Expressionate

by Lucy Smoke

  “What?” she groans, rolling over to stare at me with glassy, unfocused eyes.

  “Why don’t we go to church anymore?” I liked church. I liked the nice pastor guy and the ladies that watched me and Ally while Mommy and Daddy went to big people church.

  “Because,” she says. I wait for her to finish and when she doesn’t I realize that was her answer. It doesn’t satisfy my curiosity. I wonder if God’s mad at us.

  “Are we in trouble?” I ask. She looks at me and for a moment her eyes go from distant to clear.

  “We’re always in trouble,” she says.

  “Why?” Mommy stares at me for a moment and I hate the way her eyes cloud over again so quickly. She yawns and rolls over, but I persist. “Why, Mommy? Mom? Why are we in trouble? What did we do? Mommy? Why?”

  “BECAUSE WE JUST ARE!” She flips back over, sitting up and glares down at me.

  I’m not satisfied. “Is it because Daddy said he didn’t believe in God anymore?” I ask. I heard him say it. I heard him say it, and then I heard him cry. But he told me that boys aren’t supposed to cry, so maybe he was doing something else.

  “Maybe…” she trails off.

  “Do you believe in God, Mommy?” The way she laughs when I ask that scares me. It reminds me of those clapping monkey toys. Hi-hat percussions attached to their hands, clanging wildly. Mommy laughs like that – a bit out of control, a bit wild, a lot scary.

  “Do I believe in God?” she repeats. “I believe in Him about as much as I believe in your father’s faithfulness.”

  I don’t know what that means. I wait for her to keep talking, but Mommy looks at me with empty and hollow eyes. Eyes that don’t glow with life anymore.

  “Someday, Tax, you’re going to learn that no matter how much you believe in something, no matter how much you pray, there is not some almighty hero ready to take you away. He just sits up there mocking you on his golden throne. While we crawl like insects at His feet.” She turns away. Maybe I should try to figure out what she means, but I don’t think I want to.

  "Hey!" The old man slaps my side. "You still with me, youngun'?" he asks as if he truly is half worried I've keeled over and died on him over here.

  "Yeah," I say. "I'm here."

  "Alright then, tell me 'bout your girl." He rights himself against the sidewalk. Getting himself all comfortable—or as comfortable as a person can get in the pouring down rain and cold.

  I sniff hard, ice in my nostrils. "She's a goddamn disease," I say, reaching up to rub my chest.

  He nods understandingly. "The best ones usually are—getcha right in that chest o' yours."

  I shake my head. "Nah, man, it ain't just my fucking chest. She gets me everywhere. It ain't safe anymore. Nowhere is safe. I can't even go home. She lives right next to me."

  He laughs, and laughs hard. When I manage to round my head again to look at the old man fully, he still hasn't stopped laughing. It's starting to piss me off as I wait to ask him what the hell is so damn funny. He finally speaks. "Ain't nobody ever told you not to fuck where you shit?"

  I laugh, thinking of Cross. “They did; I didn’t listen.”

  “Well, you done fucked yourself over now. You gon’ haft’a move.”

  My laughter dies in my throat at the mere thought. I may hate her right now, but there’s no fucking way I could leave her. I shake my head. Before I can say anything, though, the old man grabs my arm. “Don’t ya say nothing, son. I know that look. You ain’t even gonna try and fight it, are ya?”

  “What would be the point?” I ask. “Every fucking road I seem to take is gonna lead me back to her.” And no matter how much rain she brings, even if I end up soaked to the bone, I don’t think I would have her any other way. Love may be cold sometimes, but it's nothing like my Mother. No, her coldness is something else entirely. It's a shield, a protection. I just have to rip it all away and bring her back to where she belongs – with me.

  "Well, boy, if ya love 'er so much, what the fuck you doin' out here?" The man gestures to the parking lot and the rain. It feels like it's rained more in the short time that I've had Love in my life than it has in my entire life. But it feels...cleansing? Yeah, that's it.

  But if it feels so good, why am I here?

  My fuzzy, alcohol clouded brain supplies me with the answers. Because she doesn't give a shit. Love left me. Whatever the fuck happened in the hospital parking lot was obviously an anomaly. Maybe I was a passing fancy – a fucking faceless asshole to her, in a line of faceless assholes. Have I been too fucking blind to see that?

  My heart seizes in my chest, pain sliding into my veins, clogging my arteries. I thought Love was it. There was something special about her. She was different. Fuck. She was...fuck, she was mine. And not because I fucking bought her. I don't care about her past. I'll never care. Blake somehow knew. How, I may never fucking know. He warned me not to judge her and I don’t. It makes no difference to me. So what if she sold her body for a place to live? She was a teenager. She was...Ally's age, I realize as my stomach turns over. Suddenly, Ally's face replaces Love's as another man runs his hands over her body and bile boils in my gut as my tongue coats with saliva. I can't think about it. My head spins. No.

  "Hey, you okay there?" the old man asks.

  I shake my head quickly, turning and hunching over as vomit shoots up my throat. My entire body shakes and coils with the force of the movement as I throw up. The man stumbles to his feet, and when I'm done, he helps me stand up.

  "Boy, I didn't think you were that fucked up," he says.

  I groan as he tries to shuffle me back to the bar—our legs moving slowly since I can barely stand on my own. I don't want to move back to the alcohol—I want to move away. It will only make me want to shove my fist in someone's face. If I can't have Love, I need the next best thing. My vice if not my virtue. I need fucking blood.

  24

  Love

  And can you tell me what happened then?” I watch the officer from the door of Trisha’s hospital room. Another stands just outside the door, against the wall – though there’s really no need since the EMTs declared Lawrence dead upon arrival. Trisha’s face is pale and her blue eyes dull. She looks almost as lifeless as I feel.

  “He threatened me and then he tried to choke me.” Her words make me rock back on my feet, a knot blocking my airway.

  “Was this the first time he threatened you?” She avoids my eyes when she shakes her head. My chest is a hollow cavern of disappointment and shame. Not in her, never in her, but in myself. I turn towards the hallway, my temples throbbing.

  Minutes later, the officer walks out and greets his partner. As a unit they turn to me. “We’ve taken all the statements we need to, but just to be safe, please refrain from leaving the city in the coming weeks. We expect that your sister will be released within the next few days and we’ve advised her to do the same.”

  I’m too numb to say anything, so I just nod. They say their goodbyes and then I’m left standing in the cold, clinical hallway with people in scrubs moving past, and I feel like I’m frozen in time and everyone else is speeding around me. Trisha’s voice calls me out of it and I step back into the room.

  “Are you leaving?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” My voice stops working and I clear my throat. “I’m gonna head back to the apartment.”

  She nods. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you later?” I can’t answer her. Instead, I force a smile and nod my head before waving goodbye.

  I remember nothing about the drive back to my apartment. I could have passed hundreds of wrecks, burning buildings, and bodies on the side of the road, and I wouldn’t have noticed. When I open the door to my apartment, silence meets me. I drift through the apartment like a disembodied ghost. My skin feels numb, prickly – like thousands of little needles are pressing against my flesh. My room smells different as I undress and fall into bed. I sniff my pillows and curl around them, wanting to just fall into the deepest abyss of sleep when I realize what the smel
l is, and my chest clenches. It smells like him. It smells like Tax. Hot tears run down my face as I press my nose into the fabric. I was so cruel to him and the reminder spreads in my chest like fiery tentacles wrapping around my insides and searing me with my shame.

  I’m worthless. Broken. I squeeze my eyes closed, praying for sleep to be my escape, but my mind swirls in an endless circle of sharp cutting edges. Reminding me that I’m shit. I’m a whore. I let my sister get hurt. I hurt Tax when he loved me – he loved me. I bite my lip to keep from screaming as my chest shakes and my spine shudders. I can’t fucking breathe. The shadows in the corners of the room creep towards me as the sun sets. I’m alone.

  No matter how many times I close my eyes against them, no matter how many times I hold my breath – the shattering of my soul surrounds me in the heavy gasps from my mouth. I’m falling apart. Even reaching out and watching my hand move across the covers of my bed feels like I’m staring at someone else’s limb, someone else’s body. This isn’t me. I’m not this broken, am I? Have I always been this way? I curl closer, trying to protect my core. There’s something here that needs to be held together if I plan on surviving. Dark thoughts intrude on me and the little girl cries as they brush against her. No one ever saves her. I certainly can’t. The only one who ever tried was—

  When my phone goes off, my first reaction is to ignore it. My throat is tight with how long I’ve cried. But then I remember that Trisha doesn’t have her phone and the only other person who does call me is him. And it’s him that I need. He can do something. He can save me. I can’t stumble off the bed fast enough, snatching my phone from my nightstand, my knees hit the floor and I stifle a sob as I answer without looking and press the phone to my ear.

  “I need you.” I pant into the phone, waiting for a response, but he doesn’t say anything, and I close my eyes against the cutting edges getting closer and the shadows growing longer. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry – I was wrong to leave like that. It was selfish, and I hate myself. I’m so sorry.” I sob. “I just can’t – It’s my fault, everything I’ve done. All the things I’ve done remind me that I should be ashamed. I’m dirty.” I look at my shaking hand in my lap as more tears leak out, hitting my palm and sliding down to my wrist as I hold it up. “You were the only good thing that I’ve ever had other than Trisha and I hurt you. I wanted to hurt you, but I only did it to make you go away. I’m scared, Tax. I’m so scared, and I keep thinking these awful thoughts and I need you. I need you so much, please don’t leave me. I love you.”

  Silence reigns and I sob, gasping. “Tax, please say something.”

  “You want me to say something?” My spine stiffens, horror dawning. Danny chuckles, low and deep. “Whoever this Tax person is, he seems to have made a strong impression on you, little girl.” Bile chokes me. “But does he know how dirty you really are? Does he know how many men you’ve been with? How many women? Does he know how filthy you can be?” I don’t know if he can hear how shaky my breath is, how hard it is to push all the air out and draw it back in. “Oh, but don’t worry. I won’t judge you. I fucking love you that way, baby. You’re so beautiful when you’re on your knees, choking on my cock. Tell me, does he know how much you like it? I know you do, baby. You were made to be used. You need someone who understands you, don’t you?”

  I can’t respond. The numbness is back full force. My tears dry up and I lean my head back against the side of the bed, closing my eyes as the shadows consume me.

  “That’s okay, Love—” My name in his mouth makes me want to vomit. “You don’t have to say anything. I know you do. You need someone who accepts that you not only like to be used, you need to be used. You need a man to spread your legs and fuck you long and hard. You need someone to control you. Someone like you can’t be left alone, baby. You need to come back to where you belong.”

  “And where is that? With you?” The cutting edges have ripped me open and the little girl lays bleeding in the cavity of my chest. I look down, expecting a growing blood stain, but nothing is there.

  “Of course it’s with me,” Danny snaps. “See, just like that – you’re too stupid to understand yourself. And you’re fucking insane if you think this Tax person knows you, knows what you need. He can’t help you.” His voice deepens. “Only I can. I’m the only one who understands what my little slut needs. You know what you need to do.”

  My eyes burn. There are monsters here, crawling under my skin. Into my mind. He’s right. Danny is the only one who knew before I opened up to Tax, and then it was so easy for Tax to let me go. I hurt him and I couldn’t even protect Trisha. Even when I thought I had moved on and could go away, Danny had found me. It doesn’t matter how. Maybe it was just the universe reminding me. Maybe I truly do belong with him. I end the call without saying anything more. The only problem with these monsters is that I can’t go back to the darkness and I can’t let them hurt anyone else.

  I can’t be in this fucking room. When I look at the bed, now, I see Tax curled around me. When I look at the desk, I see that fucking typewriter he gave me. When I look out the window, even the fucking sunset makes me think of the fire in his eyes. I stumble out of the bedroom and into the hall, making my way to the bathroom. Danny’s words make me feel unclean because I am unclean. I turn the water on. When it’s scalding hot and steam starts to rise, I jerk back the curtain and get in. The water hits my skin, immediately making it sting and flush an angry red, but I don’t care. I let the burning liquid pour over me. The pain makes my mind close down. Or at least it gives the illusion of a blank mind. When really the monsters have entered me and turned me – I’m the monster now.

  My palms hit the shower wall and even this fucking sanctuary reminds me of the night Danny texted me and Tax and I showered together. Tears burn at the back of my eyelids and I smack my forehead into the tile. It hurts, the little girl is crying as she tries to hold her wounds closed. Good, I think. I deserve to hurt. I ruin everything. If I hadn’t been born, Anne wouldn’t be like she is. If I hadn’t been born, Trisha could’ve been happy. Trisha wouldn’t be in the hospital and Lawrence may have never entered her life.

  I turn off the shower and step out, my feet slip as they touch the cold floor. I fall, and my head smacks against the hard edge of the plastic tub. I blink, small tiny black dots dancing in my field of vision. It hurts, and my hands come up to check for blood. There is none. I lie there on my bathroom floor feeling all of the warmth slowly deplete. I’m so fucking tired. I can’t ever leave this place again. If I’m going to keep Tax safe, Trisha safe – I can’t ever see them again.

  No! The little girl screams. You can’t do that. We need them! I shake my head. No. Never again.

  She growls at me, almost as wild and feral as Tax. It makes sense, he created her after all. It’s going to be okay, she says. We’ll be okay. Tax will come. We’ll be strong enough and Tax will come. I can’t let that happen.

  You know what you need to do…Danny’s words echo in my mind. He’s right. About me, about everything. I do know what I need to do, but it’s probably not what I had in mind.

  As if sensing where my monsters are leading me, the little girl struggles against her prison. No!

  What’s worse, I wonder, than knowing I shouldn’t exist, than knowing that I’m beyond saving…is pretending that I’m not. Pretending like I’m normal. Exhaustion tugs at my bones, calling me to a dark, dark place and I go willingly. There’s no fucking use fighting it anymore.

  You have to! she calls. You have to fight it!

  I already feel dead. What’s the problem with making it official? Everything would be better. It would stop hurting so much. Coils of vines wrap around my insides, their thorns stabbing deep and leaving me bleeding out on the bathroom floor when I realize where my thoughts are leading. I know Trisha will cry, but it’s better this way. I stand up and look down, realizing that I never took off my underwear. The fabric is soaked, but dark enough that it’s not see through. Instead, the underwear is
an unwashed, nondescript gray tone. Fitting for my personality – nondescript, boring, dirty. I turn the tap back on and plug the bottom of the tub, letting it start to fill. Trisha will remember me, and I wish I could save her from that torture, but I can’t. This is all I can do.

  I trudge out into the hall and into the kitchen. Pills. I’m sure Beverly left her sleeping pills here when she left. I saw them just the other day. I hunt through the cabinets before I come across the orange bottle. Just take two it says. Maybe I’ll take four, maybe I’ll take more. More will do what I should have done a long time ago. When they’re in my hand, the girl starts screaming – high pitched and echoing, like a child being murdered.

  I walk back to the bathroom, but I walk slower, listening to the sounds of the apartment. The running water, my wet footsteps against the linoleum of the kitchen and then the flooring of the hall, people talking in the hallway – so close, but so distant. Despite my best efforts, Tax ripped down my walls and destroyed any semblance of who I was, and I can’t really ever be numb again, no matter how much I long for it. What’s even scarier than that is that this darkness is what I’m used to. It’s addicting. It’s familiar, comfortable. Like an old friend come back to visit, pulling me into the shadows and wrapping their arms around me, reminding me that this is where I well and truly belong. If I want to be good then I have to do this. In the depths of my pain, I deserve to suffer. There’s nothing good about me. There is a silence in my worthlessness that I crave deeply.

  Please don’t do this. Her sobs cut in and out, her pain tugging at me, trying to make me stop.

  My mind takes a turn as I come to the doorway of the bathroom. What about him? What about Tax? I told him it was over, I remind myself. It’s not like he really cared anyway.

  He does, the little girl in my mind argues. She’s angry and terrified. She bangs against the walls of my mind as I set the pills on the edge of the tub and step in. Please, she begs. I honestly wish I didn’t have to. There is no alternative, though. What about a letter? she asks. You can’t leave them with nothing. I know she’s stalling for more time. But a letter is a good idea. Isn’t that what other people do when they do this? Maybe I can tell Trisha not to worry and not to be sad. She’ll be mad at me and hurt if I don’t at least say goodbye.