But Homeland Security Secretary Kirstjen Nielsen is a bitch of the highest magnitude. If this Mueller Witch Hunt is going to catch an Obese Orange Witch, then Kristjen Neison should be punished alongside her obese master. Does she even have children? Did she read the Hansel and Gretel story as a child and think: now that’s a powerful woman!
I do not understand how she still has a job. The only thing Trump cares about is loyalty. You can commit all manner of sins... beating your wife, paedophilia, corruption, mismanagement, lavish spending on taxpayer dollars—but as long as you are completely loyal to the master, nothing else matters.
I could very easily be like that to my friends. They’re easy to manipulate and bind to my will. All you need to do is give them what they want, then you can get away with anything. It’s the same thing with you, the readers of this self-portrait: I gave you the best love story I could, the story of a life—a soul—and now you’re stuck with me. Now I can get away with anything. I can rave about children being abducted by a frigid bitch, and you’re stuck reading about it.
I’ve bound you to my will. If you’ve made it this far, you’re loyal to me. The only loyalty I’ve shown in return is the care it takes to wrap up a story in a neat, satisfactory ending. I’m not actively doing anything to earn your devotion. This is an entirely one-sided relationship.
That’s not who I am as a person. You probably know enough about me now to understand that even though I can be that person, I aim for a higher loyalty and to give as much as I receive. I don’t want your submission as a substitute for honest devotion. I want you to be free-thinking. Yes, I have a mind control kink—that’s what makes the current state of political affairs all the more alarming.
The president also has the same kink. And he’s not afraid to force your submission. He humiliates his allies so they confuse submission for honest devotion.
I’ve stayed focused for two books and I’m not getting off-topic now. The children have weighed on my mind these last two books and it’s slowing me down. Get back to the heartbreak. We all know the current administration is the most corrupt within living memory.
Also, I wrote then deleted an entire chapter called: Ivanka Trump is a Feckless Dunce. Just because I wanted to say those six words. Ivanka Trump is a Feckless Dunce. Say it to yourself. It feels good to stumble upon a universal truth and speak it aloud.
Because Ivanka Trump is a feckless dunce.
MARK TOOK HIS TIME tucking Alex into bed that night. I retreated to our bed and curled up under a blanket. My soul was empty and my spirit exhausted.
I wasn’t crying.
Mark found me lying on my side and staring at the door.
“I didn’t know where you went,” he whispered.
“I just want to fall asleep. Let’s lay down.”
He got in bed behind me and scooped my shoulders into a loose embrace. His heartbeat was fast and his body was on fire. Neither of us had gotten undressed.
I rolled over and pressed my face into his tee shirt, then let the silent tears fall. I cried for Mark, who was such a good man and a good father figure. I cried for Alex, who was about to be thrust into the eye of another emotional storm. I cried for my mother and father, who had always wanted a grandchild, but had seemingly given up on that dream because for years I never showed interest in even finding a partner.
My mind and body were weak, but I didn’t cry for myself—I was too pathetic to pity. I was breaking. I had no way to know it then, but I was breaking.
Mark just held me. We alternated which of us started crying first, then the other would join. I held him, smelled him, tried to lock my mind on his physical closeness. He ran his fingers through my hair, like how he always wanted me to do to him when he was feeling blue. I kissed his chest and rubbed my wet cheeks against his shirt.
We lay like that with the light on and our bodies over-heated. I couldn’t get to sleep, which was unusual. Mark closed his eyes much earlier than a regular night. Without a TV or conversation, he just naturally drifted further away until his fingers stilled while rubbing the back of my head and his breathing evened.
I lay like that for minutes, then hours. I waited for Alex to wake up crying like he used to do. Maybe he would wet the bed, I hoped. One last time? What would it hurt?
My mind was on fire, seeing into the future and playing out the next day and the next and the next. Then I would grab ahold of my thoughts, freeze them, and send my mind backwards through the events of the afternoon—the phone call, reading the book, playing with the kid. It all stood out so clearly and I can remember the pain of that night vividly. The exact thoughts have faded, but I know my mind. I know how much it raced that night, backwards and forwards through time... placing my presence in each imaginary scene as if I was living it for real. Sometimes I would watch from afar, like an omniscient God as Alex withered, fought, rejected his family and cried out for me and Mark. Then I would go back in time and see him in that house of horrors. Somehow, even though it was supposed to be the past, I would know things that were impossible to know, like who had abused him, who had placed a cigarette on his skin, how he had gotten the heroin in his body. My imagination was my own undoing—breaking me. Forcing me to see things no man should see.
I waited for sleep to come, but it never did. My mind entered a dull fog of near-sleep for a few hours, but my mind was always running. Eventually, I crawled out of bed and shuffled across the hall to his room.
Perhaps I could lay out this moment in more dramatic terms. You already probably have a twinge of intuition that I am losing my mind in this moment. I could play into that feeling. I could—and probably should—write this as a horror. There’s a reason why you can plead insanity before a judge; you cannot control your actions when you go insane. You don’t remember things the right way. Your body is hijacked.
That night, my body was hijacked. I stood in his door and watched him sleep. It was the creepiest thing I have ever done. I felt no love for the child, or for myself, or for Mark. I just existed in that moment with a single, clear thought in my mind... that the suffering was not going to be worth it.
I couldn’t comprehend what was about to happen to the child. In that moment of pseudo-madness, strange thoughts assaulted me that I don’t feel comfortable approximating in these pages. Just know that as the minutes passed and the hours slipped by, my soul was in turmoil.
Sometimes I am afraid of my own ruthlessness. Not always. Usually I have Mark in my awareness and I think of him and absorb some of his perspective and he acts like an anchor on my thoughts. My mind has been known to stretch towards the Infinity, looking for connections no human can know.
But Mark is there so when I get lost hanging up above my body, untethered... I can find my way back.
That night, I returned to our bed and lay next to my husband. I slipped the ring from my finger and twirled it in my palm. I watched Mark breathe. He was inches away, but it felt like I didn’t even know the man next to me anymore. I didn’t recognize myself either.
My mind would not shut down. It was almost sunrise and I had been in a manic state the entire night. I slipped the ring back on my finger as the sun broke through the window. I lay my head on Mark’s chest like a pillow and kissed him. He woke up an hour later and when he shifted under my body, I pretended like he had just woken me up.
His arms ran around me, comforted me. We didn’t share a word because there was nothing either of us could say to take the pain away.
Mark dragged my empty husk of a body into the shower. He tried to get me to wash his body, but my hands just went through the motions without vigor. Mark rubbed my skin with the washcloth like he wanted to bring me back to life.
We dried off and changed into comfortable clothes. We weren’t trying to impress anyone that morning. I wanted—needed—to see Mark in something familiar. I needed to wear a familiar outfit, to anchor my mind in this reality. Everything felt so untethered.
And I was terrified to open Alex’s door.
I was certain he was dead.
It was about time to wake the kid, but I didn’t want to leave our bedroom. I didn’t want to start the day. Valerie would be here in a few hours. Why couldn’t she have just come last night and stolen Alex away so we didn’t have to go through with this pain?
I hated her. I hated Mark. And Alex. And especially myself.
Wouldn’t it be better if we all just died?
Mark wouldn’t give me a second by myself, not even to wake the kid. We were apparently going to do that together. Or we could just wait until the sun woke him up—it would only take a few more minutes, surely.
Mark hugged me, but my affection for him had evaporated. His body was nothing but a sack of meat and bones. I wanted to get away from him, from it all. It terrified me how far I wanted to go.
And then the doorbell rang.
I COULDN’T MAINTAIN focus on anything. People were in my apartment and something really bad was about to happen. Yet Mark and I were making breakfast for Father Dunworth and Suhail. My hand felt disconnected from my brain. It was as though I knew what my body was doing, but couldn’t figure out why it was happening.
Why am I cutting this stuff? Why am I breaking these eggs? Why aren’t we eating cereal? I don’t want to have dirty dishes just lying about...
When...
When...
When...
I knew what was coming, but refused to acknowledge it. Maybe Valerie would forget about us. Maybe she just wouldn’t show up. Maybe if we made breakfast quick enough and put all the dishes back in their proper place, nothing bad would happen.
I had to stop in the middle of frying the eggs to check that every towel in the bathroom was folded properly. Suhail found me like that, distressed and lining up everything on the counter.
“Let’s eat breakfast,” he said. He touched my arm lightly.
For years—and I’m talking about since my sister passed away—I wasn’t receptive to touch. Mark had changed that for me. I cuddled closer and closer to him until his touch felt natural and welcoming. Because of Mark, I was able to open up to my other friends. When I drank, I got a little... extra. Hugging was fine. Rubbing someone’s arm was supposed to be a comforting gesture.
But it was all different that morning. I didn’t want any touches. Only Mark could touch me. And even then I felt so disgusting and unworthy. I just wanted everyone to go away. Something really, really bad was going to happen and my mind couldn’t process it. But maybe not if everything could be put in order... and Suhail was not supposed to be in my home.
I bristled at his touch.
He didn’t say another word, but wouldn’t leave my side.
I moved into the kid’s room to pack some of his clothes as neatly as possible. I put his luggage on the bed and fretted over what little things he might want to take. His little bag was too small so I stole Mark’s duffel from our closet. I stacked Alex’s favorite shirts and bottoms in the duffel with exaggerated precision. Agonizing.
Suhail was in the room with me.
“Chris! Chris! Chris!” Alex ran into the room after me.
“What’s up, buddy?” I couldn’t smile.
“What’s going on?” He seemingly hovered across the carpet and into my arms for a hug.
“Relax, buddy.” I kissed the side of his head. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”
“But what’s going on, Chris? Why is Mark so sad? Cause Mark is sad and he won’t talk to me and I asked him why he’s sooo sad.”
“We’re sad because you’re going to go home with Miss Val tonight. That’s why I’m packing your bag. Can you help me pick out your favorite things to take with Miss Val?”
“Okay!” He was eager... joyful. “I love Miss Val and I can’t wait to spend the night. Maybe this means next time she can spend the night with us.”
“Maybe.”
We packed his bag and I zipped it up for him.
“Do you want to take your pillow case? I always take my pillow case when I travel. Then it feels like I’ve got a little bit of home with me.”
“Otay.”
Otay indeed.
“Did you eat breakfast with Mark?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t want eggs so I had cereal.”
“The extra sugary kind?”
He giggled. “Noooooo.”
“Hmmm. I don’t think that’s the truth.”
“Mark said I could!” He laughed and I didn’t even have to tickle him. “Mark said so. Mark said!” He ran from the bedroom.
I was on my knees, suddenly exhausted. Suhail was still in the room with me. I pulled myself up and reclined onto the bed. Suhail sat next to me. After a moment of silence, his palm slid against my fist and his fingers tried to pry their way into mine.
I rebuffed him and he didn’t touch me again.
Alex called to me from the main room. I started crying and leaned against Suhail for support. He was there for me.
“I don’t feel right,” I whispered.
“You’re holding it together. Stay strong.”
“I don’t feel...”
Alex called for me again. I wiped my eyes. He pounded down the hall with his tiny steps and crashed into the bedroom. He was wound up and nervous. I put on a brave face.
And then the doorbell rang.
IT ALL WENT IN SLOW motion at first, then so fast I could hardly keep up.
There was a timewarp in our apartment, like the air had thickened so it was harder to get from the hallway into the kitchen. My head was pounding. Thump, thump. Blood had to be pouring out of the top of my head like a geyser.
Valerie was in our apartment with an assistant, a large white man who probably weighed more than me and Mark combined.
Alex was crying... but in a distant, far-off kind of way. Like, I could see he was upset, but what did that have to do with me? He clung to Mark and refused to give Val a hug as he normally would have.
Perhaps it was the stranger who tipped him off, or the fact that Suhail and Dunworthy were there, or maybe it was how strange Mark and I were behaving.
The kid knew something bad was happening.
I knelt beside him and my mind cleared for a brief moment. There was one thing I had left to do. Alex could never be prepared for the pain about to rock his life, but if I could lessen his load even a little, if I could make him a stronger kid ready to face this challenge...
He hugged me and started crying. I kissed him, then stood him in front of me so I could see his face. He wouldn’t make eye contact. I wiped the tears from his cheeks.
“You’re such a brave kid,” I promised. “You’re strong. You are loved. We all love you very much. You know that?”
He nodded, still pouting.
I wiped his cheeks again. “I love you so much more than you will ever know. But you have to be brave for me now. Okay? Can you be brave?”
He nodded again.
“You’re going to spend some time with Miss Val. Then your family is going to come and get you.”
He was silent.
“Your family loves you so much and they can’t wait to see you again,” I lied. “They’ve been worried about you. They love you so much.”
He cried and hugged me again. I held him to my neck. No one else in that room mattered. Mark was on the couch, Valerie was somewhere behind him in the kitchen, but everyone else had melted from my awareness.
“None of this is your fault,” I whispered. “Can you say that for me? Not your fault.”
“Not my fault?”
“Never. Never think that for a minute. You are a special kid. We love you so much.” I kissed him again. “Give Mark a hug and a kiss.” I gently pushed him to the couch.
He hesitated at first, then latched onto Mark and climbed up his legs and onto his lap. He gave Mark a kiss on the lips and a hug.
“I don’t wanna go with Miss Val,” he whispered. “I wanna stay with you. Can you come with me? Please, Mark? Please?”
Mark’s chest shook and he w
iped his eyes over and over again. He whispered something into Alex’s hair.
“Please Mark. Please?”
“Come here, buddy,” I commanded.
He looked away from Mark, paused, then climbed down and stood before me, like he was about to be punished.
I wiped his tears again. “Be brave for me, big guy. Now go say hello to Miss Val and hold hands with her. You’re going to spend some time with her.”
“I don’t wanna,” he complained.
“But five minutes ago you were excited to have a sleepover with Miss Val. Remember? You remember her house? Don’t you?”
He was confused. It wasn’t right for me to overwhelm him like that and override his discomfort, but it had to be done. If we let it play out as it had been, he would’ve started screaming.
Mark and I had worked on the screaming over the past few months, but sometimes it just happened and you had to let it run its course. The kid had been through a lot and he hadn’t learned to hold it in. Even to this day he can fly into an unexpected rage that can test my patience.
I walked him to Miss Val. Suhail handed the bags to the assistant. I escorted them into the hall, smiled sadly, then shut the door.
One thin wall separated me from the kid. Soon it would be nine floors. Then it would be three city blocks. Then it would be a ten minute drive. I could see it all in my head, trace it with exact precision. My mind was mapping all the detours Valerie could take and how many minutes for each delay.
I could visualize them in the Child Services building, sitting in Miss Val’s room. Going to the restroom.
But that was as far as my projections could go. After that, an Infinity opened up and threatened to swallow me whole because I knew nothing about his family. They could be anyone and from anywhere. Valerie hadn’t said if they were local, or Americans, or human. Or Hoffmans. I only learned about North Carolina later, after my institutionalization.
The Foster Dad Page 23
