The Emancipation of Love

by Mary E. Palmerin

  So, I take it like a good little boy and decide as I start to feel the blood rushing from my lip that I will tell the teachers that I tripped and fell down the concrete porch steps. Seems believable enough.

  “I asked you a question you son-of-a-bitch!”

  Before I have time to provide him the answer that he wants, his chubby hand lands on top of the same spot, sending shockwaves of discomfort to my jaw. I feel the inside of my mouth tear and instantly taste the metal like taste of blood.

  I sniffle and hang my head responding, “No, sir.”

  “No what?” Claude asks in a condescending tone.

  Of course he knows what my answer means, but he wants me to speak the words. He wants me to say that no one will care if I fall off the face of the Earth.

  “No one would care or notice if I died.”

  My head stays low. I take everything that he gives me, but one thing that I can barely handle is looking into his eyes. It takes me back to being six-years-old and that terror is nearly too much. The sad part is, Claude is right. No one would notice if I died. The world would go on like usual without anyone shedding a tear or mourning my loss. I wonder how many others there are out there like me. I try to find a small amount of peace in knowing that I am not the only one.

  “That’s right, you little shit. You ain’t nothing but Worthless fucking William. Never forget that.”

  His hand grips the bottom of my chin forcing me to look up at him. My heart stops and I can’t breathe. His glasses that were once so dirty I couldn’t see his eyes become so clear. His eyes are as black as night and I revert back to the little boy the day I discovered the devil.

  I am reliving the day when Worthless William was born and forever I will understand why…

  His eyes bring me in with horror, burning me and keeping me in a trance. I want to cry, scream, run, or feel something, but I see nothing but the scariness that is coming from the man that has taken so much from me and so many others. Little do I realize, so much more is about to be taken.

  Lives will be altered.

  Hearts will stop.

  “Ready, Worthless William?”

  I nod my head yes when all I want to do is search for a teddy bear to cuddle with. But I am sixteen now, not six and there is no one that cares to hold me. The only thing that people care about is hurting me. I should hate the world, but the truth is, I don’t. Not yet at least.

  He snaps and points to Victoria. I stand and turn into the zombie boy that I was trained to become, shedding myself of my torn T-shirt. My hands unzip my jeans and I remove them at the same time as my underwear, walking without an ounce of feeling over the dirty carpet to Victoria, who is still in a protective embrace on top of the bare mattress.

  Again, I want her to know that we can pretend to try to be real people, but I am just a boy. A very fucked up one who can’t talk. Even if I could, I doubt I would be able to provide her with the comfort she certainly deserves. I’m sure she sees me as a monster just like them. I haven’t tried to help her.

  “Get to it. Or are you some faggot?” Claude screams.

  I’m full of anger. So much anger. But I am imprisoned by the conditioned boy who praises the bad master.

  I kneel before Victoria, trying my best to get lost in another moment. That is what I have tried to do with her in the past, but it hasn’t ever worked. Her rigid body rejects me and I can’t blame her. Even I reject me.

  I reach out to tuck her tangled dark hair behind her ear, but she shudders beneath my touch. I have to force it. Force myself. I am becoming a beast with each passing day, fueling the self-hatred I have. Any faith that I thought I had for making it through life normal or functional has washed out to nothing. I reach down and plant a soft kiss on her bony cheek, fearing I will hurt her because she is so skinny and weak. She shrieks again.

  “Don’t go playin’ Mr. Romance on me, piss-ant! Kiss her on the lips! And you little cunt, no resistin’, or you will be kissin’ somethin’ else…”

  I know I have to take more control with her, so I grab her chin and force her to look at me. Her bloodshot eyes meet mine and the tears keep flowing. I try to ignore it and focus on the task I was given by my master. I push my lips onto hers, opening my mouth and sweeping my tongue to her still closed lips. I turn her onto her back and grab her small, bare breast, massaging it gently as I hear a groan of appreciation in the background from the puppet master himself. I trail kisses along her jaw until I am at her ear.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Two words that will never be enough for me. I will forever live with this, along with many other nights for the rest of my life. Before trying anymore, I decide to turn into the boy that is numb. I take her wrists above her head with one of my hands and reach my other down her panties, finding her dry. She tries to squirm underneath me, but she is far too weak to get away. Her arms briefly relax back into the dirty mattress. I kiss her one more time and she has yet to fully surrender, giving me no other choice but to ready her with my mouth so I don’t tear her.

  I let her wrists go and yank her panties down so she is fully exposed, pushing her knees apart with more force than I care for. I immediately make my way to her sex, licking and kissing her like I was taught. Her body is responding to my tongue as she continues to wail, from enjoyment or terror I can’t be sure. I’m certain it is from the latter. When I am sure that she is wet enough to take all of me, I let my mouth go from her and make sure that my eyes don’t make contact with hers. I can’t handle such a heartbreak right now.

  Claude throws a condom on the bed and I open it, putting it on and then easing between her legs and into her warmth. I close my eyes and try to drift off to a land where I am being loved by a girl. A girl that wants me and would know if I died. A girl who’s life would be turned upside down if I was torn out of it. But I don’t think that girl exists. I guess all I have is this. What I am forced to do while my imagination plays fucked up tricks with me.

  “Please,” Victoria’s soft voice whispers between cries as my hips rock inside of her.

  “Stop. Please. Stop.”

  I want to tell her I can’t; that we will be punished far worse if I do. But something inside of me breaks. I pull out of her and feel the urge to vomit. She’s never begged me to stop like that before. Something in her voice is pleading for death. I can’t understand it.

  At the same moment, she stands abruptly, clawing her way at the ugly yellow curtains and then prying the single paned window open. Out into the midnight darkness she goes. Claude fetches his belt from the hallway and strikes me several times, leaving me alone with nothing more than my thoughts along with the worry of Victoria’s fate.

  Later, Claude comes home bloodied and Victoria was never heard from again.

  I could have saved her.

  Never mind that.

  I could have been the reason she didn’t run.

  Knock, knock, Worthless William. Is anyone home, or have you already lost your mind?

  Blackness consumes me like always and I can’t tell the difference between reality and a dream. The past seems real as I float along in a weightless limbo. Breathing is becoming too much. Most days, it seems living back then was easier than the aftereffects of it.

  Knock. Knock.

  My eyes open with much effort and my lips are stuck together. My shoulders ache and I’m surprised I haven’t pissed myself from all the fucking bourbon I drank. My head is pounding and I want a tall glass of water, but my stomach is gurgling in an uncomfortable way and I am certain that if I consume anything I will instantly vomit.

  Yuck, thoughts of puking remind me of the peanut butter sandwich I threw up after I was kicked in the gut and forced to eat it back up the day everything changed for me. Not a day goes by that I am not reminded of the day Worthless William was born. The only time it was tolerable is when my sweet girl graced my life. That has been ten years ago and I let her go.

  I want to fight, but I also want to give up and let her live the life I
am sure she deserves. Part of me wants to hold onto a sliver of selfishness… faith in happiness and good.

  Hope in love.

  Her.

  I get up from my bed and head to the bathroom, brushing my teeth and avoiding my reflection. I don’t want to face the no-good-son-of-a-bitch in the mirror. I splash some cool water on my face.

  Knock. Knock.

  “What the fuck?” I say out loud.

  I thought I was dreaming that sound. I wonder who that could be, shuddering at the thought of Kenji showing up at my doorstep pleading for something more. I almost wish I would have puked in my sleep and choked on it to never wake up. I wouldn’t have to figure out all this bullshit.

  The knocking persists, which sends pangs to the core of my head and my anger rises.

  “Hold on!” I yell, walking to the door of my apartment.

  I roll my neck to the side while grabbing it, trying to work the crick out of it. I need to take a shower and wash the stench of bourbon and sweat from the nightmare the evening before off, but first I need to see who the hell is bothering me.

  I reach the door and open it slightly to see a woman I don’t expect. Like usual, words aren’t my friend. I don’t react like I should. I am acting strictly on impulse. My nostrils are flaring as I look into her deep brown eyes. Her black hair is tied on the top of her head in a messy bun and she’s wearing a tight black T-shirt and jeans.

  The bizarre thing is, I don’t have the least bit of desire to take her or beg her to mark me and make me understand that I am still a fucked up, reckless man. No. Instead, I want to drag her into my apartment and take my anger out on her. I want to put the feelings that I harbor to death. I fear that history may be repeating itself and the decency I thought I may have had isn’t present.

  I cannot promise that I will not hurt her. I am losing my mind. I am nothing more than a sinner. I am damned for anyone else, including Gwendolyn. Maybe I was born to be Worthless William. Fuck it if I care. I was trained and as much as I tried to tell myself that I was different than those people, someone capable of love and goodness, I am not.

  The only thing I can envision is Isabel stripped naked and hogtied on my bed, begging me for mercy… pleading with me to spare her.

  I clasp onto her wrist and my fingers find her pulse. It immediately speeds up as she responds to my touch. Isabel lets out a throaty groan as I pull her across the threshold and into my apartment. She smiles, but soon she will comprehend there will not be much to smile about. I will show her that life will fuck her harder than I was fucked.

  “William, we need to talk,” she states, without an ounce of worry in her tone.

  “Fuck you,” I return.

  There will be no talking or explaining. I will make this bitch recognize.

  “What the hell are you doing, William?”

  She pulls back on my grip, but I do not relent as I continue down the hall towards my bedroom.

  “I told you the other night. I am a goddamn monster. You should have listened then. Too late now.”

  “Wh—, wh—, what the fuck are you are doing, William?” she stutters, clear anxiety in her voice now.

  I reach my bedroom and tug her hard towards my bed. I refuse to answer as I turn to face her, my hands making their way to the hem of her shirt. She doesn’t push me away. Somewhere in the corner of her brain, she is just a sad, sad woman who is wanting attention and willing to do anything for it. I know that. After all, I am a master of influence.

  She lifts her arms up without me having to command her to do so, and I peel her shirt away. Seems I am the puppet master now controlling the strings and I can’t help but smile. I guess this is my way at getting back at the world. Consider it one last hurrah. She continues to breathe quickly and I take a second to look at her mouth as her lips part. I grin once more thinking about whipping out my gag later to silence her prayers when her pain becomes too much.

  I strip her of her jeans and panties, then push her to the bed. I’m hard. Not hard to fuck her, but for vengeance. When I am satisfied, when she is bare before me, my eyes grow dark and the distress I once felt before from my hangover is gone and is replaced with the need to get even. Poor Isabel didn’t even know what she was in for when she decided to come to my apartment. Too bad, she really thought that there was something between us. Shit, maybe there is good use for her. She ignited the ferocious spark and put the dejected, self-pity to bed. The monster I always knew that I was is just now being birthed. Looking back on the times I shared with Gwen were nothing in comparison to what I am truly capable of.

  With those thoughts, I clench my fists at my sides while admiring her flawless olive skin as she sits before my bed. Striking her and instilling terror this early would ruin my fun. It certainly doesn’t make my distorted little daydreams stop. I see her crying on top of my disheveled bed, heaving as she clamps her bloody lip while trying to comprehend my anger.

  Joke is most definitely on you, bitch.

  “W—,” she starts to muster.

  Too much. I’ve been bending for far too long.

  And now, the crazy has busted through the surface as I break, soaking up my true lunacy. I can’t be sure if I am actually screaming for real or if it is only happening on the inside of my fucked up head. The once perfect image of Isabel’s naked body is gone. I feel my body turn hot. I can’t control myself. I have gone mad and I must admit, this is the first time since my sweet girl that I have felt at home.

  I want her to fight with me, to scream, punch, kick, and tell me that I am a piece of shit bastard, but I don’t feel anything. I wish she would claw me with those fucking fake fingernails of hers, but she just lays there expecting aching from me.

  “You are going to be really sorry soon enough, Isabel.”

  She tries to open her mouth to speak as her chest rises and falls quickly, but I put my finger up to silence her without words. She must understand who is in charge. If not, I will pull out the metal spikes and clamps and damage her pussy good.

  I walk over to my closet, pulling out my small black leather box. I input the combination code while making sure to keep my hearing peaked. Sure enough, silence is all that fills the air along with the occasional clicking of my fingers while scrolling to unlock my debaucheries.

  Isabel thought things were dark the other night. She merely grazed the surface of what I am capable of. Finally I unlock my case as my hands touch the roughness that I want. My heart skips a beat as I think to how she will writhe beneath my touch, stretched out painfully and at my beck and call. Goose bumps cover my skin and I can’t help but smile, remembering what a good fucking Boy Scout I am.

  “Lay down on your stomach. Now.”

  She obliges without any qualms, turning around to lay on her belly.

  “Hands behind your back,” I demand, my voice getting louder with expectancy.

  She remains still, which pisses me off. I’m not at the brink any longer. I have already freed myself from the reins and now I am just enjoying the fall. I leap on her, pulling on her hair so that her ear is close to my lips.

  “Didn’t your daddy teach you to listen?” I bite.

  She shrieks in pain, which causes my heart to swell. I release her, standing back up while holding onto the rough twine that will soon hold her hands and feet together while she is at the utter clemency of me.

  Her master.

  The bad boy himself.

  I expect tears, moans of terror, but she stays still. This confuses me greatly. Has she been conditioned and exposed to this world before? There’s only one way to find out. My lips curl over my teeth as I bare a smile more devious than Lucifer himself.

  “Now, let’s try this again, bitch. Hands behind your back.”

  She stays still yet again. I cock my head to the side. If I didn’t know any better, I would gather that she was digging her own grave, craving the belittlement from my tongue and the torment from my hand.

  I drop the rope on the bed and smack her fat ass hard. She wa
ils out loud. I don’t give her time to compose herself, bringing my hand up and hitting her ass in quick, hard successions. My face starts to feel flushed when I recognize that I haven’t breathed. I beat her backside one more time then let the air escape my lungs, standing back to admire the crimson color and distinct handprints.

  Red.

  Blood.

  My monster.

  My lover.

  My sweet, sweet girl.

  But she is gone and I am too. I am a lunatic and she deserves much better than me. No more back and forth. This is who I am. This is what I do. No turning back now…

  “Hands. Behind. Your. Back…” I state between panted breaths.

  Isabel brings her hands to the small of her back. She can’t disguise her true fear. I zero in on the tips of her fingers like a hawk eyeing its prey and see that they are trembling slightly. Seems I have struck a chord in her after all.

  “Faster.”

  Finally, her hands reach the middle of her back and I move fast, grabbing the rope from the bed. My free hand grasps her wrist finding her lifeline; at this second in time, the beast is connected with the innocent one as he preps to cause irreparable damage.

  Sanity is overrated anyway.

  I take the rough rope and weave it in a figure eight between her wrists until there is a row of six. I tie it in two knots and take a step back, pleased with my handy work.

  “Bend your knees and bring your feet to your hands.”

  She takes too long to obey my command.

  “So help me, Isabel, don’t make me go further,” I grit.

  She tucks her head closer to her body, bending her knees and bringing her feet to her knees.

  “I can’t bend them any further, William.”

  “I didn’t fucking ask you to talk, did I?” I bite.

  I grab both feet and pull them until they nearly meet her hands. She cries out in pain. Clearly, Isabel isn’t a flexible woman. I repeat the same act I did on her hands, weaving the ropes around her ankles until there are six rows. I make two knots and take the leftover rope and tie it to her hands. She is squirming beneath me and I can’t help but be full of so much admiration for myself.