Charlotte, Part Three
Jan 10 '04
The Bottom Line .... keep reading......
Part Two was here:
http://www.epinions.com/content_3707019396
-------------------------
It was past midnight. There weren’t too many gawkers around. I pulled the useless body closer to me, as I exited the passenger’s side. I walked around the front of the truck, and went inside the driver’s area. Started the truck, only to hear the radio. I switched it off.
It was a long, quiet trek. I needed to travel to as remote an area as possible. I crossed the bridge linking Charlottetown to Stratford. I turned to the right, to a higher-numbered highway, where fewer people would see me.
About thirty minutes later, I pulled over to the shoulder of the road. The moonlight was too weak to illuminate anything, especially the large drop-off that went on a slant for about thirty meters before reaching a messy bunch of forest. I leaned over and opened the door. His body was so heavy, and in the correctly slumped position, that I did not even have to push him out the door. He cracked his body against the harsh ground, with a sickening lifelessness.
I peered over the side, passively observing the dead corpse. He was not going to fight back. He was not going to commit himself to selfish conversation. He would never breathe his noxious, humiliating breath against anyone else’s vulnerable skin ever again.
I made sure of all that.
*
*
*
*
I retraced my route back to Charlottetown, and drove back to the first scene of the crime. It was even later in the evening, and the park was empty.
I parked the car on the side of the street, and left the keys within the ignition. I left his symbol of status behind, for someone else to deal with. I left everything behind, as I walk calmly back to my apartment.
The time was beyond 1: 30 am. I was pacing slowly, deliberately, like someone taking a quiet, leisurely stroll. My only company on the streets were the drunks and their enablers who poured out of the bars and pubs after last call.
I could not hear them. I couldn’t hear them even as I floated within the throngs of people coming out of the noise and din of the clubs and into the fresh early morning air. I needed to brush away all distractions of the senses. I need to flush my brain of its entirety. I need to wash away the scrawlings that were etched upon my psychological chalkboard. I needed all the evidence erased, so nobody else would discover what laid there -- and so even I would forget was had been written............
As is customary, when I return home in the evening, I shower. Even now, at two in the morning, I never consider going to bed, as weak as my eyelids were at this moment.
I went inside the bathroom. Quickly, I disrobed, and threw all of my clothes inside the hamper. Every single article. I wasn’t mad enough to throw them in the garbage, even as most all of the clothes I wore this evening were tainted by that horrible individual.
I brought myself inside an enclosed space, behind the curtain. I allowed my body to be exposed by water. Pain slowly crawled over my skin, and within my muscles and my bones. Why? Where did this come from........?
Inexplicably, I became aware of my own nakedness. The marching of waterdrops did not need to search for any vulnerable places. Every part of me was exposed, irrevocably. I began to tremble. It was cold, so, so cold. I could have been pulled from the shower, and thrown outside into a vicious snowstorm, and I wouldn’t have felt any colder..........
The skin was too numb to grip. The soap descended to the interior of the tub, having broken away from my hand. I crossed my arms, protecting my breasts sub-conciously.
I felt eyes upon me, eyes that held impure feelings.
No longer could I stand upright. My knees softened. I buckled under the weight of my unknowing fear........
I cried.
I cried.
I don’t remember the last time I ever did so........
What did he do?
What did he do?
I lay in my bed, feeling him. I felt him, holding my body. I felt him, beginning to
rape me. His hands pinned my shoulders to the mattress, his hole began expelling words and spit toward my face.
He wouldn’t need to hold me down physically. He would just need that hole of his to abuse me. He would tell me how trampy I look. He would tell me how fat I look. He would tell me that I didn’t deserve anything other than the life, other than the moment, I was in right now........
Even so, he went the extra step, grabbing me by the neck, making him kiss him, not out of passion, but out of terror. He was all-powerful, all-powering -- he deserved the attention. If I slipped, I was taught a lesson.
My body sweated. My breath lessened and lessened.
I was sure that I would die. Not by his hand, but by his very proximity to me, his very existence.
I was trapped. Forever. It would not end.........
.... I woke up a few hours later. I don’t remember what my dreams were about. My awareness was shut down. I slept in nothingness. I was detached from existence. It was a fate I wanted to live, after the panic I lived through.
The time was five forty-seven am. I felt so exhausted. I knew that I wouldn’t get any more sleep, however. My brain would not allow me the comfort.
That man. He deserved what I gave him last night. Goddamn it!
*
*
*
*
By late morning, I realized that I had to get out of the house. Crisp air shooting up my nose and into my lungs would probably enable me to remain awake for a time. Although something that was caffeinated would probably assist me even better.
As I made a path to the local convenience store, I debated whether I could survive on a mundane cup of coffee, or if I needed something a little more powerful. Like a package of those Wake-me-ups, those caffeine pills. A body can’t survive the day on two hours of sleep, and I didn’t want to fall asleep. I didn’t want to go to bed, lest I suffer through a repeat of the previous evening.........
I turned a corner of the block, encountering a whole new canvas of cars, buildings and people. Beyond me, about twenty feet ahead of me, was a couple. They looked to be no more than their late twenties. The guy was frankly very tall, lanky, while the woman was small and petite.
He could frankly make almost two of her. What did they see in each other? They’d have to strain their neck muscles to see eye to eye.
They walked astride each other, holding each other’s hands. They spoke casually, with friendliness. Sometimes their bodies would slowly melt against each other as they walked. There was nothing stiff or awkward about their movements -- occasionally the man and the woman would walk as one.
My eyes focused with intensity upon them, as I attempted not to shorten the distance between the couple and myself. I did not want to stride too fast, inadvertently catching up to them.
........ last night, I was close to someone. And you saw how that ended.
All of my encounters with the opposite sex have been pretty nasty, actually. That’s why I’ve avoided men for so many years. Last night was the only time in a very long time that I let one get so close to me, and the taste and smell still lingered inside me..... the fresh air cannot completely extinguish it.......
All of your acts of love make me cringe. Because it’s all bullsh*t. I know the evil that cuts and wounds the heart, when it’s struck by the poison arrow, wrapped in the plastic cellophane everyone calls love.........
The convenience store was right there. I virtually bounced from the sidewalk to the front door. The couple evaporated from my eyes, from my memory...........
*
*
*
*
Once I entered the main lobby of the shop, my pace slowed down, my heart became less agitated. I casually paced around the items, in case I discovered that I needed anything besides whatever would keep me awake.
Alongside the counter, a group of people hovered about. They were having a conversation which included that of the cashier. I wasn’t trying to be attentive to what they were saying, yet I couldn’t help but register some of the phrases that they uttered.
“...... this province is going to hell, that’s what I think.”, rumbled one voice, a middle-aged man.
“Why would you say that?”, asked the cashier.
“Ever since the last election, the government has pretty much felt that they could do whatever the hell they wanted.........”
“.... especially after what happened with the opposition candidate who ran against the treasury minister.........”, said a third person, a young woman.
“Exactly!”, confirmed the voice of the middle-aged. “Whatever sort of accident occurred to that guy.... I wouldn’t be surprised if the government had anything to do with it.”
All three people found a bleak humor in that statement.
“Yea, really!”, joked the cashier. “Political assassination here in Prince Edward Island! Who would ever think that? Before you know it, you would think that we live in the Middle East or something........”
“.... well, the Tablian are out of a job now. Maybe they can come here.”, said the middle-aged man.
“Ah, you’re sick now!”, the woman jibed.
“But seriously......... it’s kind of funny how the opposition candidate said all this stuff about the treasury minister. Talking about how the minister took free trips on private company jets, hobnobbing with big shots at their summer cottages. Wasting taxpayers money, money that he, personally, is supposed to tend to, on silly things like that......... and then.... the opposition candidate slips on something and hits his head in the wrong place. And never recovers.......”
I continue walking down the aisle, away from the group, as their voices began to fade. It was clear that what I did, did not go quietly into that good night, but remained, hovering, like a rain cloud aching to burst, over the memories of selected citizens. Of course, none of those three people that were speaking amongst each other would ever suspect that somebody like me would have been the catalyst for what was discussed in their conversation. Even if there was a newspaper resting beside them, with an article about the politician’s untimely demise, and I walked up to it, and told those three people that I had something to do with that event...... they would most likely either laugh uncomfortably, believing that I was attempting a piece of dark humor, or they would just consider me a quirk of nature.
A quirk of nature. That’s what they believe.........
*
I returned to my apartment, having bought a few items. Milk. Some bread for making toast. And those caffeine pills.
As soon as I walked inside the door, I ingested one pill. One pill would hopefully be enough for me; enough for me to at least be hazily aware of the world around me, instead of shutting down like a narcoleptic in the middle of something crucial. By this time, it was close to dinner time, and hopefully the pill would make me last until past twilight...........
....... or maybe not.
I suppose that some people consider caffeine to be a fast-acting agent. One has a craving while driving to work in the morning, and swings by Tim Hortons for a coffee to prop up their eyes as they get into the office. But, apparently, I’m not one of them, even though that one little capsule I had was apparently the equivalent of at least two or three of those cups of coffee.
I was still stumbling about, feeling weak, as I cumbersomely prepared a snack for myself. Just a few pieces of toast. Eating is such a waste of time..........
I ate. Then I sat on my mattress, feeling the hours passing by around me. My body was still too exhausted to accomplish anything. Besides, the woman didn’t give me any money to throw away frivolously. She only gave me a car, with which I was too sleepy to drive.
My head was woozy. My thoughts drifted like clouds, obscuring a clear day. I attempted to extract the random ideas, and make sense of them. A few of them got lost, but I was able to retrieve the others, and assemble them, into something relatively understandable.........
And then it hit me. A surge of tension upset my heart, and I could no longer languidly sit still upon the mattress. I needed to get up, to pace the apartment.
...... but there was nowhere to go. My apartment was only one room. My mattress, an old wooden table, and white paint plastered upon the walls were the only highlights of my residence.
I began to panic
The thoughts that I compared to clouds grew darker, like the beginnings of storms. The storm clouds became more solid, more powerful. Elements of my life that I restrained, whirled about inside my head like a satanic merry-go-round in which I was chained over it’s midsection.
I needed to see something beyond my pitiful apartment. I went over to the window, to stare at the street that was three floors down from where I stood. Many people casually walked along the sidewalk, while cars traveling along the pavement. I cared nothing for them. Why should I? They never cared about me.
Except for the woman.
No. No. No. I can’t let myself think about her. She may have spoken some words that tried to touch my heart. But she was not herself. Why should I believe her?
Because when she spoke to me, I was looking at a mirror, seeing myself say those very same words back to me. Words I could relate to, all too well. Only it was far worse than anything she ever dreamed of. Far worse..........
Years ago, I remembered staring out of windows, trying to advert my eyes from the trap that I allowed myself to get caught into. Trying to distract myself from what was going on right at that moment..............
I would feel breath against me. It reeked of alcohol. I would feel two hands against me, even though it felt like many, many more. I needed to slither away, but I was unable to. I’m held back from movement, as the body that owned those hands pinned me against the wall. A filthy hand blocks my mouth, preventing me from screaming, or even from breathing any word.
Then, I am violated in every way, right in front of that window, where outside, everything was calm, apathetic, uncaring. Then, I’m expected to violate others, others who preferred anything only with an addition of sickening force..........
When I dared to open my eyes again, I was alone. I felt pain all over, as I was sprawled along the floor. Paper money was scattered along the floor, covered in dirt, like I was.........
Eventually, when my legs are strong enough for me to get up, I stagger home, a noxious blend of other’s liquored breath, and that of my own, enveloping my body.
When I entered the house, the people who most would expect to inquire on my condition did indeed say something. But not the things you may expect......
“Charlotte! Now where the hell have you been?”
My mother. She always greeted me in her own special way.
“What in the hell will I ever do with you? You tramp around the village, and go to the bootleggers, and then you wonder why I get upset with you when you come back home.... tracking mud through the floor and smelling like booze!”
And what were you doing tonight, woman who gave birth to me?
“I just said, f*ck it, I’m not even going to bother going after her tonight. Tonight’s my bingo night! I already missed one week trying to get you back home! What are you going to do when you’re grown up? Are you going to bring shame amongst the family?”
Well, then stop me, then, mother!
“And watch yourself, damn it! I want to bring those beer bottles back to the bottle depot in one piece!!”
Okay. Ten, twenty cases of sixteen bottles each. Who drinks in this way?
Oh, yea, everybody who lives in this village does.........
I was such a stupid teenager. I had no mind of my own, or at least, I chose not to use it. There was no reason why I had to get involved in that sordid squalor. But I was involved. And I didn’t know how to get out of it. I was too young to realize that I could get out of it.... and nobody around me wanted to help me get out of it. The woman who gave birth to me would rather play bingo, drink cases of beer with a steady stream of loser boyfriends, and collect welfare. Everybody else either hurt me or pretended I didn’t exist.
I played with my mother’s make-up when I was a little girl. She never helped me to apply it. Conversely, she never stopped me from playing with make-up, except to give me little platitudes whenever I asked about it. Wait until you’re a grown woman. Whatever. Then she’d go back to the television.
There wasn’t much to do, except fish. And those who couldn’t fish, couldn’t do much else... or maybe they just didn’t want to. Quickly, I found myself part of that chain of fools. It was incredibly easy to get a hold of booze, in a place where bootleggers ran rampant. And booze made people do crazy things.
And for some reason they wanted to do crazy things with me, while I was still too young to understand how crazy crazy really was..........
It wasn’t just liquor. There was other recreational drugs, involved. And, if you couldn’t get the good stuff, household chemicals would do. That combination really messed up your head.
I sleepwalked through my teenage years. It was like it wasn’t happening to me at all. I’d walk outside into the night, like a zombie. I’d go to a bootlegger, or somebody’s house. Lots of drugs of both the liquid and solid kind would be passed around. The people around me would maul me with their dirty hands, use their holes to kiss me, to taste me in unpleasant ways.
They’d rape me, although I really didn’t realize that was what they were doing. After all, I wouldn’t complain. But it wouldn’t matter, because I was still a teenage child, not having a clue of the consequences of any action. And they knew it, and didn’t care. So it was rape.
Then one day, I freaked. I said nothing. I left, I vanished, as if I never existed.
*
*
*
*
Relationships, sex, romance. They were all so much evil, vile bullsh*t. That was my real education during my youth. My home life was elementary school. The outside world was high school.
I've never slept with any man for love. What is love? All I know is that people treat you like dirt, at all times. And my lesson, on my graduation day, was that, if they treated you like dirt, you’d treat them the same way right back.
I did not want to be reminded of this, but my brain was in lightening warp speed. Every possible thing that I have ever experienced came flooding back to me. Hours went by, I’m sure..... but time no longer made sense to me.
I must have been a crusader last night. A vigilante for those who were like me. Like that woman. That was what I did last night. What I committed wasn’t violence, it was payback, for all those people who used the concept of love to damage others irreversibly.
My head throbs from the unbearable agony. I want to break things. I want to destroy everything until I paint the walls with blood, the blood of everyone from my past. That entire fishing village that created me would be the mold for my destruction. That’s the only solution I can consider.....
Sh*t. I thought I was so strong now. I thought I had killed those demons.
Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn!
I know! I know that you are reading these words just for fun, having already judged me before you even completed the first page. You thought all along that, no matter what my “profession” was, no matter how many people I killed, I was still a woman. A tender, soft, weak, feminine woman, right?? Am I right?? I’m just a stupid little girl, an ugly little nothing. And just because I am finding myself burdened by all of these events, all of these emotions. So obviously I just can’t handle things, right? I just need a big warm cock ramming inside of me, then I’ll set myself straight. Say it, I know that you want to!
Well, you’re no better than that f*cker with the seatbelt burn around his neck. He never saw a woman as human. Just an old, dusty accessory, like a rusted old car, that rotted behind the garage while he test-drove all of the shiny new cars at the dealership. You’re no better than those frequently unemployed, toothless fishermen who, instead of seeing me as an undeveloped teenager, as someone to protect from the harm of the adult world, saw me as someone to abuse for their own twisted pleasure, not once worrying about the consequences, legal, moral, whatever.......
You think you know what is best for me. You just want to keep me down, because I’m some poor, wounded female.
I hate you. I never said those words before, but I’ll say them now. I hate all of you! Nothing you say will make things better. Nothing you say will solve anything. I will still hate you, because you may be able to read this story, but you’ll never be able to read me!
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
In a corner of the room, I’m there, crouched down, cowering behind my knees. My position is a lame attempt to shield myself from the outside world. It doesn’t work.
I saw the shadows upon the wall that only the rising of the sun can make. I never even made it to bed. I was unable to move, terrified by everything beyond my own skin. And even what was inside my own skin. I was trapped with nowhere to go. Not even sleep could take me away from this..........
I was no longer angry. No. My body, my soul, was much weaker now. I only wanted to cry, I only wanted to get away from this. Please God, if you really exist, take me away from this.
But He wasn’t listening.........
I swear that my door was locked. And I swear that I never got up to let anybody in. Yet I was hearing voices. And I was seeing people, speaking those voices.......
“Charlotte.....? Charlotte......?”
I haven’t heard anyone call me by name in a long time. Almost forgotten it myself.
“Charlotte. I’ve been looking for you for so long.”
The voice rang like a whine from a hopelessly amateur choir.
“Charlotte! Thank God I found you! I’ve been looking for you for three years! I know that you don’t believe me, but I have.....”
I’m unable to move, or speak. I can only murmur. Murmur. Murmur.
”I don’t understand you, child. What are you on? This is the way that it’s going to be isn’t it? I’m going to be taking care of you for the rest of your life? I won’t be here forever you know.....”
Not if your lifestyle has been the same as it was when I was growing up.
”I really should just let you rot here. It’s not like I ever wanted you in the first place.”
Please. Just go. So I can murmur and crumble apart on my own.........
”You’re nothing but a wh*re. That’s what everybody said to me. They made me a laughing stock in the entire village! I couldn’t step into the Lion’s Club again during Bingo Night. All I would get is people staring at me! And it was all because of you!!”
Everybody said that? Even the co-writers of my fate, the ones who forced their damaging pens against my skin, scrawling perverted text until I bled?
”You were a mistake. It was a one night fling with some guy, and then I was forced to marry him, all because of you. I just wanted to be lazy all day and smoke and drink, and collect welfare. You screwed all of that up for me!”
Damn. I feel bad.
”Well, I ditched your father, so it wasn’t all bad. But you were always there to remind me. It was like he never left.”
Smack! So then she decided to remind me.
”This is what you need.”
She slapped me again and again. I murmured with every slap. I couldn’t move from where I was. I was helpless as she beat me into submission.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
--------------------------
CONCLUSION
http://www.epinions.com/content_3707150468
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Epinions.com ID:
DavidMac
|
 - Top 500 |
|
Member: David Macdonald
Location: Prince Edward Island
Reviews written: 612
Trusted by: 109 members
About Me:
Alice, a story in nine parts, posted on Sept 24, 2008 - http://www.epinions.com/content_5241348228
|
|
|
© 1999-2009 Shopping.com, Inc.