Something Terrible

by Wrath James White

  “This is your dad’s.”

  “Not the other one,” he said, pointing toward the envelope.

  She forced a smile and placed them on the coffee table. “Let’s watch our show.”

  Kenneth soon grew bored. He kissed Jennifer on the cheek and neck and placed his hand on her thigh.

  “Not tonight,” she said, “I’m tired. Long day at the coffee shop.”

  He slumped back into the couch cushions, silently pretending to enjoy the program. When the first commercial came, he spread his arms into the air, faking a yawn. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there soon.” She kept her eyes on the television as she answered.

  He grabbed her iPhone from the kitchen counter on his way to the bathroom, typing in search terms with one hand as he undressed with the other. The video buffered as he waited for the shower water to heat up. He cautiously stepped into the shower, protecting the cell phone from the water. Stroking himself with his soapy hand, the thought of his sexless relationship slowly left his mind, like water down a drain. There was a time when he regarded this action a violation of the boundaries of their relationship. But that was also a time when he’d make love to his girlfriend at least three times a week. When he finished, he sat at the edge of the tub, the shower head directed toward his mess, and patiently waited for it to find its way down the drain, just as his memories of happier times had.

  He slid into bed wearing only his underwear. He heard the faint murmurs of TV chatter. Jennifer was still in the living room. Kenneth breathed in deeply the lavender-scented sheets. They must have just been washed. He deleted the search history on the cell phone and then lay still under the covers, smelling the lavender, and falling into a heavy rest. Before he dozed off, he felt the cell phone vibrate, a text message. He tapped the screen to life and read the message.

  Gerald: Sure, what time tomorrow? ;)

  Kenneth looked for any other messages from this man but found none. He found no sent messages either, like they had all been erased.

  He threw the phone across the room. It bounced off the wall before resting on the floor. He stood up and paced. The city streetlights cast shadows into his small, dark room; they waved back and forth on the walls in time with his steps.

  Who was Gerald?

  He stopped and looked out the bedroom door, clear vision of the living room, his girlfriend sitting on the couch. She was the only one here besides him. His only outlet, the only other person for him to take out his anger on.

  He walked a few steps forward, almost exiting the room, feeling his rage rise. Then closed the door so he couldn’t see her. “No. It can’t be.” He fell face first into his pillow. And as he slipped into sleep, alone in his bed, he wondered about the frequency of which Jennifer has been changing the sheets. He thought about the increasing time he’d been spending with Jason and the decreasing time with his love. Now, for some reason, the usually pleasant lavender scent of the sheets was off-putting.

  Chapter 2

  “Look at me!” the hideous woman growls.

  He does, for it is all he can do. Trapped in his hogtie, he is forced only to look forward. His arms extend unnaturally behind him, bound to his raised feet. He felt his spine extending, the discs being pulled apart, a terrible agony spreading through his back. A silver lamb swings inches from his face by a thin chain, the woman crouches in front of him, her thigh muscles bulging. She massages the flat blade of a hunting knife, smiling at the helpless man, the veins on her forearms webbing their way up her massive biceps. She sets the knife down and picks up some metal apparatus, clamp-like, something out of a dentist’s office. “Open wide.” She pries apart his lips and jams the device into his mouth. It pulled in either direction, keeping her victim in an endless yawn. “That should make things a little easier.” She picks up her blade and pinches the tip of his tongue between her thumb and forefinger, stretching it as far back as she could. The blade’s edge was recently sharpened; his tongue comes off quickly.

  His eyes widen, and a gurgled moan erupts from his gory orifice. Blood spatters on the woman’s face, as if it weren’t already disgusting enough.

  She smiles and licks her lips. “Don’t want you bleeding to death now,” she says. Plugged into the wall beside her is a hair curler, already heated; she’d apparently planned this. With ease, unbothered by the screaming man before her, she directs the heated rod into his mouth, cauterizing the wound, destroying the nerves, sealing the gash, halting the blood flow. It is so professional. He bucks, trying futilely to escape the torturer, burning the roof of his mouth in the process.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” she says, still grinning. “That could have been much smoother.” She reaches for the metal apparatus holding open his mouth and then decided against it. It is probably more uncomfortable to leave it there. Unable to speak, unable to beg, to plea, the man could only cry.

  “Your tears are really beginning to irk me.” She picks up a spoon from the floor and balances the bowl of it on his nose, laughing. Quickly, effortlessly, she seizes one of his eyelids and cuts it off with her knife. Then the other. He groans, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every whimper. She takes the spoon and scoops out an eye. It rests on his cheekbone, hanging by the optic nerve. She removes his other eye too and then cuts the nerves, his eyes fall to the ground in a few mushy bounces.

  The laughing woman takes the curling iron and jams it into each of his sockets, cauterizing the red crevices. Her victim tenses, straining at his ropes, his shoulder blades protruding from his back as he wrestles to free himself. “Don’t worry; it’s almost over,” she says, plugging his nose with clay. Calmly, she threads some string through a needle and then ties it off. She sews each nostril shut, holding her palm to his bottom lip, making sure it was impossible for him to breathe through his nose. The man is a useless sack of meat. He cannot see, he cannot smell, he cannot taste, he cannot move. He is essentially worthless to the world, aside from being a plaything for the torturer and the epicenter of screams heard in a mile radius.

  Rolling balls of clay between her fingers, the woman speaks again. The last words the man would ever hear. “Leave. And never come back.” She shoves the clay deep into his ears. She folds his lobes over his ear canals and sews them in place.

  The man’s entire existence is pain. It is all he knows. The woman stripped him of all senses aside from the sense of touch. And that sensation is reserved for misery, and misery only. He is incapable of ending his life, ending the torment. She keeps him alive. Having cauterized his wounds, he could not bleed to death. And she comes back to the dirty shed he is kept in to force-feed him and pour water down his throat, his mouth held agape by the apparatus. The pain will eventually subside, and insanity steps forward to become his new bane. For days, his brain is deprived of any stimulation besides the pain that had since faded. No sights, no smells, no sounds, no tastes. The thought-processing center in his brain has begun to malfunction, to shut down, to self-destruct. His mind had been tricked into thinking he was already dead, and it releases toxins into his bloodstream that breaks down his still-living body. The ropes, tight across his body, begin digging into his skin where the tissue had broken down. His teeth fall out. His jaw grows slack, and it eventually falls completely from his face, the metal apparatus coming down with it. His forehead is concave where his skull collapsed. Large sections of skin are missing, revealing the thin muscle and tendons beneath.

  ***

  Kenneth woke up screaming.

  “What’s the matter? What’s happening?” Jennifer was frightened. The concern in her voice was odd, Kenneth thought. Then he realized she was hardly ever concerned about him. Her worry for him now was inexplicably comforting.

  “I—I just had a nightmare,” he replied.

  “Is that it?” The concern was gone.

  He walked to the bathroom sink and splashed cold water onto his face. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.” His pounding heart suggested other
wise. He took a few deep breaths. “I need to forget.” He looked at his sleeping girlfriend and his heart rate slowed. “I just need to forget.” He slid back into bed next to her, tickling her sides and waking her up.

  “You’ve been a little brat lately,” he said playfully, slapping her bottom. “Do I need to teach you a lesson?” He remembered using that same line when they first met in college.

  “Not really, babe.” Either she didn’t remember or was intentionally dismissing his advances.

  “Oh, come on. It’s been a while.” He slid his leg over her torso and pushed himself up on top of her. He kissed her gently on the chin, neck. He kissed her unpuckered lips; she wasn’t returning the affection. “Are you really gonna make me work for it?” He tried to smile but was obviously troubled by her behavior.

  Kenneth moved his head down, tracing his path with his tongue. He bit the band of her panties with his teeth and slid them down her smooth legs. He licked his way back up her legs and settled between her thighs. Before he could do anything, Jennifer grabbed him on either side of his head and pulled him up so they were face to face.

  “Just fuck me.”

  “But we always fool around a bit first.” He kissed her.

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  Kenneth tried to ignore the way she was acting. “Relax, babe.”

  He went back between her legs and kissed her inner thighs, trying to taunt her, to tempt her. Then he licked the entire length of her vulva and listened to her quiet moans. She rubbed her slender white fingers through his hair. He knew something was off right away. The smell and taste was unusual. Back when they had an active sex life, he had given her oral pleasure enough times to know something was wrong. Was this another man’s smell? Had she snuck out in the middle of the night? But as her back arched and her legs shook, the thought fell to the back of his mind. He needed a release. The lonely sessions in the shower were not sufficient for his desires. And one weird scent was not enough to keep him from making love to his girlfriend for the first time in three weeks. He held open her labia with his thumb and index finger, licking her insides and sucking her juices. He tried to scrape the bitterness off his tongue with his teeth but it stayed. He wasn’t used to her current taste. But he still wanted her. He’d been frustrated with her for weeks and needed the satisfaction he deserved. He worked his way up to her clitoris. Holding her legs wide, he flicked her nerves with the tip of his tongue, up and down, side to side. She tensed and moaned, begging for him to come up and fuck her. He complied. He crawled up and hovered over her, easing his dick into her wetness. There was no intimacy, no romance. They did what humans have always done. He felt strange fucking her. He’d always been the type to whisper nice things and hold eye contact, but today a new beast overtook his motions. She screamed his name like she’d never done before, craving more. Clenching his teeth, he held back his own orgasm to pleasure his girlfriend further. She convulsed, gripping the sheets and rolling her eyes.

  Kenneth squeezed his kegel muscles and pumped, giving himself over to her. It was not entirely mutual. He fucked her and she received it, enjoying all of it without putting in any effort. Eventually Kenneth envied her. He needed to feel what she felt.

  He pulled out and ejaculated on her stomach, clenching his abs and diaphragm, sounds of bliss from his mouth. He closed his eyes and let the orgasm control his body. He fell limp with satisfaction and then rolled over and lay beside her. He took a deep breath, the lavender scent of the laundry detergent rising from the sheets, stronger than the scent of sweat and semen. The lavender.

  “Oh, Kenneth. I’ve never seen that side of you before.” She wore a look that Kenneth had not seen for a very long time.

  Once shrouded by lust and his dominating sexual urge, shame now seized his body. The odd taste and smell of her vagina assailed his nose and mouth once more, but just the memory of it. It was accompanied by the sweet scent of lavender, but it tarnished that once-fresh aroma. The lavender was vile, disgusting. It made his stomach heave. He jumped out of bed and puked in the toilet.

  He marched to the bed where his girlfriend still lay naked but awake; he wiped the dribble from his lip and then snatched Jennifer by the neck with the same hand. He pulled her in close, so their faces were centimeters apart.

  “Are you cheating on me?” His nostrils flared as he spoke.

  “No, baby! I’m not! Where did you get that idea? Trust me! I’d never!” she begged, shaking her head from side to side.

  Every fiber of Kenneth’s being told him not to believe her. Told him that she was a lying, sniveling little shrew. He slightly tightened his grip. Her eyes widened and she clawed at his forearms. He held it for a moment, just so she would get scared, just so she’d know his power, and then dropped her.

  “If I ever find out.” He shook his head. “If I ever find out.” It was all he could say. He left the bedroom, slamming the door.

  ***

  Kenneth walked his normal route to the subway station, checking the news on his way. Yesterday’s headline story was today’s forgotten memory. The anchorwoman spoke of the super-mall opening next month. He wished he had watched the news the night before rather than Desperate Housewives.

  The subway was still fairly empty. Kenneth sat and relaxed on his way to the clinic; he’d usually give up his spot, standing in the cramped train in silence. No thank-yous for his seat offering, no conversation at all, just the tappings against touch-screen phones and the vibrations of text notifications. He’d look down at the row of drooped necks, people looking at their devices, and think of their future back problems. But now it was early enough to sit and enjoy the silence of an empty train car, rather than the silence of an antisocial generation.

  He rested his head against the window, waiting for the end of the tunnel, where the train car momentarily went above ground. On days where he could grab a place on the left side of the train car, before it got too crowded, he would see the stunning architecture of a synagogue. Often he’d wonder if the sounds of the subway disturbed temple services.

  This time, passing through the back lot of the synagogue, he saw something quite different. Scaffolding blocked his view of the tall brick. Men with orange jumpsuits and hardhats carried relics from the building, piling it on the asphalt. A bearded man stood at the perimeter of the property, watching as the workers heaved a cross up the scaffolding. They placed it above an archway; a faint imprint of the Star of David could be seen behind it. The bearded man slowly walked toward the pile of debris, picked up a dusty yarmulke, and placed it on his head. As he walked away another man stopped him. Kenneth pushed his face against the window. He looked familiar: well-dressed, dark skin. The familiar man pointed to the yarmulke and then held out his open palm. Kenneth squinted, figuring out the situation, waiting for the result. The train once again descended into the tunnels beneath New York, and Kenneth slumped back into his seat, mulling over where he had seen that man.

  ***

  “Jason?”

  Two claps.

  Kenneth walked into Jason’s room. The boy’s smile ushered away Kenneth’s troubles, his ponderings of the past few days. He smiled back.

  How are you?

  “I’m fine. Actually, I’m good.” He paused. “Yeah, I’m good.” After a methodical life, forcing his way through college and through his relationship, volunteering had become the highlight of his day.

  Good. You seem better than yesterday.

  “Thanks,” Kenneth said, thinking of yesterday’s worry, and then, as he began to expel the disaster in Mecca from his head, more troubles seemed to replace it: the nightmares, the renovated Synagogue, his suspicions about Jennifer. He soon realized there was no escape from the terrors. He preoccupied himself with Jason.

  Why do you come here? Jason signed. His arm movements were swift, not shaky as they usually were, as if he had been practicing it for a while. Why didn’t you leave like everyone else?

  “I started coming here in college. Remember the group
I came with?”

  I haven’t seen that group in months. And you dropped out of college.

  “Forgot I told you that. I was never able to get a job after college. I still wanted to get out of the apartment every once in a while. So I stayed, I guess.” He shrugged.

  Jason raised his hands as if to sign something and then dropped them back to his lap and looked down. Kenneth caught his mistake. He made it sound as though he only volunteered because there was nothing better to do.

  “But, but, but,” Kenneth stammered, “you’re my only friend. And my day gets better every time we talk.”

  Jason looked back up at Kenneth, a silly grin on his face. Thanks. You’re my only friend too. I’ve really become used to you coming every day. I don’t know what I’d do—

  Kenneth pulled a chair in front of Jason’s wheelchair and sat down. “It’s okay, go on,” he said, looking into Jason’s eyes.

  I don’t know what I’d do if you stopped showing up. I remember the first couple of times. We’d go hours without communicating at all. I was always so embarrassed. The job is so personal. I’ve been humiliated by my condition for years. And I was always afraid that as soon as I opened up to you, you’d just leave me. That’s how it always happened. The volunteer works enough hours so it looks presentable on a resume and then leaves. And I just need to make an entirely new relationship with an entirely new volunteer the next day. I hated it. But now you’re here. And I’m starting to become dependent on you. Not only because of my condition but for our friendship.

  Jason had started crying. The sign language grew harder and harder to read as the tears rolled down his cheeks. His arms were shaking. Still, Jason tried the best he could to keep them steady.

  I . . . love you . . . the time when . . . I still think about it all the time . . . You’re just so nice . . . thank you so much.

  Jason put his hands in his lap. He managed to squeak out a single syllable—“thanks”—through all his hiccupping and sobbing.