Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts

by Mary E. Palmerin

  I reach the cashier and pay her accordingly, making me one step closer to where I belong. I avoid her eyes because they hold stories and I don’t care to know other people. I don’t even know Welch all the way. He’s mysterious to me still.

  I hold the plastic bag around my wrist, as my palms are still injured but thankfully now scabbed over. We head into the cold winter afternoon to be greeted with a kiss of the wind and the setting sun, likely the last beautiful thing we will see.

  “To the hotel?” I ask.

  He takes my hand into his carefully and nods his head yes.

  “Gwendolyn, we need to talk about this.”

  Wow, Welch is initiating conversation. This is a first. I open my eyes and sit up straight, ready for anything that he has to say.

  “Okay.”

  Why do I feel like a mouse in a room full of cats?

  “Do you understand what this means?”

  His eyebrows are cocked. Part of me is pissed as his tone is undermining and I have the urge to smack the shit out of him.

  “Of course I understand what this means.” I bite, refusing to let my voice get any higher.

  He moves closer to me on the bed, “No, Gwendolyn, you don’t. I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. I can’t return to that place right now,” he sighs.

  “Listen,” he pauses, cupping my cheek like he always does when trying to comfort me, “You’re going to have to be really strong and detach yourself from the situation, okay? Think of something happy?”

  Fucking Christ. I knew he had it worse off than me, but this is just the tip of the iceberg with him. Not only was he forced to fuck, unthinkable things happened to him. I don’t think I can handle knowing right now either. Not when I am prepping myself for what I am about to do.

  Sex for money.

  Something dark washes over his face as he releases my cheek.

  “Time to skin the kitty, sweet girl.”

  What the fuck is he talking about?

  I feel part of me returning, the whole innocence thing.

  “I don’t know what that means, Welch.”

  A devious grin splays across his handsome face.

  “Your pussy, sweet girl. Though I do love it the way that it is…” he trails scooting closer to me, “it’s time to skin your kitty.”

  Fucking hell. How does he know so much and what is he doing to me?

  “Oh, okay,” I respond.

  “Come,” he demands.

  I listen, standing abruptly from the bed and into the bathroom. He turns the shower on, readying it to ensure its heat is perfect.

  “Arms up.”

  Again, I oblige, lifting my arms so he can remove my shirt. He reaches around my chest, unsnapping my bra. The thrash marks are still present, which may be an issue for some men; others may like it… who knows. His thumbs tug my cotton pants down, along with my panties. I’ve never felt embarrassed before because I never had anything to compare it to. Now knowing that my kitty needs to be skinned makes me a little self-conscious.

  He looks so hot standing before me, I want some sort of relief. That can’t be normal, can it? Fuck normalcy. That went out the window long ago. I don’t believe in normal anyway, even the girl who I used to be was abnormal.

  “Stand there and don’t move.”

  I feel the urge to cover my sex and breasts when he exits the bathroom, only to return seconds later with the plastic bag. My heart is drumming in my chest as anticipation of the unknown peaks ten million times. He opens the bag of razors, pulling out a single pink one with his smile and wicked eyes never leaving me. My hands move to cover my kitty and he furrows his brows with extreme displeasure.

  “Tsk, tsk, sweet girl.”

  I remove my hands from traveling down my body and rest them at my sides. He drops the razor on the ground, stepping towards me with hunger. His breathing is rapid and I want to reach out and touch him, but I am his puppet now. I won’t move unless he tells me.

  He bends down onto his knees right before my naked hips as his nose dips closer to me.

  “Open your legs, sweet girl. Let me taste that pretty pussy one last time before she gets skinned.”

  God. Why must it always come down to this? I can’t help but listen to him as my legs spread. My mind longs to hug him, kiss him, and plead to know him. But that isn’t the way we work.

  We fuck.

  We survive.

  I open my legs for him and he drapes one over his shoulder, bringing his nose to my flesh and inhaling sharply. Gah! How can something so wrong feel so right? His nose tickles my clit and I cry out, wanting more, but he doesn’t give it to me. He brings his free hand up the curls between my thighs, tugging gently and I cry out once more.

  “Please. Don’t tease me. I can’t…” I pant.

  He doesn’t relent as he inhales again. I push his shoulders away from me, but he is too strong. My lungs want to burst, and just when I feel like I want to rip his balls off, he swipes my lips with his tongue. My weight collapses and he catches me, wrapping my other leg over his shoulder. My back is pressed against the cold tile of the tiny bathroom as he eats me. Before I realize, I explode into his mouth, pulling on his hair and traveling to my happy place.

  Him.

  He stands as I sink down to the ground, wanting to live in this moment forever. But the reality is, I can’t.

  “Stand up, sweet girl.”

  I look at him through puppy dog eyes as he helps me to my feet. I step inside the shower and hang my head, letting the shell harden around me as he washes my body from outside the tub. His hand makes its way between my legs and I force myself to not feel, just like the times when we fucked before an audience. It’s a light switch that I am learning to control. Turn on for him when we are alone and when it’s acceptable for my heart, turn off when I need to be numb. Now I need not to feel. I need to ready myself for what may or may not occur tonight.

  He spreads my legs as he lathers the soap over my skin, then taking the blade, shaves the hair away from me stroke after stroke until there is only a small patch of hair. I feel different down there, more sensitive and for a minute I hate him for that.

  “Good girl.”

  He stands, throwing the razor in the wastebasket, looking back at me like a prize. He’s pleased with his work. He hands me a towel and I welcome it, wrapping it around my body.

  This is all part of the plan, Gwen. Think back to your happy place.

  I only pray that the old me stays beneath the surface long enough to pretend. Long enough for me not to do anything stupid and react with madness.

  How can I stand before myself in the mirror, staring at my naked body and criticizing myself at such a time? I turn to the side, looking at my hips, wishing they were a little bit wider. Blame that on the lack of food. Part of me is nervous, but beneath it all I’m excited. Excited for a new start at life. I turn to face the mirror full-frontal and scrunch my nose at myself and my B-cup boobs. The only thing I have going for myself is a flat tummy that has gotten flatter, and believe me, that part hasn’t been fun. Thoughts of hunger plague my mind as the taste of the cheeseburger hours ago lingers on my tongue.

  I bend my head down and look at my freshly shaven sex. I’m trying not to over-analyze myself, but I suppose that is all part of me grasping onto the piece of my mind that I lost before my parents died. Who the fuck knows. Maybe I will lose it again. Is it weird that I wish I had a tote full of makeup? Yes, that is beyond fucked up to want to doll myself up to be another man’s whore.

  I’m supposed to numb myself from these thoughts, not over-think them. Jesus! I pick the towel up off the cold tile floor and wrap around my body, taking the blow dryer off the wall and turning it on to dry my crimson locks. The warm rush of air brushes over my face, turning my pale cheeks pink. I gaze at the reflection before me, still unsure of who she is. I smile, why, who knows. Maybe I am grinning with thoughts of my future and hopes of what will never be.

  Free. Free at last.

  I s
mile as I repeat the mantra over and over in my mind, only to know deep down that I will forever be trapped by the madness that overtook me for all those months. Fuck, maybe it truly is part of who I am; part of who I was when I was born. Or perhaps it was an unfortunate fucking event. A tragic story that will likely end more tragically than it began.

  One can only continue to go along and discover the next installment of heartache. I shake my head at myself as I run my fingers through my hair, straightening my usual curls. The curls make me look younger. Being eighteen now, I figure with no makeup I need to do everything else to look a bit older. For all I know, men may enjoy the younger version; the real version. Look at how Claude treated me…

  My mind betrays me. It’s a funny thing, really, one minute thinking about being the greatest of things only to flash into terrors that you loathe. I swear I can still hear the distant echoes of his moans, the sound of skin-on-skin when he would jack himself while making me watch while Welch fucked me from behind or the sound of Helen’s wet slurps while she took his saggy dick into her nasty mouth.

  The brain is a fucked up place.

  Happy thoughts one second, deplorable recollections the next.

  That is life, though. My hair is dry, but I continue to allow the warm air to rush over the strands, appreciating the temperature, not knowing if this will be the last time I am I able to use such a luxury.

  Yes, a compact hair dryer is a luxury to me. To a girl that had everything who now has nothing.

  The water from the shower turns off and the curtain is pulled back. Welch walks out, wrapping a towel around his naked body. I want to talk to him more about what to expect, but will that be a trigger for him? What do I say? Do I have boundaries or do I do whatever they wish? How do I pick them up and where do we go?

  “Welch?”

  He looks up at me with his dark hair wet against his forehead. He looks so innocent. But I know he isn’t. I wish I could give him some of that innocence back. At least I had it for a while; a lot longer than him. I don’t even know when it all started for him, but from the sounds of his cries at night, it’s been most of his life.

  “Yeah?” he says with a smile, dabbing the water from his forehead.

  “Never mind,” I say.

  I will wing it. Try my best to come up with the best one-liners and seductive looks. Surely I have that somewhere underneath all the crazy, right?

  I walk into the sleeping area and fetch our bag. My clothing options are limited. I don’t have any clean underwear left, but there really isn’t a need for those anyway. I pull out a pair of black leggings and a long-sleeved fitted white T-shirt. I pull my leggings on, snap my bra on, and put on my shirt. Hardly the wardrobe of a prostitute, but maybe the look of the long, lost girl next door will have heads rolling. Butterflies swarm my belly and I want affirmation from Welch, but he doesn’t offer it. I’m beginning to resent him for that, but I can’t. I am not him. Who knows how fucked up I would be if I lived in his head.

  But that goes vice versa.

  He strides behind me, still avoiding any type of conversation. I decide that I can’t take it. I need some sort of support.

  “I need to know how to do this, Welch. You aren’t helping me.”

  He looks at me through lost eyes. I know exactly what he wants to do as we resolve everything through sex, but it isn’t going to be solved that way. No way. I offer him a warning glare. We should be banding together before such a time, not drifting miles apart.

  “I shouldn’t feel alone, Welch. And I do.”

  “What do you want to know, Gwen?” he snaps.

  “What to expect.”

  “If you are wondering if I was whored out, no. I wasn’t.”

  “But… but,” I stammer.

  “I’ve been molested. Raped. Forced to fuck since I was little. You have to block it out and pretend, Gwen. Do you think I really want this for you? I would happily take your fucking place any goddamn second. But I doubt some John wants a dude sucking his cock.”

  I gasp in surprise. My gut hurts and I feel like I have been sucker-punched in the heart. His eyes are dark and his lips are pursed, but he’s numb.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  It’s not easy for me to want to cry, but now I want to run into a corner and bawl like a baby, begging to be held. I want to find all of his broken pieces and put him back together again. This is harder for him than I can imagine. Images of a little version of him come into my mind and I’m angry. I don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt a little boy.

  Why?

  I take a few steps towards him because I want to hold him and let him know that I am there for him. He shakes his head no as I step closer. Has the world gotten their way by tearing us apart? I fight back tears because I have to remain strong.

  “Well, then. Get dressed. Let’s head to some bar… I guess with all four dollars that we have,” I bite back, begging for strength.

  We find ourselves blocks away from our hotel on University Avenue. Who would have thought that Wyoming would have so many young people? I’ve seen one cop car pass so far and I almost ran. Welch keeps his hand on my lower back at all times. Whether it is for my comfort or his, I don’t know. Maybe it is a control thing. I look down the street and see a small building with a group of college-aged students walking in. I can’t make out the name of the place, but it seems legit.

  Legit. Ha! What a conundrum while trying to find a man to fuck me for money.

  “There,” I say, nudging my head forward to the building ahead.

  “That can either be good or bad, Gwen.”

  Gwen, he’s calling me Gwen again and not his sweet girl. Yeah, he’s not in a good place.

  “Whatever. Do you have any good fucking ideas, Welch?”

  A car creeps alongside of us. My heart races and I feel something in my gut. That sensation of knowing to trust my intuition that says something is going to happen, I just can’t put my finger on it.

  A white sedan comes to a halt as I walk on the inner part of the sidewalk. Welch is the closer one to the car. I feel like I am in The Twilight Zone. Fuck it. I step behind Welch to have a better look and my breath is taken away as I see a handsome thirty-something year old man behind the wheel. He smiles at me, but I don’t return it. I’m not sure if he is worthy of it or not.

  “You going somewhere? It’s pretty cold to be walking,” he says in a Southern accent.

  I take a step closer to him, noticing his dark hair and eyes. He’s still smiling at me, but I don’t know why. Maybe this is a good time to try to whore it up. Is he looking at me like that? What do I say? What do I do? I guess now is my chance, either take it or leave it. We have four dollars, one more sleep, and no more food left and we are in the middle of Wyoming. Our dream is Portland.

  I picture my happy place with West Coast love and Welch’s arms around me.

  Time to play, bitch.

  “Hey there,” I say innocently.

  Welch grabs my wrist, but I yank it free, not looking back at him. I lean down into the passenger window to have a better look at the man.

  “What are you up to tonight, Sir?”

  His smile gets wider at the title.

  Score.

  “Well, I was actually going to grab a beer, but may have other things in mind now…” he says, raising a suggestive eyebrow my way.

  I chuckle like an innocent school girl as I hear Welch come to stand beside me, making his presence known. It’s pissing me off. If he ruins this opportunity for money, I will be angry.

  “Well, you can come back to my motel and have a beer. Won’t cost you much… Sir.”

  He takes a deep breath, leaning back in his seat and reaching down to adjust his crotch.

  Double score.

  “Oh yeah? Who do you have there with you, sweetheart?” he asks.

  I gaze up to Welch. He looks disgusted, but in his eyes I can tell he knows that this is necessary. I can’t imagine watching him do what I am doing.<
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  “My friend. This is my friend. He goes where I go,” I return.

  “What do I get to do?” he murmurs

  I bite my lip playfully, “Whatever you want for $200.”

  He reaches around to his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He grabs a wad of twenties out, counting to two-hundred. I reach in to grab it and he yanks it away.

  “No, no, sweetheart. After. You get your money after.”

  “Half now, half later,” I wager.

  “You’re a feisty one, aren’t ya?” he laughs, handing over one-hundred dollars.

  I stand up and hand it to Welch. His look remains the same, angry but hallow.

  “Get in and lead the way, sweetie.”

  I get into the front seat of his car while Welch gets into the back.

  “To the Travel Lodge.”

  He speeds away, back to our hotel room. I’m jumping up and down in my head yelling with victorious screams that I have won.

  But, I haven’t even dipped my hand into the cookie jar yet. Wait until it gets smacked and then see how I will feel.

  Ten minutes later, we pull into the Travel Lodge’s parking lot. We head into our room and nervousness plagues me. I told him he could do whatever he wanted to. Maybe he wants to hurt me, punch me, or choke me. There is so much that I am not aware of when it comes to sex, I shouldn’t have said that. I should have stated some sort of boundaries beforehand. Jeez, I just had my kitty shaved for the first time today and now here I am bringing a stranger back to my room to let him have his way with my body.

  The rational part of my brain is coming out and haunting me and I want to tuck it away and not feel. I want to be numb, but it just isn’t happening for me right now. I try a different route as the man’s hand rubs along my back as we enter the hotel room. I turn to look at him in the light and study his features in more depth. Maybe I will pretend that I am his lover while he takes me. Perhaps that will work. He is an attractive man, surely he is someone’s husband. I look to his ring finger, but don’t see a ring. That doesn’t really mean anything. A lot of men don’t wear wedding rings.