Sociopaths In Love

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Sociopaths In Love Page 10

by Andersen Prunty


  Did she care if he wrecked? Did she want him to come back? These were probably important questions. Maybe it was important that she was even asking herself these questions. She didn’t know.

  She went back into the apartment and cleaned the vomit off the table. After that, she felt disgusting and decided to take another shower. Almost jokingly, she thought of it as a rape shower and then realized it kind of felt like rape every time she had sex with Walt. The only thing that made it different was that she wanted it. Even what just happened, as humiliating as it was, she’d wanted. But she wondered how long she would want it that way. Perhaps even more frightening, she wondered where she would want him to take it. Would it get even rougher? Even weirder? She’d already let three of his friends and one of their girlfriends fuck her. Was that even weird? She felt like it probably was. Or would it get more comfortable? Would she even want that?

  She felt like she shouldn’t be focusing so much on the sex when there were clearly so many other looming issues. The enormity of the situation felt like it could rise up and swallow her. However, if they existed in some kind of vacuum allowing them to do whatever it was they wanted without being called out or caught, then the enormity of the situation was diminished, almost completely. Or it made it even more enormous. Or, anyway, it gave it the potential for enormity. Most people were forced to make decisions based on economics or what those around them would think. The only person around her, in a sense, was Walt. He leaned toward depravity. It wasn’t exactly hard to know what he would like. But in the greater scheme of things, in the world outside Walt, her choices were limitless. She never saw herself having this problem. That, again, was another problem. She still had trouble seeing herself before Walt at all. There must have been things she wanted to do. There must have been a time when she carried a future vision of herself, the culmination of an infinite amount of life choices. But it was all a blank.

  She dried off, put on the woman’s robe, and went out onto the balcony to smoke a cigarette.

  Night had fallen and a fog was lowering itself over the city. The only things visible from the buildings a block over were their glowing signs. Across the intersection to her left was a brightly lighted parking garage. The light mixed with the fog and produced a soft, milky glow. A man stood at the very edge of the top level of the parking garage. The first person she thought of was Walt but she doubted it was him. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen him be this still, for one thing. Whoever it was was completely indiscernible. Erica thought of the shape as masculine, although she supposed it could just as easily have been a woman. As she smoked, she didn’t take her eyes off the figure. She didn’t think it was going to jump. She was waiting to see if it would move at all. It didn’t. Erica felt like it was a contest now. The fog continued to thicken and, as it did, she had almost convinced herself it wasn’t a person at all.

  She smoked a couple more cigarettes. It took her a second to pick out the figure after lighting each one, her eyes needing to readjust. There were a lot of things she could be thinking about and she wondered if this was her way of not thinking about those things, her distraction. If there was one thing she had, it was plenty of time. She told herself that, tomorrow, she would come up with some kind of plan. Not like a life goal or anything. Just . . . something to do. If she could do whatever she wanted to, she felt like she should make the most of it. Otherwise, she saw how easy it would be to just laze around the apartment and be Walt’s slave. That might be okay for a while but she knew, eventually, she’d get sick of it and then probably grow to resent Walt.

  He still hadn’t come back. She wondered if he was planning on staying out all night and, if he did, what someone like him did with his time.

  She crushed out her last cigarette of the night, went back into the apartment, rolled up the rug in the living room that she hated, and threw it off the balcony.

  She did a quick scan for the figure but couldn’t make it out. She looked at the sidewalk below the parking garage to make sure he hadn’t jumped while she wasn’t looking. She didn’t see anything.

  She went to bed and didn’t wake up until Walt brought the crying girl into the bedroom.

  Guest

  Both bedside lamps were turned on and the room seemed too bright. She was sure she’d turned them off before she went to sleep. The girl lay on the floor, her mouth, wrists, and ankles duct taped. Her eyes were open wide and streaming tears.

  “I brought you something,” Walt said. He looked agitated. A bright red scratch ran across his left cheek. His eyes danced. The vision Erica had was of him leaving the apartment, feeling pissed off and out of control, stopping at the first place he came to, abducting this girl and spending the last few hours doing God knew what with her.

  “Walt,” she said. Nothing else. Just his name.

  He waited for her to say something else. “What?”

  “What would make you think this is something I want?”

  “It’s kind of for you and kind of for me. I won’t lie.”

  “How is this remotely for me?”

  “Remember how you said you owed me one?”

  “I said I wasn’t going to eat the people you cooked. I then ate the people you cooked so I no longer ‘owe you one.’”

  He stalked across the room, coming over to where she sat in the bed, wrapping a big hand around her wrist and shaking it. The girl writhed around on the floor, trying to make it to the door like that was going to help.

  “Why are you always trying to beat me? This isn’t a contest.”

  “I’m not trying to beat you. I’m just saying that I no longer owe you anything. That’s how that works.”

  He squeezed her wrist harder. “It is valid. I had to pressure you to do it. You still said ‘no’ originally. You didn’t eat it when I wanted you to eat it. A trade is a trade. Winning an argument is something else. Like, really successful debate skills or something. Apart from that, there are so many other reasons for you to owe me. I’ve fucking liberated you.”

  “I think the jury’s still out on that.”

  He let go of her wrist, throwing her hand back at her. It slapped against her chest. He took a couple of steps back from her, like if he stayed close to her he was going to end up hurting her. He grabbed his head. “I took you away so easily. You didn’t have to come. I thought you accepted a certain amount of things by coming with me. You could have ended up like her.” Walt nudged the girl on the floor with his foot. “I’ve tried to be nice with you. I’ve tried to give you a choice. I’m not giving you a choice this time. You said you owed me one – anything – and I’m calling you on that. After this, we can say things are even. After this, you stay if you want to or go if you want to. If you stay, you do everything I ask you to do. If you go, I never want to see you again. But if you don’t do what I ask you to do right now I’m going to kill you and then I’m going to eat you pussy first.”

  She knew he wasn’t kidding. She had already seen him do a number of bad things and knew there were probably even worse things rattling around in his head. Probably way worse things buried in his past. She pulled herself up to rest against the headboard.

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  He stared at her like she wasn’t getting it.

  The girl on the floor let out a muffled moan.

  “Why do you even need to ask if you’re going to do it? Seriously, if there’s any doubt in your mind just tell me now so I can kill you and get it over with.”

  Erica let out a short “hmpf” and threw the covers to the side.

  She was going to do what he asked her to do but not because she was afraid of dying. It was actually her lack of fear about death that made her realize she needed to stay alive. It seemed somehow wrong to know she could be only minutes away from dying and to not really be that worried about it. If she were to die momentarily, it felt like there should be things she missed doing, people she missed seeing. She didn’t think she would feel any of that loss. Maybe Walt was righ
t. Maybe what he was getting at was that she didn’t really have anything but him. She was a resourceful girl. She would take what she was given. Maybe that was why she’d stayed around Granny longer than she probably should have. She knew enough about herself to know that she needed somebody around just to feel like getting up in the morning. At the moment, Walt was all she really had. That depressed her. She wasn’t aware of exactly how sad that was until this grim realization. She needed something else. She would need something else. She could say she didn’t want to do what he was going to ask her to do because of ethics or morals but that would have ultimately been bullshit. If she did have those things, they were undefined and used to suit her when it was most convenient.

  It felt like something left her at that point. She thought she could actually feel it leave her body. Then, almost as though Walt could see it leave her body, he came closer to her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “The world is exactly what we make of it. If you want to talk I’m here to listen but you have to know what it is you want before you can experience the joy and happiness you want to feel. Everyone wants to experience those things. Some people need to redefine those things. If you just keep telling yourself certain things make you happy, eventually they will. I was empty just like you once. Now every day feels like the greatest day of my life. Every day is the best day ever. I do things until I get tired of them and then I move on. What have you done? What. Have. You. Done.”

  Erica looked at the girl who maybe didn’t actually know where the door was, mashed up against the wooden closet doors. Her eyes were still crazy but now she made eye contact with Erica and Erica wondered if she was supposed to feel sympathy for her.

  “Nothing,” Erica finally said.

  “That’s exactly right. So you do what I’m going to ask you to do and see that as the start. I won’t question what you want to do. We can go our separate ways if that’s what you want, but you’re going to do this.”

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  “It’s not open for debate. I already told you that’s a pointless question.”

  She placed a hand on his warm face and stared deeply into his eyes, smiling slightly, and tried not to sound patronizing. “Love . . . baby . . . It isn’t a pointless question. I have to know what it is you want me to do before I can do it.”

  She saw his eyes light up and didn’t know if seeing him happy made her happy or if she felt like she’d gained some small victory since he was now definitely going to tell her what he’d refused to moments before.

  “I want you to kill that girl.”

  Erica’s heartbeat picked up. She really was all set to do what he was going to ask but she was almost certain it would be something creepy and sexual. “Why?”

  His eyes clouded over again. “Because you want to.”

  “But I don’t want to.”

  “You have to tell yourself you want to. You want to make me happy.”

  “Why does it have to be a girl? Is it always going to be a girl? Violence against women is cliché.”

  “Fuck me.” Walt sounded exasperated. “You want to turn this into philosophy or, what, gender studies or something?”

  “I just don’t see why it has to be a girl, that’s all. First it was the waitress. I mean, you killed the man of the apartment, but that was only because it was necessary. I’m sure you would have rather it just been the woman, who you fucked after you killed. I just think you need to look at what’s driving you to do this, is all.”

  “Okay. So suppose I’d brought a man back instead of this girl. And suppose you were fighting the man but he got the best of you. Maybe he even decides to rape you before killing you. Then I’d be guilty of trying to create my own violent pornography. With your dying breaths you would have thought things went exactly how I wanted them to go and that it was just as sick and wrong and misogynistic as you think it is now.”

  “So you think I’d be weaker than a man? You think if you brought a man back then there isn’t any way I could possibly take him?”

  “I didn’t say that. It was a scenario. I’m mainly saying that whatever I did, whatever sex I chose, would have been the wrong choice. Do you honestly think I think about any of that shit?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Because I don’t.”

  “Are you going to watch?”

  “Of course I’m going to watch. You’re doing this for me, remember? It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask you to do for me.”

  “Do you love me, Walt?”

  “Of course, baby. Do you love me?”

  “More than ever.” But she also thought she hated him more than ever and wondered if she was actually capable of feeling either of those things.

  “Sounds like we might be perfect for each other then.”

  “There’s no such thing as perfection. We do what we can with the shit we’re handed. I want you to undo her hands and feet. I don’t want any more of an advantage than I already have. And you have to promise not to interfere. No matter what happens.”

  “I won’t interfere but I think I should warn you: if she gets out of this apartment, I’m going to kill you. It will be something I have to do. I won’t want to do it. Just so you know.”

  “And if I kill her, we don’t eat her. We take her out somewhere tomorrow and bury her or throw her in a river or something. That’s what I’m asking of you.”

  “I still have plenty of meat in the fridge.”

  “Okay then.”

  Erica slid out of bed, still wearing the stained t-shirt and yoga pants. The wood floor was cold on her feet. She arched her back, rolled her head around on her shoulders, bent over and touched her toes, stretching out her hamstrings. Walt stood the girl up on her feet. Erica moved in front of the door, figuring that would be the first place the girl would try. Walt stripped the tape off her wrists and she immediately went at him until becoming unbalanced and landing on her knees. She scrabbled toward Erica, locked her hands on her legs. Walt stripped the tape from her ankles and the girl sprang up, drilling Erica in the stomach and knocking her back into the hall. Walt reached around the girl’s head and removed the tape from her mouth. The girl began screaming and running toward the living room.

  Erica felt something inside of her break. If what she felt before was some essential part of herself leaking out, this was its replacement, crashing into her like a waterfall. If the girl made it to the door and beyond that meant she was left here with Walt. And that meant Walt would kill her and probably eat her.

  She understood what he wanted. He wanted to see her fight for something. If she fought for this one thing, maybe it would bring some sense of meaning to what came after it.

  Erica moved faster than she had ever moved going after the girl.

  But the girl had crazy fear and panic stored up and it gave her a wild energy. Something that Erica, being roused from sleep to fight this absurd battle, didn’t quite have. She quickly reasoned with herself that the girl had probably been in this state for the last hour or so and would soon tire, if she wasn’t already. Panic-fueled or not, human muscles were only capable of so much and she doubted this girl ran marathons in her free time. And God only knew what Walt had done to her before bringing her here.

  The girl’s hand was on the stainless steel doorknob, turning it. She didn’t even look back. Erica charged across the living room, slamming into the girl, smashing her against the door. She hoped it was at least hard enough to wind her. The girl kept a death grip on the knob. Erica tried to pull her away from it. She didn’t want to take her eyes off the girl, but she could sense Walt nearby. Sense how excited this made him. Erica didn’t have to ask herself why she was doing this. The choice had been removed. The only reason she needed was very simple, the most primal: to live. She grabbed the girl around the waist and shifted all of her weight to drag her away from the knob. The girl screamed the entire time. Her grip broke on the knob and Erica slammed her against the wooden floor. She had resolved n
ot to use a weapon unless the girl came up with one.

  Now disoriented, the girl scrambled in the direction of the balcony doors. Erica ran after her and threw herself on the girl. They both went crashing onto the coffee table. It was made well and didn’t break. The girl’s skin felt hot and sweaty beneath Erica and she wondered where she had come from, where Walt had found her. Was it someone he had watched and had in mind for this sort of thing or did he really just grab up the first person he came to? And if he did, where was it? A truck stop, a rest stop, a restaurant? The girl smelled like cheap perfume, piss, and acrid sweat.

  The girl twisted herself around and ripped at Erica’s shirt. She’d often heard of girls doing this when they fought each other. Like nakedness equated to shame and loss of power. Erica half-wished she was naked. It would make her feel even more bestial. It was not in her instincts to know how to kill another woman with her bare hands. It required tapping into something ancient and long forgotten. Something buried in the viscera and the muscle more than the brain.

  The girl was still screaming.

  Erica ripped the girl’s hands from her now shredded shirt and thrust them above her head. Again, the girl tried to search Erica’s eyes with her own but whatever she saw or didn’t see in there must have terrified her even more because she started screaming faster and louder. Erica felt the girl’s hips pressing against her own and when she thought of what they were doing as something sexual she felt some knowledge about what Walt must feel every time he did something like this. Maybe he just understood more than she did.

  The girl rammed her head up, aiming for Erica’s mouth. A white light went off in her head. She felt teeth shift and tasted blood. Erica let go of the girl’s wrists and took a swipe at her face with her right hand. She felt it connect. It threw a bolt of pain up her forearm but she felt the promise of soft flesh beneath her fingertips and drove her body against the girl even harder. She was wriggling backward, farther along the coffee table, and Erica got both of her hands beneath the girl’s chin and pushed up. Her pinkie got too close to the girl’s mouth and she bit it. Didn’t let go. The pain was tremendous and when Erica broke her grip she saw that the last joint was missing. She hadn’t heard the girl spit it out and wondered if it was still in her mouth. Erica moved up until she straddled the girl and drove an elbow into the girl’s throat. The girl’s eyes went wide and she coughed. She finally stopped screaming.

 

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