She said she came into the shop to meet Noah to tell him she was getting an abortion as she found out two weeks before that she was pregnant. She went to the free clinic and found out via ultrasound that she was six weeks pregnant. Then she saw me. Everything happens for a reason, I guess. I am glad that she decided not to go to the abortion clinic because we have a chance to show our baby that there is still kindness in the world. It won’t be easy, but anything worth fighting for isn’t easy.
After both of us cried while we faced our demons, we made love. I fell asleep in my bed and like always with Gwendolyn by my side, it was peaceful.
Watching her sleep has become my favorite thing to do. We both decided that I need to find a different job. I have a little over two-thousand dollars in savings and Gwendolyn thinks I should open up my own tattoo studio. She even mentioned me asking Kenji if he wanted to partner with me, but I can’t bring myself to go there yet.
I told Gwendolyn last night after we made love that I wanted her to focus on her non-profit organization. She thinks she should work, but I told her I want to take care of her. She signed a six month lease which ends this month and it is perfect timing. She can move in with me and I will be the one to care for her and see that she gets to all her doctor appointments for the baby.
I have a small apartment, a used car that gets us places and money in savings. Finally, things are looking up for us as we face the idea of starting a family of our own. I can’t help but smile as I think to what a little Gwenie will look like with fire red hair and bright green eyes. She will have her passionate, loving personality too.
I continue to daydream while watching her naked chest breathe up and down. I gently pull the sheets down past her bellybutton, careful not to wake her and smile to myself again. I lean my head down to her belly, “Hey, little one. I know things are kind of rough right now, but I promise everything will be okay when you get here. I will be the best daddy that I can be. I promise.”
I kiss her belly and she stirs, waking up.
“What are you doing, Welch?”
“Talking to my baby.”
I kiss her belly again and she giggles. These are moments that I live for. Times that make me realize I am not completely a monster… but things are about to change again.
Knock, knock.
Gwendolyn looks at me and the contentment that filled her is gone.
“Who could that be, Welch?”
“Not sure. Maybe it’s Kenji.”
I grab my boxers and a shirt from the ground, getting dressed and heading down the hallway. The knocking turns into pounding and my belly dances to life with nervousness.
“Just a fucking second, jeez.”
I open the door as I am greeted by two Portland police officers.
“William Edward Welch?” the short, plump one asks in a Bostonian accent.
“Who wants to know?”
He flashes his gold badge at me. I’m confused. I haven’t broken a law…
“William Edward Welch, you have the right to remain silent when questioned. Anything you say or do can be used against you in the court of law…”
He continues to spout off my rights as I am turned around and pushed up against the wall and handcuffed. My wrists ache and confusion overtakes my body. Just when the pieces of my scattered life start to fall together again, ferociousness comes in and sweeps them off in disarray once more. I should have known that a fucked up person like me is destined for an eternity of madness.
“Gwendolyn!” I shout.
She comes running down the hallway wrapped in a sheet.
She instantly starts crying. This is bad for both of us as our past replays itself before us, tantalizing us with its awful intentions.
“What is happening, Welch? You can’t just take him! He hasn’t done anything!”
“What am I being arrested for?” I yell over my shoulder.
“The rape of Isabel Rodriguez.”
I should have trusted my gut when it came to Isabel. This is her way of getting back at me. Fuck the world and their ways of constantly getting between me and Gwendolyn.
“I love you, sweet girl.”
“I love you! Always us!” she yells.
Then, I am whisked out of my apartment and into the cop car.
“I’m not going to ask you again, William. Look at these photos,” Lieutenant Thompson says, pushing dozens of photos across the metal table in one of the interrogation rooms at the station.
“It doesn’t matter what I say, Lieutenant. You know my past, my story. You already have an idea on what kind of person I am, when the truth is you don’t know fucking shit about me. You wouldn’t believe a word of what I had to say about Isabel.”
“Try me,” he retorts.
I have been trying to decipher what kind of person Lieutenant Thompson is and I am usually good at reading people, but I just can’t bring myself to figure him out. He’s a short man, around 5’6” with a bald, shiny head and a thick brown mustache. His glasses are a little too round for the present day and his printed tie is definitely out dated.
“William, need I remind you that you are being charged with first degree rape?”
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that several times.”
“You don’t seem that worried about that,” he huffs, pushing the photos closer to me.
I look down and see pictures of Isabel’s wrists and ankles taken from various angels showing distinct red burn marks around both. His hands move across the photos until he finds the one he is searching for; Isabel’s bare breast.
“Are these your teeth marks, William?”
Images of my mouth around her nipple flood my mind and I swear for a moment I can hear her pleas for more until I bite down hard, tasting her blood. I remember the thudding I felt under her wrist when I grabbed it, her lifeline. Now she is causing all sorts of problems for me. The only regret I have is not breaking her fucking neck.
“Maybe that’s because Isabel is a crazy bitch and I didn’t fucking rape her.”
“Why did she come to the police station looking like that, then?”
I shake my head in disgust at the pictures. I hope that karma comes around and ass fucks her until she shits out a second asshole.
“Isabel is a willing whore.”
“Willing? Is that so? Then why did she leave with marks around her hands and feet along with teeth marks on her breast?”
“What fucking evidence do you have? None besides her word against mine. Did you do a rape kit on her? Find my DNA? I’d gladly give up a sample because that bitch didn’t get shit from me.”
“You are missing the point, William.”
“What is that?”
“Rape is serious.”
“Yeah, I have been raped a time or two in my life,” I laugh at him.
Before I have time to react, his hand meets my cheek.
“Do you think this is some goddamn joke, fucker?”
Little does he realize, my statement was truthful. I have been raped more times than I can count during my life, yet the irony remains on me. I sit here cuffed in a police station all because some jealous bitch didn’t get her way.
“You think I am kidding, sir?”
“I think you are fucking crazy.”
“Yeah, well I have been told that a time or two as well, though you have my file. It’s a matter of public record I guess.”
“Answer me!”
“What?” I shrug.
“What did you do to Isabel Rodriguez?”
“Nothing.”
My lips are staying sealed. They don’t have any kind of evidence except what she is saying. He wants me to try and explain that it was consensual, and by doing so, that gives away the fact that we even had sex. Hence, adding fuel to the fire. I won’t do that.
“You’ve really fucked up,” he says, before straightening his tie.
“Is that so?” I return, laughing.
“Yeah, William. You have.”
“It’s really
ironic. You see, the world and people like you have failed so many people like me. You say I am crazy, I say do your fucking job and piss off.”
I’m trying my best to gain my composure and process what just happened. I can’t seem to wrap my brain around it. I know Welch would never do such a thing. It has to be some sort of sick game from Isabel. They have to be lacking evidence. Yes, that is what I will keep telling myself. This will all blow over and we will go about living our lives normally like we deserve.
As hard as I try, I can’t hold back the tears. They aren’t tears of sadness, but ones of rage. I am pissed, so fucking angry as I think of what just happened. Why does it seem that every single time something good happens, something terrible comes along and takes it away? Does the world always work that way?
Not under my watch…
I sit and think about ways to make it right and there is only one solution. My fucked up mind plays tricks with me as I revert back to the girl I once was. But the truth is, I will always be her. Welch embraced that about me and never tried to change it. I may be a monster for having such thoughts right now as a life grows inside of me, but you know what they say…
When you love something, you fight for it, or kill for it.
It’s a funny thing, finding someone. It really isn’t that hard and I should have tried harder for Welch, but I was under Noah’s spell and he kept me there until I broke free once I saw my boy’s eyes. Nothing will take away our happily-ever-after. Not even this Isabel cunt. She doesn’t realize who she is fucking with.
I sit in Welch’s red Solara beneath a burnt out parking light on 8th Avenue waiting for Isabel to arrive home. I searched in the phone book, and sure enough out of all the Isabel Rodriguez’s I called, she had a home number with a goddamn answering machine. Who still has a landline in this day and age, anyway? Whatever the case, it led me here and all I can do now is sit and wait for her to get home.
It’s 10 p.m. and I’m beginning to wonder if she hasn’t found another man to bed for the night. He better watch out, she has teeth and she is ready and willing to use them in all her accusatory glory. What Isabel doesn’t realize is one thing.
I have my handy dandy knife ready to take her life. No one fucks with me or what’s mine. And like I showed her the other day, Welch is mine. Not hers. I’m ready to make things right.
A white Dodge Charger pulls up and she stumbles out, fishing for her keys in her oversized purse. I laugh under my breath at her slutty outfit as her tight miniskirt reveals her ass cheeks. She really is a desperate broad. Her shiny keys reveal themselves from her bag and she walks up four steps to the front of her townhome. I know I don’t have much time, so I carefully open my door with the kitchen knife tucked in my boot. The blade scratches my ankle and I can’t help but smile as it provides relief. This is how I will fix things and ensure that my future isn’t fucked with.
I creep across the quiet street as the door starts to shut before me. I feel like a crazed lunatic who sees herself as a cougar ready to prance on an injured gazelle. But that is the role that I am playing. I am the pillager and Isabel is the object. Soon, she will be dead and gone and no one will be able to ruin my chances at decency in this life.
I step slowly up the concrete stairs, and moments of terror fill me for a few seconds as I think back to the steps at the old trailer. I shake my head, conflicted at why such a detail fills my mind at an odd time. Ha, because I will always be the little fucked up girl.
I look both ways to ensure that no one sees me, reaching for the blade that is tucked in my boot. I pull it out while pushing the door open at the same time. Isabel stumbles forward, trying to turn around to see me. Clearly, she has had too much to drink. She falls back onto her fat ass, her eyes growing wide when they see my face. Her mouth opens to scream while she spots my shiny friend. My lips curl over my teeth, revealing the grin I bare full of intent and so many other things.
“Guess now you know he really is mine, bitch. If you scream I will cut you and fuck you up.”
Isabel tries to crawl backwards while her body quakes uncontrollably. She can try to run and hide, but I will find her.
“Why did you lie, Isabel? You seem like the type of bitch who usually gets her way. When you don’t you have to play the damsel in distress. Too bad your fucking fairytale won’t end the way you imagined.”
“Don’t please. I will call them now and tell them I lied. I promise,” she begs.
“Why? Only to tell them that you were threatened by me? You don’t know my past, and trust me, you don’t want to know. Once you recant your story then tell them that I came here threatening you, they will never leave us alone. Welch and I will never have the life that we deserve. There is only one solution, Isabel…”
I gaze at the knife, remembrances of cutting Claude’s dick off make me shudder but also send something else to my core. It makes me understand that every life delivered to this evil Earth is not always worthy of living. And this bitch before me does not deserve to live. Welch was right. I can sense something behind her darkened eyes that screams ill willed. Women like her are like black widow spiders, finding who they want until they infect them with their deadly venom before it is too late to withdrawal. I turn my head to the side as her whimpers continue, yet she does not shed real tears. Does this woman before me lack fear? What is it with her?
The sympathy I almost had is gone as I understand that realization.
“You don’t care, do you?” I ask, void of emotion as I clutch the knife in my hand.
“About what?” she responds as she backs herself into the corner of her foyer.
“Living…”
I do not give her a chance to answer, leaning down and grabbing her hair then bringing the knife to her throat, slicing her neck open. The blood rushes out and she gurgles for a few minutes before laying lifeless in entrance of her townhome. I take a step back to look at her. It’s a shame, honestly, but she had to understand that she had it coming. I meant what I said to Welch.
Always us.
Now, all I can hope for is getting a decent attorney to get him out of jail while praying with every ounce of my being that I stay away from it.
An hour later, I’m in the shower rinsing the blood away from my hands. I burned the clothes I wore in the sink and washed the ashes down the drain. I bleached the knife and here I sit under the warm droplets of water hoping that I covered all my tracks. I promise, I am no hardened criminal, rather I am a devoted lover that will do whatever necessary to free my monster and live the life we have dreamt of and one that we deserve.
When will the world take responsibility? I haven’t always been like this and I am sure that Welch would have different tendencies if he grew up in a loving and nurturing home. Do the police officers stop and worry what will happen to the 17-year-old foster runaway begging for money and food?
No, instead they ignore them. That same person sells their body for minimal money and most of the time is raped. They turn to drugs as depression and anxiety are the only friends that they know. Looking back at my life, I suppose that the state mental hospital was a good thing for me. Not from a mental rehabilitation standpoint, rather it kept me from falling into the category of succumbing to drug use and prostitution, with the exception of the one incident in Wyoming and he was a goddamn cop. I can’t even fathom that night. It makes me sick remembering how trained Welch was and what he went through for me. It’s hard for me not to blame myself for that night.
Does the system not think of what happens to kids when they are freed from the state’s responsibility? They remain hurt and the worst part is they blame themselves for being unlovable. I was stuck in the cycle for months in comparison to most and I am still damaged. The society of the forgotten ones is large, yet people stay blind because they aren’t affected by it.
Well, let me break off a piece of my madness for you and allow you feel unsafe for a little bit as I expose you to my instability. I could have easily tried to scare Isabel with my word
s, my past, and what I had done, but that would have been easy for a girl like me. I like a challenge and I want to make sure that a woman like her stays quiet forever.
The only thing that will ensure her silence is death.
I continue rinsing the suds free from my hair while my heart skips a beat with those thoughts. I remember thinking that the world was too much when Welch and I were on the run, contemplating death over life, wondering what would be more divine than the fight. I am glad that I didn’t take that route. Shudders run down my spine as I think back to the desperation I felt while sitting in that bath tub, hurt, alone, and sad.
I can’t imagine feeling that way for years like Welch, yet he still clung onto faith for the better. I shiver again as I grip the palms of both hands, still being able to recall how it felt when I held the broken mirror in both hands along with the sensation as it tore into my hands while I thought about what it would feel like to end my life.
I had a plan. A plan to end my life when I thought that Welch walked out of it. But he didn’t, and ten years later he is still fighting and so am I. I will never give up either, not until my last dying breath.
When the water starts to turn, an indication that the blood is free from my skin, I wash my body a second time and rinse myself free from the soap. I get out of the tub, dress myself in Welch’s boxers and a white T-shirt, wondering what he is thinking about right now as he sits in a prison cell. I wish I could go to him and tell him how much I love him. But I am sure the stench of bleach and soap would be sketchy to the police officers. It’s just a matter of time before they find her body, as I am sure that she was due in to answer more questions about her supposed rape.
Too bad that won’t be happening courtesy of my monstrous hands.
What can I say? Some monsters never change their impressive behaviors.
I lay on top of Welch’s pillow, inhaling his scent and I cry into it while praying to the heavens above.
The Emancipation of Love Page 11