I fall. I want to get up. Why is my new daddy so mean? I want him to help me, but he yells a lot. He kicks me sometimes too. I just want a hug. I just want my mommy.
“No! No!” I yell, grasping at the open air, hoping that I find his arms to help me up.
He laughs at me, but I don’t understand because I didn’t tell a joke. I don’t know what’s so funny to my new daddy. He spits on me again, but I don’t give up. I want him to help me. I just want him to hug me and love me like my mommy did. Why is my new daddy so mean?
Kick.
I can’t breathe. Something very bad is happening to me. My tiny tears continue, but I won’t give up. I thrash my arms around on the cold, concrete garage floor begging for my new daddy to pick me up and make it all better.
Punch.
I’m getting dizzy. Something isn’t right. Am I supposed to fall asleep like this? Mommy used to read me stories before I fell asleep. I don’t think this is right, but I can’t move. I try to move my arms towards my new daddy, but I can’t see. I can’t hear. It’s dark. I’m scared. I don’t like the dark. Mommy used to put the night light on for me because I am scared of monsters.
I can’t see anything. I try to open my mouth to scream out to anyone that can help me, but my tiny body won’t listen. I don’t understand what is happening to me. I finally fall asleep.
I’m in cold water. Wait! I don’t know how to swim yet! I try to yell out to someone, but when I open my eyes, I see the blurriness beneath the water. I swallow a bunch of cold liquid as I feel my new daddy’s hand pushing on my chest. I can hear him laughing. Why? This isn’t funny. This is mean. So mean. Someone help me. Please help me! Mommy! Mommy, please!
He grasps my T-shirt, yanking me from the cold water in the tub. He’s still laughing, but it doesn’t make sense to my six-year-old brain. I try to talk, to beg, to cry, but nothing comes out. If he hugs me, it will all be better. I promise to be a good boy. I promise.
“Worthless fucking William…” he yells.
It makes me shiver. I don’t know what that means. What does worthless mean, anyway?
He says it again, louder, “Worthless fucking William!” shaking me.
I cry silent tears, trying to ask him to stop, but my throat is dry and I can’t talk. Mommy told me that monsters weren’t real. Why did she lie? Why is my new daddy like a new monster? I want my blankey and night light. I want my mommy to tell me that he isn’t real and that everything is going to be okay!
Finally, the man lets go of my wet shirt. His eyes scare me. They make my belly hurt and think that bad things are going to happen. I don’t know what that means, either. I’m scared. Really scared.
“Worthless William… hmmmm,” he whispers.
Just when I think that he is going to leave the bathroom, he yanks the collar of my shirt, dragging me out of the bathroom and into his room. He throws me onto his bed, slapping me on my cheek. It burns so bad I can’t see straight again. I try to put my small arms up to my head to keep me safe, but this monster is real and he keeps hurting me.
I’m not safe and my mommy isn’t coming to save me. No one cares about saving me. I don’t know what I am supposed to do. I don’t get why this monster is so mean. He was supposed to be my new daddy. Daddies are supposed to love you like mommies. I never had one before him, but that’s what the kids at school say. I think they lie. I don’t think this man loves me.
I think he hates me.
Worthless. What does that mean? Hate. That must mean hate.
He punches my belly and the peanut butter sandwich I ate at lunch comes straight out of my mouth onto the sheets of his bed. He doesn’t like that very much. I can’t see him, because his eyes scare me, but I hear him growling like a dog. A mad, mean doggy.
I keep my eyes closed, hearing him yell again making me shiver.
“Worthless fucking William. Clean up your puke. Now! Eat it!”
I cry real tears now because this is a bad dream. It has to be because I fell asleep earlier without a night light, right? Mommy didn’t turn it on or read me a story, so that has to be why I am having this bad dream.
He slaps me in the face again, burning pain tearing my tattered lip.
No, this is real because you can’t feel things like that in bad dreams.
“Get the fuck up, Worthless William. Clean up your puke now before I fuck you up worse,” the mean man says.
I have to open my eyes to listen to him, to see where I got sick. If not he will do bad things to me. He said it. I open my eyes but I don’t look at the bad man. I turn over and see the chunks of bread settled into a pile next to me. My belly feels sick again and I don’t know what to do. He will hurt me if I don’t listen. I open my mouth and bend down to meet the warm, smelly vomit and take a bite into my mouth. I can’t help but get sick again on the mean man’s bed.
A painful punch sends me flying off the bed and onto the cold, wooden floors. I stare beneath his bed and see an old teddy bear that is missing an eye. I want to fix him. Maybe he will hug me. I reach my small arm out and the mean man steps on it, stopping me from getting a friend. I cry out in pain.
“Come on, Worthless William. Time for your first punishment.”
He slides me across the cold wooden floors of his bedroom into his closet. What happens next makes me believe that I am Worthless William and monsters are real.
The familiar sounds of Welch’s night terrors wake me from sleep as I lie next to his thrashing body inside the same Travel Lodge in Laramie, Wyoming.
“Worthless William!” he cries loudly.
I grab him, pulling him closer to me as I whisper into his ear, “Shhh, baby. Shhhh.”
He instantly relaxes into me as his sweaty body melds perfectly to my naked one. He grabs my arm, wrapping his hand into mine, squeezing it. He’s awake. His nightmares have gotten worse since we left Illinois days ago, but I can’t find the faith to talk to him about it. I figure he will tell me when he is ready. He knows I am not going anywhere. He couldn’t get rid of me even if he tried.
I kiss his bare shoulder with my soft lips, not even recognizing all the time that has gone by. We’re stuck, hungry, and desperate for a plan. We have each other, but that isn’t enough. We need a future, something that will keep us alive. Money. We need money and a way out of this motel and a life beyond it. We only have one night after tonight left that we paid for and $12 remaining along with two slices of bread. It’s amazing what one can survive on for days when you put your mind to it. We’ve drank the soda, eaten the food that Welch bought the day I freaked the fuck out (a bag of chips, a gas station pre-made sandwich, and a pack of cookies), and consumed the nasty Spam. We’ve rationed our meals, but our stomachs are growling in disapproval while we used some money on gas and the rest on cheap lodging. We would be dead without the kind lady’s $250 stipend.
Something needs to change and it needs to happen fast.
“Welch?” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
I can tell he’s getting tired too.
“We need a plan. It’s just a matter of time before people around here recognize us. We can’t get too comfortable. Surely… ya know, the newspaper.”
“I know, sweet girl. I know.”
He moves his hand away from me, standing up naked from the bed. God, the boy I saw all those months ago isn’t the same person now. Now, I am gazing at a man. His body isn’t beyond toned, but fuck, it is just right and the way he uses it to make me his is beyond delightful. Thinking of it makes my thighs wet with need.
He strides over to his backpack that holds the only remnants of what we own, and unzips it. His hand rumbles around the contents until he smiles, pulling out a piece of paper that is folded up into a perfect square. God, that grin undoes me and turns me to complete mush. I may be feral one moment when it comes to certain things in life, especially the existence we had, but with him, I’m slowly beginning to find parts of the old me again.
And that isn’t so scary.
H
e walks over to me with the piece of paper in hand.
“What is that?” I ask.
“With everything that has happened, missing your birthday because you insisted on not acknowledging it, I kind of have a surprise for you and now seems like the right time.”
The words hurt my heart but also make it swell with happiness. Thoughts of never making it to a content place with him can’t be. We have to fulfill our own fucked up fairytale. We’ve come so far, it doesn’t seem fair to lose hope now. Realization hits me like a wrecking ball as I understand that I am the one clutching onto hope as he starts to let it go. Now, I am angry. I won’t let anything get in the way of what we have. Nothing.
I gulp hard and hold my hand out. He places the wrinkled paper in my palm and I start to unravel it, his words interrupting me, “I wish I could have kept the paper nicer for you, but…”
I’m enamored and in complete awe as I open the paper to see me. Perfect pencil lines trace the naked curves of my body, shadows emulating where my breasts are. Thrash marks scar my belly and breasts and my red hair is shaded darker as it hangs over my shoulders. My eyes are closed and I seem at peace. I’m shocked at the beauty and reality of such an amazing drawing. I can’t believe that his hands created something so amazing; that he drew this for me. He sees me like this, tragically fucked up, yet lovable just the way I am. I have no words to describe how I am feeling.
I just want to hold him to me and never let him go. I want us to be alright. I want our happily-ever-after before it’s too late. The world is a harsh place, even for two monsters like us. This is the wrong kind of dwelling to fight at such a time, but I won’t let him claim rout. No! Not now!
I cry. Real tears. Tears of joy. Happiness. Fear. Unknowing. Terror. Want. Lust. So much that it’s making my head want to combust. All I know is that the only thing in my life that makes sense is him.
My boy.
My monster.
My all.
My savior.
My wonderful fucking William Welch. My own Prince Charming.
“Shhh, sweet girl,” he coos, clutching me into his embrace.
“We can’t give up. Promise me we won’t give up!” I cry.
“I promise you.”
But I sense something else in his eyes.
Portland. We’ve decided that our dream city is Portland or the surrounding area. I’ve always dreamt of settling on the west coast, but didn’t think it would be attainable. I always saw myself attending Indiana University, then getting my doctorate in something or other. But that doesn’t appeal to me anymore.
Only a life with him.
Welch and I walk into the Greyhound bus station with only $12 left and one night remaining left at the Travel Lodge. I’ve been too terrified to turn on the television, even though the thought of such a delicacy makes me happy. I’m scared to be the good girl slandered on national news.
I bite the inner part of my lip as we walk up to the counter, preparing to find out the cost of a ticket from Laramie to Portland. Clearly, $12 isn’t going to get us there. This isn’t the 1950’s, Lucy.
“Do you have any one-way routes to Portland? If so, how much are they?” Welch asks the worker.
They older gentleman behind the counter eyes us with immense skepticism, pushing his thick glasses up from the bridge of his nose. I pull the new Gwen from the corner, urging her not to hide. I stand tall and try to have confidence, but I am inside some Greyhound bus station in Laramie, Wyoming in a set of dirty clothes. The confidence thing can’t be helped.
Guess that’s a sign that my rationalization is returning slowly. I didn’t seem to give a fuck much about this before.
The man types slowly on the keys with his two forefingers, squinting his eyes at the computer.
“Yeah, uh, son… that will be $140.00 for a one-way ticket.”
“One-hundred-forty dollars per ticket?!” Welch yells.
I’m pissed at Welch for getting bitter at the old man. Clearly, he can’t control the situation and prices of the tickets. Also, he is drawing more attention to us than necessary. My paranoia is getting worse with each passing day. Will it always follow me like a dark cloud?
He turns sharply on his heels, dragging me behind him.
“It’s $140 a ticket to get from here to Portland on the Greyhound, Gwen,” he states firmly as if I wasn’t standing beside him during the encounter.
Gwen. Yeah, he calls me that when he is mad. Usually I am his sweet girl. Now, I am just Gwen as he realizes that we have nothing except our love. But our love isn’t strong enough, rich enough, or smart enough to buy us a future.
I feel myself creeping back to that deep, dark place. It’s scaring me, but I have no control. Maybe it’s a survival kind of thing, or perhaps that is what I am telling myself as I look into my lover’s eyes and see loss as I climb back closer to the edge of madness. I will save him, no matter what I have to do, even if it means hurting all over again.
Fear not, Wonderful William. I will get us to Portland.
“Welch,” I beg, as he walks away from me.
Thoughts of what I have to do make me sick, but it’s about survival. It’s about getting more than $140 for each of us to Portland. We have to find a way to do this. Fortunately for us, we have had some practice, only with each other.
Conditioning ourselves…
“Welch!” I call out once more as he storms away from me.
I curse myself for my loud tone. William Welch and Gwendolyn Fitzpatrick. People are watching. Looking. Following.
He turns around, facing me as the fear in his eyes runs deeper than an ocean.
“I have an idea. I think it’s our only chance.”
Still, he stares at me and I feel him slipping away from me like Worthless William. Should I let him go for now? Will that help him cope, to remain numb? Maybe.
“What?” he snaps.
“Sex.”
A three letter word that holds great meaning between us, but also holds a lot of pain and discontent in my soul. It heals and destroys. It can also manipulate and sway, something that we have learned from one another. I put my emotions aside as I focus on the big picture. I try to get to my happy place. Yes, I think I’ve found it.
West coast love.
Breeze in my hair with the sea chopping in the distance from my cabin. The tall trees smell divine and I feel my lover’s arms wrapped around me. I feel safe. Sublime. Content. Yes, my happy place. That will be my happy place.
He turns his head to me, briefly opening his mouth to speak, but like me he can’t find the right words to say. Communication isn’t an easy feat for us, but I see his eyes soften. Does this make him comfortable because he was accustomed to performing for others for so long? Will he react when I fuck other men for money? I don’t understand. I should feel conflicted awaiting his response, but I don’t. I just sit, wait, and stare into his eyes, the ones that provided me with a safe haven all that time ago.
But how long does that last?
I feel him reverting back to Worthless William as the night terrors get worse and the food gets scarcer.
“Hey. Talk to me,” I plead.
Finally I beg for words. I want to crawl inside of him and read his mind, live in his heart, and know his feelings, even if it scares me.
“I, I…” he stammers.
He knows we have no other choice. He blinks his eyes like he is searching for a rebuttal to my suggestions, but nothing comes from his mouth.
“I don’t know what to say. I hate this for us, Gwen.”
“We have to do what we have to do, Welch.”
“Well, Gwen. Then we need to get cleaned up.”
Just like that, he becomes numb like me.
After eating a cheeseburger apiece, we have a little over $9 left in our pockets. The sun is setting and my skin is prickling from the cold. Welch holds my hand lightly, careful not to hurt the healing scabs on my palms as we walk along the south side of town in search of a convenience store. It�
��s sad that the remnants of our money are going to plastic disposable razors and condoms. Oh well, have to impress the guys with freshly shaved legs and stay safe, right? At least that is what I am telling myself.
We spot a convenience store and Welch’s pace increases. I know he wants to get this over with, but who knows how long it will take me to find a John. Besides, I don’t even know how to do it. We have yet to discuss that aspect. Guess we will when we get back to the warmth of our hotel after we shower, enjoying the last night of shelter that we have with prayers that I score a man and enough cash for another night as well as some to put towards a bus ticket.
Welch leads the way, looking above the aisles and walking towards the one that says family planning. Bile rises in my throat, but I dismiss it. Numb. I have to become numb and build another shell over myself, over the new Gwen. The one who is just as fierce, but one that has more reason than to act on emotion and impulse.
I just remember my happy place, not allowing myself to forget why I want to get where I want to be. With him, my lover. I do love him. Perhaps seen as something else in the eyes of others, but we are easily misunderstood. I don’t care about being understood. He looks around past the tampons and feminine yeast infection creams, spotting the condoms. I never understood why the tampons, douches and such were located next to the condoms. It’s not like a guy is going to go to the store and buy that shit while fetching rubbers.
He grabs a pack of six. The look on his face remains the same; hallow and absent. I wish I could dig myself deeper into a grave like that, but I’m not quite there. Maybe when the time comes, I will be. I hope.
“What now?” I question as he tucks the condoms into his torn jeans pocket.
Stealing. Let’s just add that to the list too.
“Razors, sweet girl,” he says as his hand makes its way to the back of my neck.
The sentiment is sweet and normal, but in this situation as we plan for me to be fucked by other men… not so much. I grab a pack of cheap disposable razors hoping they don’t give me razor burn on my sensitive skin and head to the counter. I shoot him a warning glare when he realizes I plan on paying for them.
Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts Page 11
