The Emancipation of Love

by Mary E. Palmerin

  The past ten years and the memories that haunt us.

  It’s safe to say that I will not be returning to work at Black Lotus Ink again. Gwen is cuddled on my couch with a blanket up to her chin as I make a cup of green tea for her. There really isn’t an easy way to start this conversation. The car ride back home was uncomfortable, not due to our feelings for one another, but because we both know that we have to revisit times in our lives that are not pleasant. Times that hurt and fucked us up.

  I add a pinch of sugar and honey to her tea, stirring it while watching the steam rise. Again, I hear her crying. It makes me sad. I wish I could take it all away. It is always something, life. But I suppose that is how it goes. I often wonder if everyone else gets stabbed by the world’s ways like we have been.

  I walk over to her and the hurt she is in is too much. I set her tea on the worn coffee table and plop down at her feet, sneaking my hands beneath the cover to rub her feet.

  “Why?” she asks.

  “Why what, sweet girl?”

  “Why do you stay?”

  “Because I love you and I made a promise. Always us, remember? I meant what I said, Gwendolyn.”

  She hangs her head in defeat, crying louder.

  “Please, Gwen, don’t cry. Everything is going to be okay.”

  Her head shoots up as her bloodshot eyes meet mine.

  “That’s what you said back then, Welch! And it wasn’t! Maybe we should accept that everything won’t be okay!”

  “That was then, this is now. I won’t let anything happen to you, Gwendolyn. I swear to it. So help me God.”

  “I’m ruined for you. Ruined…” she wails.

  I throw the blanket off of her and pull her on top of me, hugging her like my life depends on it, because I am sure that it does.

  “I was ruined before you, Gwendolyn. You put all my pieces back together. You make everything better. Please, please understand that.”

  “I can get rid of it. I can, Welch. I was going to anyway…”

  I wouldn’t dream of her doing such a thing. A life given has meaning, no matter the circumstances. I can’t help but think that this happened for a reason.

  “Gwendolyn,” I pause, placing my hand over her belly, “this baby will change everything. Let’s show this little miracle that the world isn’t so bad after all. Let’s be the goodness that wasn’t there for us.”

  “Jesus Christ, Welch!” she cries, hugging my neck. Her tears mark my neck and I can’t help but feel like they mean something different now. There is truth in every word.

  “I want this baby, Gwendolyn. It can be our miracle. I can be the father that I never had,” I whisper into her ear while she still cries into the bend of my neck.

  “You are too good to be true, Welch. My Wonderful William Welch.”

  “I think the same thing about you, sweet girl.”

  She kisses my neck, but for the first time I won’t let things go down the road they usually do. We need to talk and air everything out.

  “Drink your tea, sweet girl. Calm your nerves and relax. Then let’s tackle the past once and for all… together.”

  She releases me, sitting back on the couch, and then nodding her head. I hand her tea to her and she sips it slowly. I take this time to try and gather my thoughts, deciding I will be the first to start.

  “You know, when I am with you I don’t have the usual nightmares when I sleep…”

  She looks up at me, listening intently on what I have to say while taking sips of her tea. Thankfully, her crying has ceased. I swallow hard before continuing.

  “I never thought I would see you again. As many times as I wished I would, I didn’t think I would. While in the institution I thought of ways to try to figure out where you were, if you were at the same one as me at the Southern Illinois State Mental Hospital or if they shipped you to a different one. No one would tell me anything. For a while, I think I went crazier. Then as time went on, I didn’t think about what my future held at all. Guess that was all the meds they pumped into me. I didn’t prepare myself for how harshly I would treat myself once I got out.”

  She reaches her hand and clutches mine, an indication of her support as she lets me continue telling my story.

  “We always dreamt of Portland. So, off I went with a bag full of memories and my pencil and paper. I was back at square one, just an 18-year-old fucked up kid in a 23-year-old man’s body. For five years I tried to listen to what the psychiatrists had to say, but in reality, no one can ever leave the past behind. Our wounds are merely scabbed over until a trigger comes along and rips it off, making us realize just how fucked up we are. One thing remained constant during all that time.”

  “What?” she asks as she scoots to the edge of the couch, sipping the hot contents of her tea.

  “I never took my mind off of you. Ever.”

  A sad look washes over her face, but she lets me continue.

  “After I got to Portland, I landed a job at Black Lotus Ink as a tattoo apprentice after Noah became enthralled with my work. I learned the tricks of the trade and played the role of his bitch for a few years until I was good enough to be on my own. Being able to have two things that I love was my only sanity being away from you… art and pain.”

  “But the nightmares from before… when I was little, happened frequently. So often that I convinced myself that I deserved what happened to me. I tried for so long to hold onto the good parts of my mother from what I can remember… her telling me bedtime stories and kissing me before she tucked me into bed, but as time went on, the bad memories overlapped the good ones. Flashbacks became constant. The pain that happened for so long became something that I craved as it became absent. For a while, I fed that with all of my tattoos, each telling a different story of my life. But as time went on, that wasn’t enough. I needed to re-enact parts…”

  “What parts did you re-enact, Welch?”

  “I met Isabel at The Lab here in Portland. I never try to connect with any person I meet because I have no interest. There was ever only one thing I wanted. To push them to an extreme. Make me hurt. Make me pay without getting me off. That was my punishment. I found her, brought her home and I honestly didn’t think she would go for anything that I asked…”

  I don’t feel like continuing, but she grabs a hold of my hand and squeezes it.

  “What happened with Isabel, Welch? What pushed you so far?” she questions, still holding onto my hand.

  “I hated myself for being away from you. Each day got harder to live. Like I said, punishment is what I thought I deserved, and while trying to experience that while re-enacting a part of my past, I pushed her too far and I worry that she liked it there because she came back.”

  “What did you do, babe?”

  “I made her cut me then fuck me, sweet girl.”

  I don’t worry about my admission. I should, I know, but I don’t. The truth that is flowing from my mouth is the first time in my life that I have felt okay about who I am and what I have done because I am in the arms of someone who loves me unconditionally. Her face remains unchanged.

  “What purpose did that serve for you, babe? How did that make you feel?”

  This is the hard part, revisiting times back then.

  “Remember the night in the motel when I came in and stopped you from taking the sharp piece of mirror to your chest? Your palms were all cut up. You were at rock bottom, fuck I was there with you. But, I pulled you back. I made you see that I wouldn’t ever leave you…”

  “Of course, I won’t ever forget that, Welch.”

  She gulps hard while her eyes stay stuck on mine.

  “I remember how my heart felt. How it felt to save you. How desperate yet beautiful you looked, all red and bloody. I still can taste how you tasted and feel how your warm blood dropped onto my skin. I remember how it felt when I held your torn and tattered bleeding hands in mine while telling you that everything was going to be okay…”

  Gwendolyn starts to cry again and t
hat was not my intention, but I must face the facts. Back then was full of grisly moments and they will not be easy to revisit.

  “It was one of the single, most pivotal moments in my life. So, all while making myself understand that I deserve to hurt, I wanted to relive that time in my mind. I made her cut my belly with a razorblade then fuck me with a strap on just like I used to be taken all that time ago. But it was tolerable because I had memories of you and those moments. I know I am fucked up and that’s okay. When I am with you, I feel alive. More normal, and a lot less fucked up. Am I making any sense, sweet girl?”

  “Completely, Welch. I understand.”

  “I hate the time that we spent away from each other. Time in the institution was awful at first. Some days I was convinced I could hear your voice echo against the white walls. Then as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, then so on, I made myself get my shit together and hold onto the good parts of us. No one would tell me where you were. It killed me.”

  “I felt the same way when I was institutionalized. I think that I lost the first year I was there. Living inside of my head was scarier than anything else. I was more terrified of who I had become, the girl who didn’t care about humanity anymore, except you. I asked where you were every single day, but they never told me. Looking back, I know they weren’t allowed to. I think a small part of me is relieved that we weren’t at the same place. I was at the Northern Illinois State Mental Hospital…”

  “Did they treat you well there, Gwen?” I ask, worried.

  “Dr. Yavez is the reason that I got here to Portland. He was good to me. I only recently got out six months before and he helped me get my bike and set me up with a job. When you are stuck somewhere for ten years, it takes a lot to make yourself not believe what they tell you. I know while in therapy they wanted me to see that we weren’t good for each other, but how can they possibly understand? Counselors want to think that they know, but they don’t. Even I was blind to this side of the world until my parents died. Even still, I can’t fathom the wickedness that it holds most days. If I let my mind go there long enough, I feel sick. But being a realist is better than turning a blind eye. I would rather ignore their commands to adapt and conform to be a normal woman in society while still holding onto my heart. You. It will always be you, Welch. You gave me something I never thought I would have and I can’t even put it into words. Just know that I am glad that we aren’t apart anymore. But we are together now, remember? Always us.”

  “I know, sweet girl. I know.”

  She takes a deep breath, composing herself.

  “Why was she hogtied on your bed, Welch?”

  “I hated her… and then when I tried to forget about her with someone else, it only made things worse. After I got off work, I went to a liquor store and picked up some bourbon. Came home and got wasted. I woke up to a knock at my door. I first thought that I was dreaming,” I pause, looking at Gwendolyn for reassurance.

  “It’s okay, Welch.”

  “She, I don’t know, seemed to do whatever I wanted. I hated her more for that. Something still doesn’t seem right with her. The look in her eyes was more comfort than anything else which never made sense to me. I guess she was just willing to do whatever to get closer to me. I was awful to her, Gwen. But I can’t help but think that she deserved part of it. Something with her doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “Welch, it’s just me. I won’t judge you for anything. We can only rely on each other.”

  “After the last time I was with her, I lost it. When I made her fuck me with the strap on, I needed to punish myself and that was always the number one way to do it, withholding the pleasure that I wanted. The only normal kind that I wanted was with you. She didn’t listen to me, Gwen. I asked her to stop, but she didn’t. She made me come and I was so fucking pissed at her for that. I never wanted to see her after that happened.”

  “Were you punishing her when I showed up?” she asks.

  “She just showed up at my apartment. Something inside of me broke and I can’t begin to tell you what I planned on doing to her, but sex was the last thing on my mind. Being with Isabel was only the beginning of the disaster, Gwen. I fuck everything up,” I whisper before running my hands through my hair.

  Thinking about how I ruined the friendship I had with Kenji makes me sick. My heart pains for him. I can’t understand why, but not everything needs explanations. Even the smartest people in the world can’t figure the most extensive equations. I suppose that Kenji is my unsolvable problem.

  “Tell me, Welch. I need to understand you.”

  “Kenji.”

  I can’t bring myself to tell the encounter in detail. Something about it held meaning to me and for the life of me, I can’t recognize why. I hate it. It isn’t love or lust, but something different. Maybe he did understand me in some sort of way. But I destroyed that. His friendship was built with blocks that I crashed down as I abandoned him. I haven’t spoken to him, or even attempted to.

  “Who is Kenji, Welch?”

  “He was my friend, Gwendolyn. My only friend in Portland and I ruined that.”

  “What happened with him?”

  “I made him fuck with me. Then I left him brokenhearted. I destroyed him, Gwen.”

  I lean my face into my hands, having the urge to cry. I have felt that way before and knowing that I created a monster all because of my selfish needs makes me sick. It’s different to instill it upon deserving people, but Kenji isn’t one of those.

  He is good and I killed his heart. I just know it.

  “We have to let the past go. Even yesterday, Welch. Talk about it, breathe out the bad and let it go. You aren’t the bad little boy that those horrible people all that time ago made you feel like you were. You are kind. You fight for what you love. You are the most amazing person I know.”

  “You tell me that. I try to believe you, but my fucked up brain keeps telling me that bad little boys never change their ways, sweet girl. This is the only life I know. It’s like telling a tiger to change their stripes. When I am with you, I feel as normal as I will ever be.”

  “I love you just as you are, Welch. Please know that the only thing I would want to change about you is your pain. I would take it all away if I could and feel it myself.”

  “I would do the same for you too. That is what people do when they love each other, sweet girl.”

  Her bottom lip trembles, I reach out to stop it.

  “Shhhh, no more sadness, okay? I have you. Nothing else will stand in our way, okay?”

  I decide not to tell her about Connor, because let’s face it, that was traumatic for her and knowing that he took me before will only make her sick. He got seven years for rape and had to register as a lifetime sex offender for the rape of Gwendolyn. I won’t breathe his name on my lips because he doesn’t deserve it.

  I hope he got ass raped worse than I ever did. Karma is due to haunt him soon enough, I am sure of it. If the world will oblige by any kind of justice, it’s making sure Connor, that no good piece of shit, pays for what he has done for the rest of his days.

  “How are you dealing, Gwen?”

  She retrieves her hand and pulls her knees up to her chest. I remember that, the way she used to hug her legs up to her tiny body in our dirty bedroom at the trailer when she would hear Claude’s heavy footsteps creaking down the hallway. Taking her back to such times may not be a good idea after all.

  “I, uh, I’m good. Real good, Welch.”

  She looks at me stone faced and I see it. She has conditioned herself to speak the words, the same ones that the counselors want to hear so that they leave you alone. The same ones so you don’t have to keep revisiting times that make you crazy and think that you are losing your fucking mind.

  “It’s just me, sweet girl. It’s okay not to be okay…”

  “I think about them every single day, Welch.”

  “Who?”

  My gut churns as horrid recollections taunt my already distorted brain
.

  “Mom and Dad. I feel so many things and I hate that I felt resentment towards my dead parents for making me a bastard. But, years later I am glad. Glad for it all. Every punch, missed meal, horrible remark, forced fucking session… everything. Know why?”

  “Why?” I ask, kissing the knuckles of her hand.

  “Because it brought me to you.”

  I cuddle her already bruised face and she grimaces in response. I place my forehead on hers.

  “Our love is safe from the world’s ways after all, isn’t it, sweet girl?”

  “Just me and my boy against the world-,”

  “West Coast love…” I interrupt.

  “My monster. My boy. My Wonderful fucking William Welch.”

  I kiss her gently, opening up my mouth for her. She greets my tongue with hers, sweeping it flawlessly. She tastes like honey and tea and all things perfect. By now, I have realized that everything is going to be okay. She feels the same way about me as I do about her.

  She breaks off our kiss, “What is it, Gwendolyn?”

  “Noah… I thought he was you when I got to Portland. I was fucked up, Welch.”

  I don’t press her for details, but she goes on to tell me about when she first moved to Portland six months before. She decided to go on a ride on her bike and got lost. She then got nervous, stopping on the sidewalk to gain her composure. She spotted a little bungalow, which she would later discover wasn’t my house, it was Noah’s, and explained that she wanted to find me so much, her mind thought that he was me.

  I never really saw our resemblance until she started to explain it more. She said that when she saw the tattoo WOUNDED on his chest, her mind flooded with all things me and she broke down. Their downward spiral relationship started there and she couldn’t break herself from him. He was controlling, mean, and abusive. She said he had only started to hit her two months before when she tried calling things off with him.

  He showed up at her apartment at odd hours of the night, demanding sex and she found herself stuck in a similar cycle, submitting because she thought that is what she deserved. Little did I realize we were both trying to settle while simultaneously punishing ourselves. She never gave up trying to search for me, and I still can’t believe it took that long for our paths to cross.