  Fuck.

  What did I do to deserve this boy? Boy? Who am I kidding? He is a man.

  “Where are we?” I ask again, still afraid of the unknown.

  “Almost to Wyoming. Come on, pretty lady. Let’s get a shower and some rest.”

  He grabs the keys as we head to a room along a stretch of pavement. It’s quaint, small, and private. That seems to be in our favor. We walk inside the room and I feel like I am on cloud nine. There are two twin beds, made perfectly with out-of-date green duvets. Each bed has two pillows on top and there is a digital alarm clock and lamp sitting on top of a wooden nightstand between the beds. I squeal in delight at being able to stay in such a nice place. Would it be nice to most? Probably not. But if you had been sleeping on a filthy mattress atop musty carpet for months, this is five star accommodations for sure.

  I turn and jump into his arms, grasping him tightly.

  “How much did this place cost us?” I gasp, realizing we only have $136, not to mention the fuel light is destined to come on at any moment.

  “Only 30 bucks,” he says with a grin.

  “This is our camp 30 then,” I laugh.

  “Whatever you say, sweet girl.”

  I kiss his lips quickly, anxious to rid myself of these clothes. I fetch my shampoo from the bag then peel my T-shirt away, as my leggings follow suit. I head into the tiny bathroom and smile bigger than before. There isn’t trash or mold anywhere in sight. The area is small and outdated and the furnace roars to life, but this is a fabulous place to rest my head. I would be happy to stay here for an insurmountable amount of time, especially after the months of staying in that dirty shit-hole. I pull back the shower curtain and turn the water on, testing the temperature to ensure it’s prime before I step inside. When it reaches the perfect temp, I throw myself in, pulling the curtain back to keep the heat inside.