I continue to hold onto him, afraid that if I let my arms go we won’t be the same. This distress is the worst I have ever felt.
“Through all of that though, I’ve managed to hold onto part of that little boy that my mom raised. One who still had faith in love, and I am glad that I never let it go. I’m thankful that I went through it all and held onto that because it led me to you. Going through all that awful shit has made me understand that I wasn’t crazy. That there is love… because of you, sweet girl.”
I wail, tears of too much. My mind is in complete chaos, unable to process everything he is telling me. I curse myself. I am supposed to be the one of reason, why can’t I be strong enough for him now when he needs me most? He is telling me his story and I all I can do is cry for him!
“Shhh, don’t cry for me. Be happy that we found each other, sweet girl.”
I look at him through blurry eyes and see it. Love. We may not make it to the West Coast, but we still have our love. Maybe this end is a new start…
“The bad dreams come and go, but everywhere I was planted I was Worthless William. I yelled it out in my sleep. Claude loved that…”
My teeth clench at the thought of that fucker and I feel the savage teeth wanting to escape. So much for the voice of reason staying. I feel myself going crazy again and I don’t care about stopping it. What’s the point now, anyway?
“I loved the older couple I was with before Claude and Helen. They treated me so awesome. It was the first normal home I was in. But the old man had a heart attack and they couldn’t handle the stress of a foster kid, so I was moved to Claude’s. My nightmares returned with a vengeance.”
“Were there others? Girls?” I whisper between gritted teeth, memories from the shower raining over me and searing my heart.
“Yes, one…”
He doesn’t offer more information, but I have to know this part.
“What happened to her, Welch?”
“I had to do bad things to her, Gwen. She was fifteen. Her name was Victoria. I try not to think about her because it brings back too many bad memories. We were forced to do the same things, but Claude often took her in front of me. Made me watch.”
“Why wasn’t she there when I got there?”
He sighs deeply and his look turns brooding again.
“Welch?” I question.
“One night, we were in the bedroom like all the other times. I was taking her like I was told. Her cries made me sick and I hate myself for that. I really do…”
He stops.
“It’s okay, Welch. It’s just me.”
“She moved away from me and Claude went and grabbed her to finish her off. She yanked herself away from him and ran towards the window in the bedroom. She clawed at those disgusting yellow curtains until she pried the window open. She was naked, violated, afraid, and I didn’t run to help her. I should have, but I didn’t. I sat there after Claude slapped me with the belt a few times, then he went running outside after her.”
He takes one more deep breath as I think back to all the times I stared at the holes in those curtains; tattered tears made from her.
“He came back about an hour later. He said to me and Helen that she got away. That she ran off, but I know she didn’t. I saw the blood on his shirt and the dirt on his jeans. The social workers that came to the house accepted his story without question. Of course it was a shit-hole, but when Claude and Helen knew that CPS was coming, they would clean and stock the cupboards with food and ensure we had decent clothes on.
“Victoria was forgotten. Gone, and no one cares to know what really happened to her.”
Proof that no one cares to know our story. Lost souls who found each other only to understand that humanity is distorted and evil. Now, death seems divine.
Welch
I’ve often wondered about the ways that I can end my life. I’ve looked around my room, searching and thinking of what I could use to wrap around my neck to make it into a makeshift noose and hang myself from the metal bar in my crap closet. Then I thought about searching for something sharp, even the metal clip of a pen, and digging it into my wrist until I find my bloody treasure, enjoying the weightless feeling until I slowly bleed out and make my way to the Pearly Gates to see my mother again.
I’ve held onto hope for far too long, years in fact. For what, though? Only to be proven wrong. I fear that it is time to say goodbye to the little boy that still believes in love. Every place that I am thrown into I still believe that there is good only to be shown that it gets uglier.
And here I sit in some po-dunk trailer miles away from the comfort of the last home I was in. Forced to participate in sexual acts with another girl. But she’s gone. Claude says she ran away, but I saw the blood on his shirt and the dirt on his pants. How can she get away outside, running around naked at fifteen-years-old? Her chances of getting away are slim to none.
Then, CPS buys his story of the usual runaway. Why? Because lots of kids do run away, but many of them don’t. And the ones that don’t are forgotten and stuffed away in some goddamn file. Death seems like a valid option as each passing day gets worse and worse. It’s just a matter of time before he tortures me and sends me over the edge, breaking me down. I don’t want to reach that point. I want to leave this world still believing in love before I’ve lost total hope.
I still think it’s out there, but maybe just not in the cards for me. I’m only seventeen, almost eighteen. Sure, I could wait it out until I am of age, but then what? Run away in the middle of the night with no money, no high school education, no food, and no support? The cycle is never ending and depressing. There truly isn’t an easy answer without going back to the option that equals peace.
Death.
I scribble with my pencil onto my paper, shading dark lines and making a picture that my mind is painting. I often don’t understand what I am creating until it is done. I allow my mind to be set free for a brief amount of time, only to be faced with gruesomeness on the paper. Even the cycle of hell finds its way into the peacefulness I find in art.
The door swings open and a girl stumbles in. She looks petrified, lost, and hurt. She won’t look at me, but I look at her with pleading eyes. I want to say something to her, but the walls are thinner than paper and I don’t want to scare her either. Who knows what kind of shit she endured before being thrown to these animals.
I’ve never seen red hair like hers before. It shines to life and I find myself wanting to brush it away from her face so I can look at her better, but she continues to hang her head. Her frame is tiny, which makes my heart hurt. The crap we get fed here will only make her smaller. I make a mental note to try and sneak a few pieces of bread for her as I notice her losing weight. Alpo and Spam will only do so much from a nutrition standpoint for two growing teens.
There’s something else about this girl, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I sense fire and soul hidden deep within, but it must be buried below. I know all about that. Hiding…
She looks around the room and my belly tightens when I get the first glimpse of her face. Her beauty is unique, one that cannot be described with words. Her eyes are dark green and her lips are pink. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts, but I find myself thinking what they would taste like if they were voluntarily pressed against mine. How they would swell with my movements and how hot it would be if she would moan slightly into my mouth.
I chew on the inside of my mouth and turn my attention to my paper, scrunching my eyebrows at the awful feelings shown all along the pages. I know that this girl isn’t going to talk easily. I sense that. Suddenly, death doesn’t seem like the route I want to take for reasons I am not aware of. I don’t try to make sense of it all, I just let myself rip the shit drawing away from my notebook and start on another. It’s the first time I have had real inspiration before. The first time I have given a shit about knowing a girl before.
Call it teenage hormones, I call your bluff. It seems like something more. She has a story
, something else, and lots to say. I will wait and do whatever I have to break that shell to find out who she truly is. Until then I have my imagination and my pencil.
I awake with a jolt and see Gwendolyn next to me asleep. I think back to all the times that she would crawl into my bed late at night, waking me with her arms wrapped snuggly around my chest, making me realize that the world isn’t such a bad place. But something is different between now and then. The love is still there, but the bad is only getting worse. Maybe we will go out of this world like Romeo and fucking Juliet.
I take a moment to really look at her. I never get this opportunity because she doesn’t sleep much. She is always the one watching me sleep, comforting me as I awake, sweating with anxiety. Now I watch as her perky breasts rise and fall slowly. She’s relaxed and I hope that sweet dreams find her. She deserves nothing less. I’m not too proud for the fight, but I don’t want the fight to tear our love away from one another. That is what it will do. I’ve learned from all the bad that when you find something as good as Gwen, it’s a once in a lifetime kind of thing. Why risk losing that?
I could tell in her eyes that she understood what I said when I mentioned that this journey wasn’t going to end well. How would we ever know if we never tried? Deep down I was certain that if we stayed with Claude and Helen neither one of us would make it out alive. Do we wait it out to starve to death? Spend the last of our money on a nice meal and go out with a bang? I would love to send her to Portland with a one-way ticket on her own.
I move up from the bed, clenching my jaw because my ass is sorer than fuck. I swallow hard and thoughts of his cock wash on my tongue. I rise from the bed and dart for the bathroom, hating myself because the quick movements are hurting my backside. I clutch down on the cold bathroom floor and puke my guts out into the toilet, still tasting his salty pre-cum on my lips. I want to be strong, not to cry or wake her and let her see me like this, but I feel like the little boy that was taken all that time ago, used and abused.
Fucked and confused.
I was trained for so long to act like I enjoyed it, that my body submits and listens even though my fucking heart despises it. I can’t stand the thoughts of what happened, but I have to get my shit together. I can’t let her see me like this. I wipe the puke from the edges of my mouth and go to the sink to rinse my lips free, then quickly brush my teeth to rinse the taste of vomit away.
I make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror, and the illness in my belly returns. I fight it, but like everything else in life I am getting tired of it. My hair is a fucking mess, all over the place as parts of it are stuck to my forehead from the sweat. My eyes look sunken in from my drastic weight loss and the evidence of my nightmares are all too familiar as the black circles plant themselves beneath my dark eyes. My face has a faint amount of scruff, but it doesn’t grow too fast, just a dusting of dark hair below my skin.
I look down at my chest and see that Gwendolyn and I bear the same markings from our previous tormentor, one that we are still running from, but for how long? I make the decision to confront it head-on, to not give her a choice in the matter.
Once again, seeing her in such a sweet slumber makes my heart sink. We don’t have much time. I stride over to her quickly, each movement of my legs still reminding me of the fucking that was done to my ass. I hate myself more, but part of me feels peace still because I found someone to finally love. Someone to love me back even if I know that we have to say goodbye.
I climb back onto the bed, embracing her tiny curves, burning the feeling of her silky skin into my memory until my hearts stops beating. I smile against her belly as she stirs to life, bringing her small hands to my hair. She loves my hair. My sweet, sweet girl. I kiss her naked belly again, wondering what life would have been like if we’d met under different circumstances. I think to what kind of dreams she would’ve strived for, what I would have done; probably something in art. I see her helping people, giving back to the community because she has that passion in her heart that is so rare. We could have settled in a tiny cottage by the sea with two kids and the whole works. Just me and my girl against the world.
But, our fairytale is going to have a different ending. Only we have control on how it ends, no one else.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I murmur, kissing her belly again, the horror from before almost forgotten.
“There’s my wonderful Welch,” she croons, wrapping her leg around mine, pulling me closer into her.
My body cries out in protest from the fucking from before, but something tells me that this will be our last time.
“Hey, I love you,” I whisper, peppering kisses up her belly, making my way to her breast.
“Hey, I love you too,” she responds. I can tell she is smiling and that makes my heart swell.
“Do you want to leave, get away from this awful place on our own terms? Are you ready to say goodbye to this life, sweet girl?”
Her chest rises and falls faster, but she doesn’t hesitate, “Any goodbye would be sweet as long we say it together,” she says. My heart breaks…
“Do you want me, one last time before we leave?” I ask, moving up to look into her eyes.
It’s taken me a long time to get her to accept them as a safe place. Now there isn’t any other place that she wishes to be. I can’t think of a better way to go. I move my lips so they are almost touching hers, wanting this moment to freeze in time. I wish I could live here forever, but the fact of the matter is, life is brutal. There isn’t a chance of carrying on to make amends. Our souls are too tired to deal with the sheer harshness of the world. There’s so much I want to say, but the words won’t come. I do what I can, showing her with my body. Fucked up, maybe. But she is the first person to make me feel it in my heart, not just my goddamn cock. That means something when all the pieces meet; heart, body, and mind.
My own fucking paradise.
I touch her lips, opening them with mine and sweeping her tongue with the movements that make her moan into my mouth just like I pictured all those months ago. My God, they taste better than I could ever imagine and they move together with mine perfectly. Then, everything happens without me even thinking. My hands go about of their own volition, touching and caressing her where she prefers. My mouth kisses that place beneath her ear that makes her pull on my hair in a way that makes me smile on her skin, the same thing that makes her laugh.
God, I love that sound.
Before I can recognize what is happening, I enter her and she cries out. Not a painful cry, but one of satisfaction. She settles back into the bed as the rhythm of my hips starts, hitting the spot that makes her clench around me in the hottest fucking way. Again, my body goes about its own way, kissing, touching, and whispering words to her as we make love to one another in amazing synchrony.
Lost boy who finally found love. Now it’s time for heaven.
She wails out. I know she’s close. So close. My body knows hers and moves faster. I’m close, so close too. My world is turned upside down as I crash my lips onto hers, stopping her pleas for more as we chase the edge of goodness together.
Don’t worry, sweet girl. Our goodness is eternal. In our hearts and souls forever.
“Grab the backpack,” I say over my shoulder, pulling on my jeans and still feeling the tearing with each movement, a grisly reminder of what was necessary to do to survive.
I have come to terms with the fact that I can’t do that. For twelve years, I have gone through too much. I want to go out of this life remembering the love that I have found, not the ugly. That is what is important and I will be damned if that becomes overshadowed by the world’s disgusting ways.
I finish dressing myself, accepting my fate. I don’t know how in the hell I am going to get her on that bus alone, but I am going to try. I knew she had that fire the day I saw her, something I don’t have. That is crucial for survival; having the will to push through and the meanness to overcome terrible situations. I am certain from the depths of my soul that s
he can go on without me. She is a goddamn fighter, a feisty amazing girl that has turned into an incredible woman that fell in love with me, and I will be forever grateful for that.
Because I fell in love with her.
“Where are we going, Welch?” she asks, pulling on her shoes.
“Don’t worry, sweet girl. I don’t even know. Just going to walk until something seems right.”
That’s half of a truth. We will walk to the Greyhound bus station in the middle of the night in the frigid cold and I will force her to get on a bus. I won’t let her accept the same fate as me. No fucking way. Thinking about finally finding love makes me smile. A real smile of content, finally finding my happy place.
There were so many times in my life that I would struggle to imagine something ideal while being raped or forced to do unimaginable things, but nothing ever worked. The blackness always won as their huffs of pleasure rang out loudly in my ears. I was forced to submit and obey, given no other choice but to adapt to the lifestyle that I was thrown into. But now, I have found my happy place and I won’t let anyone take that away from me.
I am the only person that can choose my fate and I am choosing hers too.
Goodbye, my sweet girl.
I’m shaking beyond measure from the cold winter night as Welch holds onto my injured hand tightly. I’m not scared. I’m ready to say goodbye to this world. To hold onto the good pieces of my life, even to the old parts of me before my parents died; the memories of Welch and the love that I feel in my heart. I take a deep breath, wondering if we are going to find the Laramie River and jump off a fucking bridge or just keep walking until our bodies can’t take it anymore, succumbing to the elements of the brutal winter season.
Like I told him, any goodbye would be sweet as long as I said it alongside him.
Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts Page 14