Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts

by Mary E. Palmerin

  He turns to lock the door behind us and smiles. It does deliciously wicked things to my belly and I don’t like it. Why do I feel like this? His perfectly white teeth and thick lips seem so inviting but I know that they are deceiving. His hands make their way to his jacket as he quickly discards it and throws it to the ground. I’m stuck as I pant like a dog in heat. Stupid as hell, but he seems to like it as his hands make their way to his button down shirt.

  Welch walks behind me, again making me understand that he is there. My heart breaks and I want to throw in the towel. I don’t want to do this, not because of hurting him, but because I am allowing part of me to become affected by this stranger. Part of myself is dying inside and he hasn’t even touched me yet.

  His shirt falls off his shoulders and I sigh out loud, not able to help myself as I see a large tattoo cover the front of his chest. It’s making me dizzy with lust and I want to hurt myself more. Welch will likely hate me after this and leave me for being such a bad whore. The strange man seems to like the responses I am having as a cocky smile splays across his face. It brings back memories of something that isn’t so pleasant for me. Connor. Something about this man is menacing and reminds me of that asshole.

  I try dismiss it as best as I can as silence remains, all that can be heard is the occasional faint moan from my mouth as I look at the intricate tribal tattoo across the man’s chest, not to mention his defined muscles that dance flawlessly across his body. I promise myself that I won’t look at him when he becomes fully exposed, but all that goes out the window when he peels his khakis and boxer briefs away from his thighs.

  God, I can’t fit that inside of me!

  “Get naked sweetheart and lay on the bed,” he says with desire and a look aimed to kill.

  I listen to him, fumbling with the hem of my shirt and discarding it less than gracefully. He laughs a little at me in the background, but at this point, I don’t care to impress him. I have him in my room and half of his money. I just need him to have sex with me and give the other half. One step closer to my happy place

  Free. Free at last.

  West Coast love.

  Just me and my boy.

  My monster.

  My savior.

  My love.

  My all.

  I shake beneath it all and bring forth the mask of the crazy bitch who doesn’t feel. I grit my teeth and mentally give myself a high five as I give him a look deeper than the one he is giving me. He doesn’t know who I am or what I am capable of. Watch out, mister. Don’t fuck with fiery Gwendolyn. Fuck me. Give me my money. Then get out. I take my leggings off and unclasp my bra, walking over to the bed and lay on my back, expecting him to dive into my five star freshly skinned kitty for dinner.

  No. This is where everything changes.

  “Anything I want, right, sweetheart?” he coos.

  I nod my head yes.

  “I want the boy,” he laughs, grabbing his cock, stroking it while gritting his perfect white teeth.

  I’m petrified, frozen in time and vulnerable. Welch looks like a well-oiled machine, not even wasting a moment to look over to me for reassurance. The hands that just pleasured me hours ago make their way to the bottom of his shirt and he yanks it off. He’s angry, so angry, and it’s sexy as hell. This is wrong. So wrong.

  His face is hard as his chest moves up and down at a faster pace when his hands move to the buttons of his jeans. He wastes no time, popping the button open and unzipping them, pushing them away along with his boxers. He’s already hard.

  What. The. Fuck.

  The man strides quickly over to Welch, pressing his lips onto his. Welch accepts them, tangling his hands into the man’s hair. I’m unsure what is happening before me or if it’s even real, a mixture of manly muscle and tongue twirling about and making my womb clench.

  Stop! This is so wrong!

  The man’s hand tickles Welch’s spine and he curves it down his back. He cups his ass, resting his finger between his ass cheeks. It’s like a train wreck. I want to look away, to close my eyes and not watch, but I can’t. Something else is making me keep watching as I feel the heat rising between my legs. I feel the urge to touch myself. What’s going on with my body? I’ve never had such an impulse before. I’ve never been turned on by anyone except Welch within the privacy of what we have.

  The man penetrates Welch’s ass with his finger and his lips part Welch’s.

  “Oh, yeah. You like that, dirty boy?” he pants, stroking Welch’s ass.

  “Yes,” Welch grunts, then collides his lips back onto his.

  I’m beyond confused. If anything, it seems that Welch wants it too. And it is hot.

  “Put my cock in your mouth, dirty boy.”

  Welch immediately drops to his knees, taking the man’s long shaft into his hand then into his mouth. I must have moaned out loud as the man’s piercing gaze meets mine.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. You can play along, too. Play with that tight little pussy and let me watch while he, fuck… sucks my fat cock.”

  I listen because that is what I am supposed to do. My finger skims along my belly, rubbing over the thrash marks. I flash back in time, feeling the wire hanger bite my skin. I shake my head, not letting it ruin this moment of getting money and the heck out of this place. Maybe this guy likes it dirty and kinky. He hasn’t even looked at me differently with the marks that are all over me.

  Fuck the thinking.

  I dip my finger inside of me, yearning to find the place that makes me come apart gloriously. I yell out for more as I watch Welch take the man’s cock to the back of his throat. Something inside of me is about to break. I can’t stop, even though when it happens I know I won’t be able to put the pieces back together again. Then again, can we ever?

  The man pushes Welch away and onto his back.

  “You’ve got a helluva mouth, boy. But I wanna play in threes now. Eat that tight pussy while I fuck you. God, I can’t wait to feel how tight your ass is around my big cock.”

  My eyes grow wide while he seems unaffected. My wounds cut deeper than the surface as I realize just how fucked up he is, going about this like its normal. But how am I any better as my sex drips with need while I watch? He stands quickly, spreading my legs painfully and not bothering to look at me like he usually does. His mouth dips down to my sensitive flesh, licking it with perfection while the man situates himself behind Welch. He fetches a condom out of his jeans pocket and rolls it over his length. He spits on his hands twice, rubbing it up and down, then settles himself between Welch’s ass as he holds onto his hips.

  The man’s eyes meet mine and I feel scared but I submit because I know what he wants. I let go and come as Welch fingers my clenching sex while licking my clit with precision. I force myself to keep my eyes open because I am scared of what will happen if I close them.

  “Good little whore, coming for me,” he bites, thrusting himself into Welch.

  Welch’s face rams into me and he bites down on my inner thigh out of pain. I cry out for so many things. Desperation, help, loss, and tragedy for my lover. The man is not gentle with his movements, thrusting into him hard twice more. Welch wails out again.

  “Do you need to feel good, too?” he asks Welch, remaining still inside of his ass while rubbing his back.

  “Yes, please,” he pants.

  The man pulls out of him and Welch groans.

  “Let me see that cock,” the man demands.

  Welch stands up to show the man how hard he is. The man strokes his cock and Welch lets his head fall back, moaning in enjoyment.

  “Now, get deep inside of her while I fuck you, okay?”

  “Yes…” he whispers.

  He settles between my legs, still avoiding my eyes, jarring himself hard inside of me. The man climbs on top of him, ramming himself inside of Welch. The multiplying thrusts and weight are too much for my tiny body and broken spirit. I let the tears fall as my body betrays me and I come apart once more, realizing that this is all my f
ault.

  I’m losing my sanity once again.

  The first time it was my fault, killing Claude and Helen.

  Now, for picking up this man that could be fucking the shit out of me. But instead, Welch is forced to take it and give it. He’s drifting further apart from my heart and the world is determined to break our love into unrepairable pieces. What’s life worth living anymore?

  My world stills as the tears continue, Welch spilling himself inside of me. The man continues to hammer himself relentlessly into Welch’s ass until his body goes rigid. He falls on top of him and I can’t breathe. Have they forgotten me? I push my arms on Welch to get him off of me, but he doesn’t budge.

  “Get off!” I yell.

  The man gets off and Welch turns over, laying on the bed. I stand to grab my clothes, looking down at the ground to see something shiny peeking out from the man’s pocket. I look further as my hand nudges it more from the pocket.

  Shit.

  He’s a cop.

  “You need to go,” I blurt.

  “Give me my money and get out. Now.” I state again.

  I hope he sees the fire in my eyes. He scrunches his eyebrows. I know he senses something is off, but I don’t care. I will take this $200 and send Welch to Portland myself, hoping for something better for him.

  He dresses quickly and hands me my remaining $100. I sigh in relief when he leaves as Welch lies on the bed with his arm over his eyes. When the front door closes, I lock it and run over to Welch’s side. He cries out in agony, hugging his knees to his naked chest. He’s rocking back and forth as his cries turn into anxious pleas for something that I don’t know. I wish I had the answer.

  “I’m done, Gwen. I can’t do this anymore,” he cries.

  My tears join his harder than before, “Me too, Welch.”

  If this is what it takes to earn money for us, the world has become a nasty place. I cuddle Welch’s naked body in my arms as he shivers, crying still and slobbering onto my bare chest. I want to find the right words, but I can’t. I’ve come to hate myself more than before. I have more empathy and sadness at this time, allowing my body to respond when Welch was fucked as I was eaten and taken, than when I took two lives away from this Earth. I let myself spill silent tears down my face as my hands move down his back, but he flinches. My mind flashes to the moments before, as the man stilled himself inside of Welch, rubbing his back.

  “I don’t think this is going to end well for us, sweet girl,” he murmurs between cries.

  I know he’s right. They don’t call them dreams for nothing. I know people say to chase them and not to stop until they’re in your hands, but mine are broken and bleeding. We’re tired. There is no such thing as faith in humanity any longer. Look at the man that just took us; a cop. One who is supposed to protect and to serve, to uphold the law. So if he’s so willing to fuck with us the way that he did, what makes me think that Welch and I would ever get help from police?

  The likely answer is no.

  His sentiment of my name makes my heart swell and break at the same instant. I cry harder and he holds onto me. This is the point where we decide what path we want to take. It appears that we understand one another through tears, the aura of heartache, and feelings that we are leaning towards the same one.

  Giving up.

  But understanding exactly what giving up means needs to be figured out. I think I know, but verbalizing it scares me. I never thought that this would be how my life ended up, but it has truly made me think. How often does this really happen? Millions of times a day. It’s a horrible thing to think of, to come to your wit’s end all because you were a child who became parentless only to be thrown to a pit of devils, trained to obey; no matter what they demanded, you are expected to listen.

  All along I thought I was my own puppet. I kidded myself. I was theirs. I transformed myself into someone else. Then once more, as I sit in a hotel room holding the boy that I love as we come to terms with the fact that our hearts are torn to shards that can never be sewn back together because quite frankly, there aren’t enough good people in the world.

  “I’m sorry, Welch. This is all my fault,” I wail.

  I want to dig my own grave and climb inside, bury myself and suffocate until my life ends. This feeling is worse than watching Claude pleasure himself while being forced to fuck Welch because I realize how broken Welch is. I’m just as broken too.

  He sniffles as his sobs lower, “Shh, sweet girl. You did what you had to do. This isn’t your fault.”

  There he goes again, trying to be the strong one. Why does he do that? Is that part of the numbing process? How can he have so much empathy for me when I have merely had a fraction of the life that he has had? It is unthinkable.

  “Welch, I don’t have a right to be fucked up. Not when you’ve been through worse.”

  We remain entangled on top of the bed, naked. For the first time, sex is the last thing on our minds. It’s comfort and understanding as we come to terms of this turning point in our tumultuous lives.

  “I was six when my mom died…”

  “Welch, please, you don’t have to do this right now.”

  “Yes, sweet girl. I do.”

  He grasps onto me tighter. His tears cease as my battered skin remains stained with evidence of his sorrows.

  “It all came back in pieces later in life. Counselors told me that when bad things happen to little kids, they block it out. Anyway, I remember good things about my mom. She always tucked me in bed at nighttime. Turned on the night light and read me a story and gave me my teddy bear…”

  I want to turn my mind off, but I can’t. It’s like a movie playing in my head. I see a tiny, dark-haired boy with big brown eyes lying in a bed with a mother that resembles him. I pray that she was good to him, but my heart is telling me otherwise.

  “Those are the good parts that I remember about her. But my mom was always in and out. I think back, always worrying that she was sick because she was constantly giving herself shots in her arm. Turns out she was into drugs really bad. Heroin.”

  How sad for a little boy to worry about his mother being unwell when she was really addicted to drugs. I find my heart breaking more and more with each passing second. How can he still have faith in something better when his spirit was broken at such a young age?

  “It was right before Christmas that year. Mom put up one of those mini trees in my room. I was so excited for Santa. It was dinner time and I remember her being sick, so she went to put the needle in her arm and then to her bedroom to lay down. She may have not made the best decisions, but she always tucked me in at night. That night she didn’t.

  “I waited and waited in my room, but she never came. I was so scared to walk down the dark hallway because in the rent house we lived, the light switches were too tall for me to reach. But, when I finally got the courage to go into her room, she was cold. So cold…”

  He starts crying again and the movie continues to play out in my mind. I start to cry with him as I hug him tighter, letting him know that I am his safe place.

  “You don’t have to tell me more, Welch,” I whisper, playing with his hair.

  “Yes, sweet girl. Please, let me finish. I have to do this.”

  “Okay,” I respond, making sure that he understands that he can stop whenever he needs to.

  “I thought that since she was constantly giving herself shots, that maybe she was just really sick so I laid next to her, but she never moved. She was so cold. When morning came and I saw that her eyes were open and didn’t close, I was confused. I didn’t understand death back then. Even now, I don’t really get it. Anyway, I went and got a wet washcloth to put it on her forehead because she did that for me last time I got sick. But still, she didn’t move. I got scared, but I couldn’t leave her because I was just a boy with no father, no other family.”

  He starts crying again. This is too much for my tortured heart to hear.

  “You have family, Welch. Me.”

  He l
ooks up at me and offers a lazy grin, “Yes, sweet girl. You’re right.”

  He kisses my chest out of affection, not in a sexual manner and it makes me sad. How can he be so caring? How can he not be angry at the world for dealing him the worst cards ever?

  “What happened next?” I ask.

  I hate myself for probing him for answers. Once more, my mouth betrays my mind.

  “For two days I laid next to her dead body. I didn’t eat and only went into the bathroom to drink from the faucet because I was too scared. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. The school sent a welfare check to the rental house where we lived. That’s how I was found and launched into the system. They told me that my mother was going away to heaven and that I would see her again someday. I didn’t have the slightest concept of heaven then. I only thought that she was sick, going away to get better.

  “I didn’t get to take anything that was familiar to me. I was taken away from everything I knew and given to my first set of foster parents. I never had a real dad. I thought maybe he could love me, because the kids at school told me that is what dads do. That’s when worthless William was born. He beat me, made me do unthinkable things at six-years-old, but for some delusional reason, I wanted him to love me. I wanted anyone to love me because I had no one.

  “I’ve been alone until you, sweet girl.”

  I can’t take it anymore. His story is too much. I feel like my heart is going to explode while my eyes burst from the tears streaming down my face.

  “Welch, you…”

  “Stop. You need to understand.”

  But I don’t want to understand. Maybe that is selfish, but there are some things that I want to remain clueless about. This hurts me too much to hear.

  “I learned to listen. Coached myself to obey as I was transferred from home to home. Somehow, they have a way of making you scared to admit anything to the counselors. You want to, you have the words at the tip of your tongue, but they just don’t come because you see their fists above your head, ready to strike. Sometimes I would even feel the pain of their thrusts in my bottom as I sat across from the social worker. So I stayed silent out of fear. Fear of death. But it’s now that I understand that death is more appealing than the fight anymore.”