Girls With Guns - Part III

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A trilogy of the progression of a dangerous relationship.

Submitted: February 11, 2008

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Submitted: February 11, 2008

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Part III: Fate Forever Lost
 

The only thing that you keep changin
is your name, my love keeps growin
still the same, just like a cancer,
and you wont give me a straight answer
 
 
 
  I am not a monster. I am not a villain. I shed light on a pathway. I show you the door. I am merely a key. I have told this to them a million times, and they do not listen to me. They pass by me, barely touching me with powdered gloves, scrapping my skin away. I look them in the eye and reveal everything through my lips. They dont believe me. They wont accept what I have done. I gave him the key and could he talk he would thank me. I am sure of it. I have nothing to confess, I loved him. In the end the colors are more vivid, the whiteness of the walls contrasted with the splatter of thick red blood, the gaudy green carpet, the stark nakedness of this room, his favorite room. 
I first came into his life a stranger, but his eyes revealed I was more familiar to him than his own hands. I let him believe this lie, I let him get close. I laugh when I think of his stories, he told such wonderful stories, and yet everyone believed them as truth. Men are all the same and I thought he would be no different, but there was something kind about him, an idealism that made me pity him.  He only started out as a hobby, a way to forget my past, but maybe I did fall for him. It was hard enough to be on my own, it was hard enough being a woman, having to deal with all the same sexist bullshit. Why would I believe he was any different? He was a lost cause, he was hopeless. Perhaps I should have waited, maybe it was too soon. He had abused written all over him, but I never promised to protect him. I never promised to heal him. He believed he had to give me something, anything, but the truth is it was he who deserved something, anything. I would save him. I owed him that much. But I thought about the priors. I thought about my fist cocked and released on Sally Rutgers after she kissed my boyfriend in third grade. I thought about Billy Tompkins begging for my mercy after he realized he was gay. I thought about that cocksucker that took me by force. I thought about those unwanted pulsations and painful thrusts that left me ashamed and empty. But I told him these things and he did not judge me, he never looked at me any different, he never saw anything but a completion, perhaps even a fate. 
I know what you will say. You will believe I made him my prey. Maybe that is what his friends will say, Cameron, Danny, Terry, and Richard. Maybe they would not care; maybe they would not mourn him. Maybe they too were guilty of losing their innocence and were secretly jealous of him because he had such an idealistic point of view. They would never fully appreciate his misery because they would only notice the moments he was happy and realize that their lives were missing something they would never have contemplated if it were not for him. But once again the blame was placed upon me, because I dance, because I drink, because I look so damn good in black pants. Because I bat my eyelashes, I shake my hips, I accentuate my curves, I have tits. They are the fucking hypocrites. They will pick out any girl at a bar as long as she doesnt have a name tomorrow. And he with his gentle hands, his beautiful smile, and loving eyes spoke my name everyday. I remember when I first kissed him, how new it felt, how different and amazing it was. I laid on his chest my hair in his mouth and eyes, and he still wrapped his arms around me and was so careful not to move as to wake me. I knew he was awake and I knew he would watch me sleep. He became protective of me. He would tell me what he thought of me when we first met. How it was with every girl he was ever in love with.
He would say, "Every night like this begins the same so ordinary and yet so unexpected. I see a girl in a passing glance, she stands out though, I never see her face, it is covered by her hair, but I do catch a glance of her eyes, and they are looking straight back at me. I envision her stature, her build, her proportions, but I cant focus on her face, her face is not there. Suddenly my mind warps, and places that silhouette of her in situations where I am by her side. I imagine meeting her at a high class martini bar, Im running late, but she saved a seat for me, I kiss her on the lips and apologize for being late. She smiles and places her hand on my leg, caressing it gently as I order us drinks. My mind jumps again and I imagine a bank robbery, two masked men waving guns around, the people inside wearing faces of panic, shes in a corner, studied by one of the men, he playfully points his gun at her, smiling underneath his mask, he wants to pull his dick out, make it wet with her tears, make her gag uncontrollably, but Im there, Im behind the other crook, fists clenched. I knock him out and take his gun, the other robber turns around, confused, raising his gun in slow motion, and I dive across the room firing off rounds, bullets spraying his body, the sound of shells clinking, flying out of the barrel. He falls to the ground, motion speeds up, I run over to her, pick her up, she holds me, and she kisses me. Again I am somewhere new, we are on a plane, she stares excitedly out the window, I hold her hand as she trembles during turbulence, she squeezes my hand, smiles up at me, we land, there are palm trees and a beach, we are in a hotel, on a balcony, looking out at a mesmerizing blue sea lapping against the white sand beach, the sky is perfect, she is perfect, she wears a white bikini underneath a white dress, she sips a cool drink, she smiles and wraps herself around me, and she kisses me..."
They were his stories. He began to believe they could be real. He believed that these were extensions of his dreams. But they never came true, he would tell me about the girl at the mall, the girl from school, the girl from work, the girl from the wedding, all these girls that he never once spoke to, but imagined these elaborate scenarios. The intervening hand of fate would push him head first into their lives, and he would start his stories, and he would began to understand bad timing when they disappeared out of his life as quickly as they came into it. I never let him believe I would take the place of those silhouettes in his dreams. He was too perfect, and that was his imperfection. 
You want to know about that night? Its where the whole mess started. I would be the one to end that predisposition for failure. There would be no others after me. That was my promise to him. That night I met him he was alone, he looked so distant, maybe he was just drunk, but I remember sitting next to him. He just stared at the empty dance floor. I asked him for a light, he seemed dangerous, and I wanted him to talk to me. Two old women started dancing, and he made a reference to them, he said that maybe he should go dance with them, grind them like he would with a younger girl, I laughed. He looked away and down, as if my laughter made him nervous. He was surprised that I shared his sense of humor. I could tell he was falling for me at that moment. He bought me a drink, and I had no intention of paying for it, I pretended to reach for my purse and offer him some money. But he simply blushed and made a motion which seemed to suggest it was on him. I was used to this charity; every guy does it, to score points, to ultimately take her back home and drunk fuck. But I was too good with my alcohol, I was not an easy girl to pick up, but he didnt force me to drink. He just continued to stare at the dance floor. I asked him what he thought of the DJ; he just shrugged and tried to play it cool. I started feeling drunk, in fact I had somehow slipped into complete inebriation, and it must have been the pills. I felt Alex grab me, and I followed her to the dance floor. I was having a good time, and I didnt care that he wasnt interested; I didnt necessarily have to fuck that night. But at the same time he never left my mind, I felt Dannys hands on me, rubbing up and down my sides.  I closed my eyes and imagined that they were his.  I hoped he would get jealous, but he just sat there, obviously drunk. I decide to make another attempt on him, making it obvious, I dont know why, there was just something about him. 
I sat down next to him and asked him to dance with me. He was embarrassed and tried to make a joke. He then looked at me, straight at me and I stared back, curious to find out what was behind those eyes. He said nothing, and once again I was unsure of my feelings. I left him alone and went back to Alex and Sam, both trying so hard to have a good time. I decided they were right. I should give up on him, for the moment. I started getting sick. I felt nauseous and knew it was too late and that it was time to go. I dont remember saying anything to him, but I hugged him and he hugged me back, and I knew it wouldnt be the last time I would see him. It started so strangely, I am still always taken aback at the mutual interest. I wasnt sure at that moment what to expect from him. I was only sure that I wanted revenge and he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was focused on hurting him the way I had been hurt. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to bleed.
The weeks went by. He never lost interest in me and he wanted me all to himself. When he thought he was suffocating me he would stay away, pretend that he had plans with his friends, or encourage me to spend time with mine. He never talked much, he was always quiet, and when he did speak his fear of disappointing me would shut him up again. He was pathetic. Have I already said that? I am a chamber of echoes. I am sorry. I have my own shortcomings. I have my faults. He, on the other hand, was the absence of malignancy, absolved from the futile frustrations of everyday human drama. He was unable to express those tonalities of the outburst, the yell, the scold, the scream, the shriek. I admit this was difficult for me to understand, much less accept as true, but I began to see this as weakness, not strength. Who the fuck lives like that? Who the fuck is that emotionless when it comes to the shit that doesnt matter? Its inhuman. I would be an end to that. I would be the one to hollow out his mind, planting those base and primitive instincts to grow again. I gave him new life. But it took time; he was far too rigid in his idealism. When we first began life together, he was adamant about his fantasy and his romanticized notions of love. I remember his thought processes and his prophecy. One day he recited a story to me in the silence of the night after we had been out drinking.
He said, "He kept this flower for as long as it would live and when it died he kept the brittle leaves and faded stem safe in his hands. He never gave up hope that one day it would live again. He watched over his treasure intently like a hawk on its prey but devotedly like the moon follows the sun. Then the wind came and stole his precious flower and it disappeared as water evaporated on a hot sunny day. He already knew it was dead but now that it was gone he would never truly know if it would ever live again. He was told by others that he was a fine gardener.  He was told that he would once again cultivate a new flower and he would be happy again. But he only wanted to rejuvenate the flower he had now lost forever. He then realized on his hands were the last remains of his lost flower and he cut his hands off, letting it fall to the ground above the fresh soil. He then used his feet to bury his hands deep beneath the soil and then he waited. He fell asleep lying next to the freshly planted promise and he bled to death before the sun came up the next day."
That was his fate. That was his end. But I would spare him that eventuality. I see in your eyes that you believe this to be compassion on my part. You tell me. You have walked into his favorite room and seen the ornaments that adorn those walls. You have searched through his apartment and seen the writings, the photographs, and the blood. It should be obvious to you that nothing he ever lived could provoke these manifestations. And you have seen his body sprawled out on the floor and his eyes so listless and far away. And now you want my confession? I have already told you before I have nothing to confess. I simply gave him the key. Whats that? Yes that is my bed. Yes it does say Kate. But these questions are pointless. I have already told you everything. He lived as he dreamed and now he dreams what he lived. I gave that to him. Yes by now you have found the tape recorder lying next to the lamp on the end table. You will press play. Silence first, then static, and then a voice. Yes it should sound familiar. His voice and my voice are one in the same. He gave me life and I took his away...
My name is Trey and my story begins one night in October. Outside the rain was coming down in a fine drizzle sweeping through the sky and dissipating into a fine mist once it touched the cold black surface of the streets. The sky changed from dusk to dark and street lights polluted the sky like tall soldiers against the night. Every night like this begins the same so ordinary and yet so unexpected...
I have left this for you out of a momentary resurgence of reason. I am no longer able to reconcile those moments of truth with those of my imagination. I know I love Kate. I know she loves me. And when I hold her in my arms, she is shiny and new. There is not a blemish on her. She is so heavy to hold and her breath is cold. But she is beautiful, so fucking beautiful. I move my fingertips slowly down into that concave hollow at the base of the neck and just above her chest. I finger her slowly because she loves it when I touch her here. Very soon she will pull me close and kiss me coldly. I will look once into her eyes, she will close hers, and tilt her head back, I will squeeze her neck gently, and then squeeze her violently, and she will gasp, and scream loudly, and then she will fall to the floor. I hope she will still see me smiling. 
 
 
I gave her life and she will take mine away.
 
 
THE END


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