Kiss Kill

by Mawter, Jeni

  Jonno: You mean she doesn’t want you there?

  Mat: Sounds like it.

  Jonno: Geez, she’s a cow. Why don’t you give her the flick?

  Mat: ‘Cause she’s my girl.

  Jonno: Why hang around when she treats you like that?

  Mat: Elle’s a great girl.

  Jonno: No, she’s not. She’s a bitch.

  Mat: Not all the time. In heaps of other ways she’s great.

  Jonno: What for? Screwing?

  Mat: No! She can be really funny. And sometimes she says the sweetest things.

  Jonno: And sometimes she rips your balls off and feeds them to the sharks.

  Mat: Silence.

  Jonno: Honestly, mate. Why put up with her crap? What kind of man are you?

  Mat: I can make a go of it. I can endure the bad bits.

  Jonno: For how long? Till the next time she beats you up?

  Mat: It’s not that bad.

  Jonno: Oh yeah? What are those perfect half-moon shaped scars on your arm, then?

  Mat: It was self-defence. She said she thought I was going to hit her.

  Jonno: Self-defence, my arse. She’s got serious problems.

  Mat: Look, I know. And that’s partly why I stay. I feel I can help her.

  Jonno: Bullshit. Girl’s like her can’t be helped.

  Mat: But Elle’s different. I know she can change.

  Jonno: No, she can’t. She doesn’t want to change. She can’t see she has a problem.

  Mat: Well, maybe sometimes I ask for it. Maybe I deserve to get her back up now and again.

  Jonno: You’ve got to be kidding! Listen to yourself. Where’s the logic in that? You sound like a poofter.

  Mat: At times she’s real vulnerable. She needs me to protect her.

  Jonno: No she doesn’t. The more you cop her shit the less she thinks of you as a man.

  Mat: I am a man. A man who can take anything she dishes out.

  Jonno: But why should you? You’ve got to man-up, mate. She’s conned you. She’s taken you down.

  Mat: Silence.

  Jonno: Staying is a slow form of suicide. Bail out. Get out. Go.

  Mat: I don’t know …

  Jonno: Some people say that a bloke who lets a woman abuse him deserves what he gets.

  Mat: Oh, yeah? What would they know.

  Jonno: A lot more than you it seems.

  Mat: It’s not always so easy, you know. There’s not always a clear answer.

  Jonno: I can’t believe I’m hearing this! Where’s the guy I knew? The one who could defend himself. You know that man?

  Mat: I’m the man. I can handle this.

  Jonno: No, you can’t. Know what Elle told Nadia before she left? She said ‘I only ever get close to a man I want to slap the crap out of.’

  Mat: She didn’t!

  Jonno: You calling Nards a liar?

  Mat: Silence.

  Jonno: She’s conned you, man. Get out before you self-destruct. Murder by self-defence won’t stand up in court these days.

  Mat: Don’t be ridiculous.

  Jonno: You’re the one being ridiculous. This is crazy.

  Mat: Silence.

  Jonno: Stay with Elle and you won’t get any more sympathy from me.

  Mat: I don’t need your sympathy. I’m okay.

  Jonno: You’re not okay! You’re f*^#ed, Mattie. And the tragedy is, you don’t even know it.

  ////____________________________

  I sit there after he’s slammed down the phone, thinking ...

  Conversation with Elle in Mat’s Head

  You started small.

  At first I couldn’t even tell if they were put-downs or not. An implication here. An innuendo there. I mean, being called ‘boring’ could mean anything from a throwaway nothing, to something really tragic. And ‘loser’ can be a sign of great affection. I even thought that ‘duck breath’ was kinda cute, although it did get me worrying: what do duck’s eat that gives them bad breath? Are ducks coprophagic like rabbits?

  I can’t believe I’m so stupid. I got sucked in with your mushy stuff. Really believed it when you called me ‘sweetie’ and ‘schnookums’ and ‘hon’. Your voice would drop an octave, all tigercub-like, and you’d look at me with eyes that could melt moonbeams. And every time I heard them there’d be a little jump-start in my heart. I baulked at ‘Mummy’s little boy’ ‘cause honestly, to replace you with my mother is kinda sick, but I loved all the rest. But I became a lapdog. Your lapdog, lap-lap-lapping it all up.

  A lot of the time I thought your insults were really funny, wished I had the same sharp wit. Remember that time when Ali asked what felate meant? She’d read a question in some girly mag asking, “How do you felate a soft-drink bottle” when you answered, quick as a whip, ‘You start by slipping into something more comfortable …’ And when she said she didn’t get it you asked, ‘Are you always so stupid or is this a special occasion?’ I pretended to crack up, but in all honesty I thought Ali’s question was perfectly reasonable.

  Then there was that time in class when Char asked if a metrosexual was someone who liked to make love in train stations and you said, ‘I see you’ve set aside this special time to humiliate yourself in public.’ How I laughed, but if I hadn’t had that conversation with Dad about some metro’s mantra at his work ‘I spend therefore I am’, I probably would’ve thought nothing of it. After all, the metro means trains in France, doesn’t it?

  It’s all good when you aimed the barbs at someone else but something happened and it all changed. I don’t know what I did, maybe I said something … didn’t say something … but you turned. I agree being called a greedy pig after you eat six Big Macs is sort of warranted, but being told to ‘eat shit and die’ is a bit over-the-top when someone is only five minutes late in meeting up.

  I knew things were a bit serious when you told me, ‘If I was bitten by a poisonous snake and you were the only person around to save me, I’d rather die than let you help me.’ But I told myself they’re only words. You don’t really mean it. But now I think you did mean it. You wanted the words to hurt.

  I thought I could manage the insults but you got worse. Calling me a ‘jerk’ or a ‘nerd’ in public was tame compared to ‘pathetic snivelling weakling’ or ‘a poor excuse for a human’. Why did you have to say those things in front of everyone? What did you hope to gain? A few more laughs? And when I’d hit crisis time, when I’d tell you I’d had enough, your answer would always be the same: ‘I’m only teasing’. And when I’d say you were hurting me, not loving me, with that sort of teasing out would lurch, ‘What’s the matter? Can’t you take a joke?’

  It was your answer for everything.

  That time when you said I had more hair than a gorilla and arms that were simian wasn’t funny. Can’t you take a joke? Or when you compared my nose to a dorsal fin … Wasn’t funny!

  Sometimes I could just ignore you. Pretend we weren’t even in a relationship, that you couldn’t get under my skin, then in you’d come, with your needling and needling and needling and I’d be too chicken to say anything ‘cause I knew I’d cop more shit. In fact, sometimes I sat there, praying for a miracle that would separate us.

  They say in life you should go with your gut. If your dick’s saying stay but your gut’s saying go, you should just go. But my dick screamed louder than my gut and I stayed.

  For a long time this was all done in private, no witnesses, no public evidence. You sure picked your times. When we were alone, walking to class. No-one would’ve believed it. Anyone watching would think we were deeply in love and they’d be right. But I was in more deep than you, like a big thick anchor when you were the water-strider above.

  Then gradually you’d slip. The sarcasm festered. I’ll never forget the look on Nadia’s face when you asked me, “And your cry-baby whiny opinion would be?” when I stood to be second speaker in a debate. I’ll never forget the whole class’s face ‒ the way they avoided my gaze, as if I’d been publicly em
asculated, a eunuch of the third millennium. I wanted a comeback, something witty, snappy, like, “You’re sounding unreasonable. Time to up the medication” but I didn’t dare. You’d get me back in spades later. Dad used to have this saying, ‘Never enter a battle of wits unarmed’. It’s why us boys won’t get into a verbal fight with a girl. Her words are her wits and her wits are her weapon. Why should boys have a skirmish when we have no protection? Elle, the reason your man walks away from an argument is because he hasn’t got an armour of words, or, to quote that advert, If it’s not on, it’s not on.

  The last straw was at Lachlan’s party, when we were sitting outside round the fire and you called me an arsehole for not getting you a drink and a faggot who can only think of gay boys. And instead of getting angry, instead of hitting out, I decided the arsehole isn’t me, it’s you.

  Tarred With the Same Brush

  The head at school talks about relationship abuse in assembly. The way she talks, the abuser’s always the boy.

  Does he threaten you?

  Does he hit you?

  Does he make you feel like you deserve it?

  It might just be my imagination but there is a collective girl nod.

  Does he stop you from being with your friends?

  Does he criticise you for little things?

  Another group nod, this time with eye glances, all accusing. I want to yell out, ‘You’ve got it wrong!’ To say things like ‘Girls hurt guys, too,’ but I can’t. I look around at the guys. They’re all squirming, tarred with a brush of collective guilt.

  Does he make you feel depressed or humiliated?

  She sure does.

  The head goes on to say:

  If something bad is happening to you, you should tell someone.

  Yeah, right? ‘Elle’s being mean to me.’

  They’d laugh me out of the office.

  And don’t just tell any someone. Tell a counsellor, a teacher, me.

  By now I can imagine their looks of disbelief. Their this-boy-is-lying looks. Troublemaker looks. Their we’ll-teach-him-to-make-a-joke-about-this looks. But wait, she’s finally said something that makes sense.

  If something bad is happening to you, if you want us to help you do something about it, vague and emotional complaints won’t do. You must document it. Not just once either. One documented example won’t help much. You need a whole history. And not just your version, other people’s, too. Keep a diary. You need to document as much of the bad stuff as possible. Then, and only then, can you prove he’s a nut case.

  That’s it! It’s like being given a pass out. I’m going to keep a record of this.

  Diary of an Arsehole

  I decide to keep this as factual as possible, like a ship’s log. This way, no one can say it’s full of personal bias:

  Date: Thu, 30 Aug

  Time: 00:24

  Observations: Received text message from Elle.

  Luv can be bad, it can treat U lik dirt. Theres always a risk of U gettin hurt. Luv is restless & luv is a flirt. Luv has places to go and people to hurt.

  Date: Thu, 30 Aug

  Time: 01:08

  Observations: Received text message from Elle.

  My eyes R hurtin coz I can’t C U. My arms R empty coz I can’t hold U. My lips R cold coz I can’t kiss U. But my heart is breakin coz I’m not with U!

  Date: Thu, 30 Aug

  Time: 01:09

  Observations: Received text message from Elle.

  Do U luv me?

  Date: Thu, 30 Aug

  Time: 01:11

  Observations: Received text message from Elle.

  I miss U. I think about U nite and day. I want us 2 B 2gether 4eva!

  Date: Thu, 30 Aug

  Time: 01:12

  Observations: Received text message from Elle.

  I h8 U. Forget I exist.

  Date: Thu, 30 Aug.

  Time: 01:16

  Observations: Received text message from Elle.

  tiny starz shinin bright. Its time 4 me 2 say goodnite. close ur eyes & snuggle tite. Im wishin u sweet dreams 2nite!

  Action: Phone turned off.

  Date: Thu, 30 Aug

  Time: 08:01

  Observations: Phone switched on. Received phone call from Elle.

  She tells me, ‘I would like to insult you but you’re not intelligent enough to get it.’

  In the space of thirty seconds I hear the following:

  ‘You’re a total waste of space.’

  ‘Why don’t you grow up?’

  ‘If I threw you a stick would you leave?’

  Action: Matt walks home.

  Date: Fri, 31 Aug

  Time: 20:06

  Observations: Phone call from Nadia telling me when she was at netball training at 18:00. Elle told everyone I ‘dogged’ her.

  Date: Fri, 31 Aug

  Time: 20:08

  Observations: Phone call to Elle. Call not answered. Text message to Elle saying, ‘Pls call Mat’.

  Date: Sat, 1 Sep

  Time: 10:05

  Observations: Elle turns up to my football game. She does not speak to me. After the game she leaves with Luke Harrington.

  Date: Sat, 1 Sep

  Time: 12:21

  Observation: Received text message from Elle.

  i luved u once u loved me not. u neva luv me u neva will but even so i luv u still.

  Action: Huh?

  Date: Sat, 1 Sep

  Time: 12:27

  Observation: Phone call from Elle.

  Luke’s ‘being mean’. She wants to come over to my place later. See me at four.

  Action: ?#^??? Decide to vent in a song.

  Bitch Field

  She’s extremely smart and witty

  Mean at times but oh, so pretty.

  I’m supposed to be the prize

  Love like poison in her eyes.

  Been together six months now

  Half a year don’t ask me how

  Would drink the nectar from her cup

  But her bitch field is always up.

  She’s my girlfriend. I must be proud

  ‘cept she’s wrapped me in a shroud

  Where will this end? Tell me how.

  When will this end? Tell me now.

  Visit from Elle

  I can’t believe it. While I was in the shower, she went berko. Completely trashed my room. Ripped up my photo of my beautiful Tash, the best staffie in the world. The night before she had to be put down. Tumour in her gut. Clothes and stuff I don’t care about but how could she attack Tash? Tash had nothing to do with her.

  “Why?!”

  “Because.”

  “’Coz why?!”

  “Because you made me mad.”

  “What’d I do to deserve this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Huh?”

  “You were ignoring me. I needed to get your attention.”

  This transcript of our conversation is true.

  F*^#in’ psycho!

  Handiwork by Elle

  www.yahoo.com.au

  Open Question

  Hi. I’m a seventeen year old boy. I’ve been thinking about suicide a lot lately. I am in a relationship with this girl and it’s killing me. She’s a control freak who gets really jealous and aggro. She hits and kicks and even trashed my stuff. Even when I tell her I’m at the point of breaking down she still won’t stop. I don’t know what to do. No one understands. The guys at school think she’s really hot and I’m the luckiest dude in the world, but they don’t know her like I know her. Her attractive side she shows to the world, but the evil side she keeps for me. I want to leave her but she’s threatened to take her own life. Says she’ll hang herself. Knowing her, she would, too. To spite me. Last week I put a belt around my neck and pulled it tight, just to see. Today, I put a knife to my throat and thought, ‘I wish I could.’ I need help but I don’t know where to turn.

  Posted 15 minutes ago

  I wonder what Mrs Poleki would have to say ab
out all this. What philosophical questions would she pose to the class?

  1) What makes a person’s behaviour suicidal?

  2) What motivates such behaviour?

  3) Is suicide morally permissible, or even morally required in some extraordinary circumstances?

  4) Is suicidal behaviour rational?

  The next day …

  Beware of Spies and Bankers

  Conversation with Steph:

  Heard you had a bit of trouble last night.

  Did you.

  Yeah.

  Silence.

  So?

  So what?

  Is it true?

  Is what true?

  Did Elle trash your room last night? Rip stuff to shreds and throw it out the window?

  Mat looks over Steph’s shoulder and stares into the distance.

  So it is true!

  I’m saying nothing so you might as well leave me alone.

  It must’ve been hard, you know, when she tore up all your photos.

  Mat raises an eyebrow and stares Steph down.

  Don’t look at me like that. I’m just trying to be nice. I feel really sorry for you.

  Sure.

  Honest. I’d hate for someone to flush my letters ‘n stuff down the loo.

  Silence.

  Especially the photo of your dead dog.

  Mat rides out the punch, picks up his bag, hating the gleam in Steph’s eyes.