Sunday, May 13, 2012

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-Three

I decide, at random, to go to the library and check out some movies. I have grown bored with most of Clark's avant garde collection, though I like some of them. I wander the aisles, browsing titles and remembering times I wish I could forget. I stumble upon "Titanic" and the memories bubble up before I can suppress them.

I had just turned sixteen. I was still a virgin, though David's pressure for us to have sex had been building. I felt like I was going to explode, because I wanted him just as badly. I was just nervous, a little afraid even. For my birthday that year my sister, Anna, bought me "Titanic," knowing my love for the main male protagonist. I decided that, after watching the movie, I would finally allow David to have my virginity.

I planned everything meticulously. I bought a new bra, a new pair of panties, a lubricant and condoms. I set up candles around my room for the "mood." My mother and Brad would be out of town for their anniversary and my younger sisters would be staying with Kevin. Anna would almost certainly be over at Greg's house all during the weekend; they were planning their wedding after all. I had the house to myself.

On the appointed day I invited David over, after confirming my sister's midnight blue Mazda was gone from the driveway. He showed up with my favorite flowers, white hyacinths. We put them in a vase and I fixed us dinner. It was the first time I made my fancy BLT's for him. Then I coaxed him into watching the movie with me. At first he refused, claiming it was such a "girl's" movie, but he eventually settled in and we snuggled. His hand would stray toward my breasts during and, instead of smacking his hands away like I usually did, I reveled in the sensation.

After the movie, I excused myself to the bathroom where I put on my new "lingerie," digging the lubricants and condoms out from behind the tampons and maxi pads under the sink. I re-entered my bedroom decked out and nervous. David looked shocked, though obviously aroused.

"Are you sure?" he said, as he gently pushed me back on the bed. I nodded meekly, allowing him to touch me in places I had never been touched.

"Promise me something," I moaned, his hands caressing.

"What?" he breathed, nipping the skin of my neck. I stopped him and looked deep in his eyes. I wanted him, but I wanted this promise more.

"Promise you will marry me someday." I said, a little breathless, tears welling up in my eyes. He looked at me, with an expression I took for serious sincerity at the time. His breathing slowed and I felt my legs being separated.

"I promise." he said. With those words my virginity was lost.

Staring at the cover of "Titanic," I know I have to watch it again. I haven't seen it since that night, almost eight years ago now. Maybe it is a way to come full circle, a way to heal. Or maybe I will be beset by memories the entire time and unable to enjoy any of it. I almost wish I would run into Jae so that I can make new memories with someone else. Instead I run into David.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, clearly surprised by my being out in public.

"Checking out movies, obviously." I reply, holding up my movie selection. His eyes snag on "Titanic" and linger. He looks at me and then back at the cover.

"I haven't seen that in years," he says, pointing to it.

"I know." I reply. "Its been eight almost."

"Yeah. It has been. I thought you didn't really like it. Why are you checking it out now?"

"I used to love this movie." I say, somewhat defensively. "I just never watched it after that night because the memories were too powerful."

"I would think you would have watched it more then, not now."

"What does it even matter to you what I do and do not watch, David?" I ask, irritated by his manner and tone. How could I ever love this man? Why did I love him? Why did I let him have all those years, all those secrets and trusts? He shrugs his shoulders, so nonchalantly.

"It doesn't. I was just curious. I suppose I'll leave you now." he says and as he walks away, I can't keep the acid from dripping off my tongue.

"You left me a long time ago." He stops, but doesn't turn, at first. Slowly, almost painfully, he turns and looks at me.

"We're in a library, so I won't make a scene." he says. "But you are wrong. I didn't leave you until that day at the altar. I suppose I just couldn't stomach you any more."

His words bite like a snake, quick and poisonous. I feel like I've just been slapped.

"You left the night I gave you my virginity." I whisper, vehemently. I check out my videos and head out the door, David close behind.

"No. I cared for you at that point." he says. I turn to face him, my eyes searching his face as though trying to see a chink in the armor. Anything to give me a chance to strike back.

"You never cared." I say, struggling to keep from yelling. "You may have cared for my body, but only when you wanted to use it. You never cared for my mind or my heart. If you had you never would've played with them like you did."

"Girls are like toys to be played with, really." He says, a cocky grin on his face. "Like living Barbie dolls. It's amusing. I watched you and Alice disintegrate like you'd been blasted with fire. I had Alice convinced that being with you was the right thing to do. That her love for you should let me stay with you, even as I kept professing my undying love and my desire to be with her. She put up no fight. No resistance."

I blink. Once, twice. Tears sting my lids. I have to force myself to start breathing again. My lungs feel like they are on fire. And, without thinking, I drop my movies, haul off and punch David right in the nose. He stumbles back, startled by the suddenness of it, and then clutches his nose which begins spouting blood. I pick up my movies again and walk away. No one tries to stop me and the only person that tries to help him is his unlucky wife, who screams profanity at me as I walk away.

I know that that was incredibly stupid. I know that I shouldn't have punched him and that I will pay for it. My hand is already throbbing. However, it felt so amazing to finally do that. To have my moment of feeling justified. To have my moment of, so-called, revenge. Its the only thing I've done that actually hurt him. Of course it hurt me too, but it still hurt him. Why didn't I just do that in the beginning? Why didn't I do that when he first tried to seduce my engagement ring away from me? Why didn't I do that when he tried to sleep with me? Why did I let him into me, no resistance, when I could've done what I did just now?

I know Alice will seek me out. I know her well enough to know that she will want to confront me. I almost turn around so that she can do it now, instead of having to wait. But I don't, I keep moving forward. I swear to myself that, from now on, that will be the only direction I move.

It takes some time, and convincing, but I convince my former boss, at the book store, to allow me to return to work. I move out of Clark's apartment and into a tiny apartment above the store, which my boss gives me a discount on. I take up painting, in my spare time. My favorite subject becomes Snuggles, who refuses to sit still for a portrait. I stop going to the bars, I stop having sex, though that part is a lot more difficult.

I do give in a couple of times, after running into Adam one day at the store. And once more after running into Niya at the library.

I know that my confrontation with Alice will happen eventually. Just because it hasn't yet, doesn't mean it won't. I know her better than that. Because of this, I am not at all surprised when she comes to see me at work.

At first she doesn't say anything. She ignores my presence and my attempts to assist her in finding a book. She wanders the store, never in a position where she can't glare at me. Finally she brings a book up to the counter and slams it down, in an attempt to gain my attention.

"May I help you?" I ask, politely. I don't look up, instead I continue to pretend to be fascinated with my tea.

"I'd like to purchase a book on how to get rid of a slut." she says. I look up at the book and see that it is a book of sexual positions.

"I'm afraid you won't find what you are looking for in that particular book." I say, seeming un-phased.

"This book is for me and my husband. Who recently got attacked and is still recovering from a broken nose." Being a bitch, I can't help but smile at that. My hand was tender for a few days, but I have fully recovered, physically, from our "encounter of the violent kind."

"Well then you won't want to try the position on page thirty-five. It may re-break his nose." I go back to stirring my tea, refusing to be riled by her insinuations. Did I whore it up? Yes. Did I break David's nose? Absolutely. Am I going to fight with her anymore over it? No. She fumes, silently for a while, but I don't care.

"You are a whore. I don't know what he ever saw in you." she spits.

"I don't believe he ever saw anything in me. Nor in you, really. He just knew how to manipulate us both. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of dancing like a puppet on a string with no choices or free will. You may continue dancing if you like, but kindly leave me out of it."

She doesn't say anything at first, letting the words sink in. Then she turns bright red. I look her in the eye, the first time I've done it since everything fell apart. She knows that what I said is true and that there are no words to redeem him at this point. She knows I am right and it pisses her off, even as it frightens her. She still loves him. She married him. Like me, she lost her virginity to him. I'm sure she can't help but wonder if I was a better lover or if he ever truly loved me.

"I'm leaving." she says, leaving the book on the counter. "I don't want to see you again, Abra. I will get a restraining order if I have to."

"Good luck." I say. "It isn't exactly the biggest town. We will run into each other by accident all the time. I have as much control over that as you do over the sun shining in the morning. I promise not to intentionally bother either of you anymore, however."

With a last sharp look, she turns on her heel and walks out. I sigh and sit back down, stirring my tea. I don't even look up when I hear the bell over the door jingle again.

"Forget one last cutting remark, did we?" I say, taking a sip of tea.

"No," she says. "I forgot this."

I look up just in time to see her hand flying toward me. The contact echoes and I can only look up at her in shock. She looks shocked as well, her hand reddened by the slap. My cheek throbs, tears well up and one slips down my cheek.

"Is this what we've come to, Allie?" I ask, using a nickname I haven't used since we were children. "We have lost everything for a man. A stupid man who probably never actually cared for either of us. He used us both, can't you see that? Don't you see what is happening here?"

A tear slips down her cheek as well, but she shakes her head at me.

"He loves me." she says. "You just can't handle that he never loved you."

She turns then and walks away. I don't stand to follow her, I don't move at all. I can't. We've broken beyond repair, corrupted from the inside out and there is no cure for it. I catch a glimpse of her face, she looks back at me before she opens the door and disappears into the outside world.

I wonder if she has any doubts about her husband now. I wonder if she will think about what I've said in the years to come. I wonder if it did any good. I doubt it, as I sip my tea. It was only after he left me that I realized how bad David was for me.

I lock the store up for the evening, a cool breeze whistling by. I am feeling down with all sorts of thoughts drifting through my head. I walk slowly, dreamily. I attempt to not let the anxiety, and depression, slowly creeping in get any foothold, but it is hard. I feel terribly alone and isolated. I haven't seen Noah in ages, my best friend and I have fallen completely apart, my ex-fiance is a tool and I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I'm actually a little terrified of what will happen to me.

I manage to find myself on a bridge, a couple miles from the store and my car. I stand on a rail, gazing into the midnight blue water and wonder. I wonder what it would be like to just jump. I wonder what it would be like to feel nothing ever again. I wonder if I would see Annabelle again. I feel like Rose in "Titanic." Nowhere else to go. I've never felt this overwhelmed, this lost.

No one else can save me, I have to save myself. I have to be my own saviour. And at this point I don't care that much about being saved. I lean forward, grasping the railings so that if I lose my balance I will still be hanging on. A still voice tells me to just let go, let everything go. I can't change anything, it says.

I could let go. I could let go and slip over, falling into the cool water below. I imagine the water slipping like poison into my lungs and filling me until I can take no more. I imagine the water like satin sheets, burying me in softness that erases any desire to leave. I imagine the darkness closing my eyes and I shiver when I realize I wouldn't fight it at that point.

I don't let myself think about David or Alice. I don't let myself think about Noah or Annabelle or Liam. I don't think about Jae. I don't think at all. I just dangle above the water wondering what will happen next. A car honks at me, startling me out of my reverie and I, guiltily, climb down. I go to a payphone and deposit my last two quarters, punching buttons like a madwoman.

"Hello?" he says. He sounds sleepy and stuffy. Probably from the broken nose I gave him.

"David, don't hang up." I say, lamely. I know I need to say something to him, or I'll never really heal.

"What the hell do you want?" he whispers, angrily.

"Who is it, darling?" says a soft voice in the background. He mumbles something, a lie of course.

"I have to talk to you. Will you meet me?"

"So you can re-break my nose?" he asks. He must've gone into another room, because I no longer hear Alice.

"No. Because I need to get something off my chest and I can't do it over the phone. Bring Alice, we'll make a party of it."

"We don't need to involve her." He says, hastily.

"Why? Are you afraid she'll see the truth and leave you without a plaything?"

He is quiet for a few moments and then I hear him sigh.

"Where do you want me to meet you?"

I give him directions as best I can, considering I walked here in a daze. He says he'll meet me in fifteen minutes and hangs up. I shiver as I replace the receiver. There is a slight chill in the air. Or maybe that is the fear of what will happen next. Maybe it's the exhilaration of finally getting to say what I have needed to say since the beginning of this soap opera.

Fifteen minutes passes quickly and I see him walking toward me, his black leather jacket and jeans recognizable even in the semi-darkness. I stand under a street light and wait. There is nothing else around, no sound. It's like the whole world has stopped to watch this newest drama unfold like rose petals in the moonlight. I try to stifle a smile, a nervous habit, as he approaches. He is scowling and his nose is swollen and bandaged. I don't feel guilty for it, though I know I should.

After what feels like years, we are both standing under the street lamp, only a foot or so of space between us. I look into his eyes and wonder if he ever really saw me. Did he ever know me? I can't help but want to kiss him right now. A silly attempt to erase all the time and distance between us. A romantic attempt to save us from the erosion and betrayal.

"I still love you."

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Roulette

I
"It's a game." he said. "You'll love it."

"What kind of game?" she asked, eager to be accepted by this new boyfriend. She knew he didn't mean Monopoly. She knew that she should be wary. He was different, dangerously so.

His slightly pointed teeth glimmered in the light of a naked bulb. They were slightly pointed like a vampire's. He always wore colored contacts, she had never seen his real eyes. Tonight he was wearing a gory shade of red. They glinted in an evil, almost demonic, way as he produced a gun. His dangerous beauty and the silver etched pistol both frightened and aroused her.

"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?" he purred. Looking into his eyes it was easy to believe he was a demon, a modern Mephistopheles, come to seduce and murder her.

"Isn't that illegal?" she whispered, her voice quivering and her stomach turning to jelly.

"Of course. All the best things are." he said. "But for your first time we won't play with a real bullet."

He opened the chamber and slid the bullet into place. He spun it before snapping it closed. The snapping echoed in the heavy silence. She shivered, not sure if she should trust him. What if it was a real bullet? What if he had the chamber rigged? He smiled again, revealing his shiny white teeth, and she imagined him laughing over her still body.

He took a few steps back, his wicked grin never leaving his face. She smiled nervously as he put the muzzle to his temple. She braced for an impact that she wouldn't feel. His smile never wavered, turning manic as he positioned himself. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Just a click. He laughed at the terror on her face, cajoling her with his eyes.

"Not afraid, are you, love?"

She straightened, stiffly, telling herself it was just a game and she wasn't a coward. But her stomach twisted and her bowels cramped as he handed her the gun.

"Cock it back like this," he said, showing her what to do. "when you are ready, pull the trigger. You can close your eyes if that'll help."

It was a little heavier than she had expected and she could feel her muscles bunch and strain to keep her hand from shaking.

"Don't be afraid." he said, nibbling on her earlobe. She tried to swallow, but her throat had closed. She felt her heart beat triple in speed. It pounded in her ears so that she could barely hear. He guided the muzzle to her temple, caressing her as he positioned her. He kissed her, a slow kiss that made her frantic. He pulled away before she could get a full grip on his leather jacket and positioned himself across from her.

Under the dimming bulb, she imagined that the bullet was real, that this would be the end of her. The end of everything. She gulped for air, feeling like her heart would burst through her chest. This was the moment. She would prove she was brave. She just had to make it through this test. That was all it was, a test.

"Pull the trigger, darling." he cooed, gently. She closed her eyes, bracing for an impact of some sort, and squeezed. The hammer clicked, but nothing happened. Her legs felt like water suddenly released from a dam and she collapsed with a rush of adrenaline and relief.

He was beside her in a moment, lifting her back up.

"It's quite the rush isn't it?" he asked, prying the gun from her stiff fingers.

"Yes. A real... rush." she murmured weakly.

"Let's play a variation," he said, his smile eerily painted across his face. "instead of holding the gun to your own head, aim it at me."

"Variation?" she gulped.

"Of course." he said. "All games have variations. Even this one. When I tell you to, pull the trigger. And this round we'll have a real bullet."

He opened the chamber, slipped out the false bullet and replaced it with a real one. He spun it, as before, and snapped it into the chamber. He smiled as he handed it to her.

He positioned himself about three feet away and winked at her.

"Pull the trigger."

II
The rush of a bullet wasn't enough. The rush of sex and death were no longer drug enough. She played Russian Roulette alone in the darkness of her apartment in front of a mirror. She sat in the darkness, every click like a shot of heroin into her blood. Sometimes she would masturbate, watching her reflection achieve orgasm to the click of the hammer.

It hadn't taken long for that boyfriend to end up dead from their little "game" and the police didn't need much convincing. All it took was a pretty young woman in a blood spattered white dress. She cried, genuinely, for that dangerously handsome idiot. Not because she loved him, but because she would have to find a new partner to play with.

She hadn't even waited for his body to cool before she seduced one of the officers at the scene. She begged him to point his loaded Centerfire Compact at her head during and she climaxed remembering her previous boyfriend's final words.

It hadn't taken long to become addicted to the rush. The heady mix of life and death, intertwined with lust and sex, was enough to pull her in and keep her. It hadn't taken long to discover that she could no longer enjoy life without a click inside her head.

It hadn't taken long for the clicks to no longer be enough. She couldn't sit in her room alone forever, waiting to lose to herself. She needed the rush with someone else. Another body to hit the floor. Another blood spattered dress.

She found him outside of a club.

"Want to play a game?" she asked, looking up through her lashes, luridly.

"What kind of game?" he asked, already succumbing to the 'come fuck me' look in her eyes.

And she showed him. She taught him how to play. She taught him how to die. He didn't like the variation she had been taught, too vanilla for that. They played the traditional way and she didn't even blink an eye when the bullet zipped through his temple and out the other side of his skull.

She had been very lucky so far. Every night she would kiss the bullet, placing it in the gun that had originally belonged to that dead boyfriend.

For her luck she praised Bes. She would plead with Shai that this next day she would continue to breathe. She called out to the Norns that they continue to weave her fate with that of luck. She praised Gefion for continuing to shine on her. She laughed when she blessed the name of Fortuna and cried when she asked the Moirai not to cut her threads. Luck and fate became her religion, the click of the hammer representing favors from the gods and every sexual encounter an addictive gift.

The latest pawn in this game kissed her breathless before he taught her another variation. He filled the chamber with four bullets. She kissed each one before he placed them. She agreed to sleep with him if they both survived the game.

That first time, with that first game, they had practically torn each other's clothes off; the need to feel alive overwhelming any other sense. She had cried then, as he slid into her and kissed her into a frenzy. It was the best she had ever had and she had wondered, as he followed her lead, at what cost? Now she didn't even think.

The need to feel that chemical rush was an animal waiting to tear out of her body. There was no thought, no feeling except the adrenaline and the climax.

She survived that variation. Her teacher was kind enough to die quietly in the basement of an abandoned warehouse. She kissed his lips before taking the gun and disappearing into the darkness of the night. She always played with the same gun.

The next pawn was a young woman, about her age, so naive and innocent. She taught her everything and let her walk away. The game didn't always have to end immediately after beginning. Sometimes it continued through the loose connections made. That other woman was not as lucky, they found her dead a week or so later, another unlucky victim of the game.

It really all came down to that moment, she would tell herself. The moment when she stood before the mirror and watched her face; imagining it imploding on itself.

"Pull the trigger."

III
"It's a game." she said. "You'll love it."

"What kind of game?" he asked, intrigued by the strangeness of her.

Her lips were dark red in the dim light of the alley. They reminded him of a mouthful of blood and they turned him on. It was cold outside, snow hanging on the edges of the clouds. Just glistening gray, waiting to fall. Her look was full of lust, when she produced a silver etched pistol. Her eyes glittered in the light of the street lamps. Her eerie smile and the pistol, both, frightened and aroused him.

Her smile widened, revealing shiny white teeth, slightly pointed like a vampire's. Just one bullet was no longer enough. There were so many variations to explore, so many rushes to be had. This would be the last variation. There would be no coming back from this one. No greater rush than this, knowing that her life stood precariously on a hidden ledge. This would be the last round, all the chambers filled but one. The very last rush with someone's life about to end in the darkness.

"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?"