Do Unto Others
Chapter 15
Note: All past happenings are in italics.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Not knowing how to think
I scream aloud, begin to sink
My legs and arms are broken down
With envy for the solid ground
I'm reaching for the life within me
How can one man stop his ending
I thought of just your face
Relaxed, and floated into space
"Into the Ocean" by Blue October
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Justin…
Thinking about talking takes too much effort and I'm tired already.
So we shift around each other. He sits and he works and he makes calls to clients. I sketch and I frown and I sketch and I hate everything that flows onto the paper. And the sketchpads fill up faster than they have in the last few months.
Because what can you say when you don't know how you want to feel? Are not sure even if feeling is the best thing at all. The pictures are without thought. "I think I want to sell my studio," I say and I stop drawing and flex my fingers.
"I suspected as much," Brian says as he stands up and walks into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of Beam and drinking it just as quickly. I nod my head and exchange one pencil for another.
"I doubt I'll be going back and someone else could use the space."
Brian walks over to the couch and sits down in front of me. "Not running away are we, Sunshine?" I lean forward and drop the sketchpad onto the coffee table, the pencil resting on top.
"Considering the circumstances I think I am completely justified," I tell him and he doesn't blink as he looks at me. I stare at him and drop my eyes to his chest, to the couch and out the window. "I'm not ready to go back."
He nods and he leans back. "What about all your things? What are you going to do with all of it?"
"Burn it, throw it away. Give it to the fucking homeless. I don't give a shit."
"Or," he says as he takes the cigarette from behind his ear and lights it, "you can put it all in storage."
"Or I can put it all in storage," I smile wearily.
And we sit in silence. He inhales and exhales and I move closer. I lace my fingers through his and he increases the pressure before handing me the cigarette.
"I don't think the doctor would approve," I say as I take a deep pull and blow the air out slowly. Brian takes the cigarette from me and smirks.
"I won't tell if you won't." I turn to him and place my left hand in his right and we shake on it.
"Deal."
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Jordan…
I feel the draft coming from the window that I know for sure I closed. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my feet cause the floorboards to moan in agony as I step lightly into the darkened spare bedroom.
I don't have to see the shadow on the floor, or feel the air shift behind me, to know my luck has just run out.
When faced with the prospect of danger your first instinct is to freeze. You don't run, or scream or gasp. You stand, perfectly still and pray to disappear.
"Runners, take your places." I take one last moment to glance up at the sun. I block out the noise and the cheering. I block out the sweat and the dust. I block it all out and focus on the track, the lines and the curves.
I wait for the signal, the signal to run
"Do you know what is most upsetting about unlawful entry?" he asks me as he stands to his full height, his neck slightly bent and stretching out the kinks.
I don't answer him and he stops stretching to glare at me. "You seem like an intelligent woman. Don't prove me wrong, I'll ask again. Do you know what is most upsetting about unlawful entry?"
My head shakes slightly of its own accord, beating my lips to their hollow confession, "No, no." He moves behind me, so confident. My skin is crawling and shaking, wanting to be anywhere else but on my body.
He leans in close and presses his lips against my ear. I flinch and try to move but his hands hold me in place, wrapped tightly around my shoulders and pressing into my flesh. "I think you do," he tells me.
I shake my head as his fingers roam, trailing down my body and over my breast to unbutton my jeans. "Please," I whisper. I can't stop shaking.
"Shhh," he tells me as he moves around my body, the blade of a knife I didn't know he had trailing a jagged line across my hip. I start to cry as the blood starts to surface, stinging and cooling as it stains the top of my jeans.
He smiles at my pain and I see the edge, the edge of something red in his right pocket.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Ronnie Jr. …
"Let's play a game."
"What kinda game?" She sits on the bed, two hundred dollars of "do what you want" crumpled into her purse.
I smirk and I smile and I press my lips to hers. "Lean back on the bed and close your eyes."
"What kind of game?" She manages to ask and her legs are shaking. I press my palm to her chest and guide her backwards to the bed.
Blood, blood everywhere, way too much to drink. I let my orgasm flash through me, my left hand wrapped around my dick and my right hand holding tightly to the handle of the knife, held in place by her flesh and her bone.
One hundred and eighty thread count sheets can soak up two liters of blood and beg you for more. Her fingers are cold and blue, her pupils dilated.
I relax my body on top of hers and glance at her purse on the nightstand. I reach out and twirl the spaghetti strap around my hand, blood and fecal matter on imitation leather.
When a person dies their fluids release. Talk about full of shit. I empty the contents of the purse and pick up the crinkled bills. "Game over. You lose."
"One I think you'll like," I tell her and she gets the courage, the energy, to run.
I let her and turn to watch her reach the hallway, the stairs. I turn and walk after her, my footsteps fast and fluid. She reaches for the front door and I reach for her hair, slamming my body into hers and pressing her against the door.
"I'm sorry," she tells me and she doesn't know why she apologizes. I shake my head as I take in her smell, my dick hardening and pressing into the back of her legs. I shake my head and I pull the crimson scarf from my pocket.
"No," I whisper and a car passes by, giving her hope and taking it all away. "No, you're not. But you will be," I say and I push her to the floor.
I pull the knife from the sheath attached to my belt and plunge it into the hardwood next to her head as I straddle her legs. Telephone cords make excellent restraints.
So does fear.
I secure the knot around her neck and wait to hear the choking sound; the sound of life giving in to giving up.
I thrust my pelvis and she lets out what little air she has. I lean into her and bite down on her bottom lip. And the sound is heaven.
Six Years Old…
I pout and lean my arms on the counter. "Why do I have to say I'm sorry?" I ask and my mother turns to look at me. "She pushed me first."
She smiles and smoothes the hair out of my face. She went to the doctor yesterday. She cried until she heard daddy's car in the driveway.
"Because, you have to be nice to girls," she tells me. "Boys," she says as she coughs and breaks open one of her pills, "should be nice to girls." She wipes a tear from her eye and with shaking fingers releases the contents of the pill into one of daddy's longnecks.
She hears daddy's car and she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "Go outside and play, Ronnie. And take your brother."
She sniffs and the front door swings open. "Fucking Jackson and his goddamn bullshit," my father screams. "Bring me my fucking beer!"
Daddy doesn't like crying, so big girls don't cry. She smiles and brings him his beer, the shell of the pill in her apron pocket.
One night of peace.
I don't bother with condoms and by round three the hardwood is painted red and white and her hands are grasping at air, moving only at the wrists as she struggles to breathe through the blood draining back into her sinuses.
I push myself off of her and roll onto my back, my hands smoothing over my stomach and pressing on the flesh just above my cock. And I take several deep breaths. "You have a really nice house," I tell her and she makes a noise. I look over at her and pull my fingers through her hair, smoothing it out of her face.
I turn on my side and tap the fingertips of my left hand against her collarbone. "I like your name. I think you should use your whole name. Not shorten it," I tell her and I wipe the blood off my fingers and onto her tank top, bunched high under her arms and above her breasts.
I cut her arms free and she doesn't move. I press a kiss to her face and watch as the blood and sweat and tears hold the imprint of my lips. I sit up quickly and she flinches, looking at me through bloodshot eyes.
"You have any food in this house?" I ask and I stand up, cracking my bones and stretching as I walk into the kitchen, pushing aside the plastic from the construction and disappearing from her sight.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Detective Jorge Ramirez…
"I don't understand," Mrs. Matthews says as she looks down at the papers in her hand and then back up at me. She takes a step back as another set of officers walks through her door.
"This is a warrant, giving us permission to search your house and all property on the grounds," I tell her and there is ice in my voice. She looks confused and scared as she watches officers search the drawers of her kitchen.
"I don't under…." And her words are cut off.
"There's a shed in the back. Got a padlock," Josh says as he waits for me in the threshold of the backdoor. I nod and leave Mrs. Matthews at the front door.
"It's just a locked room, no big deal," I say as I look at Donald and he smirks.
"Why lock it, if not to protect something?" he asks as we wait for backup. "Logic, rookie," he says and he taps the tip of his finger against the side of his head.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Brian…
I take the cigarette and hold it between my fingers as the fire heats my skin.
This is fear and this is love and this is the wanting of something more than comfort. He moves and he turns and he faces me. I remember to breathe as he leans forward and presses his lips to mine.
He takes the cigarette and presses it into the ashtray on the coffee table. I let him take the lead as he stands up and pulls me with him, towards the bedroom. We stand in front of each other and he looks up at me and he smiles nervously. He reaches forward and starts to unbutton my shirt.
He drops the material to the floor and I hear the hitch in his breathing as he touches my skin.
I try to direct my breathing into my chest so he won't see how much I want this, how much I want him. He unbuckles my belt and slides it slowly through the loops and drops it to the floor. My jeans are next and he is looking at me.
He touches my stomach and he steps closer to me, pressing his lips to mine and I can feel him shaking. He takes a step back and lifts his shirt over his head. He undoes he jeans and slides them down his legs and pulls them off.
There is nothing between us and he lowers himself onto the bed, moving into the middle and waiting for me. I lean on the mattress and let my body touch his, his cock pressing into mine and wanting more. I slide my hand along the side of his face and let my mouth find his, my tongue slipping into his mouth.
I feel him start to relax but he doesn't let go.
He touches every bit of my skin as I lay on top of him and our cocks are begging for the next step. The sheets are cold and familiar and his skin is pale and shocked and warm. I trail kisses down his cheek and across his hardening nipples and down his stomach.
He whimpers and I can feel his face as it turns into my hand as it rests on his shoulder.
My mouth finds his cock and I take it slowly, teasing the head and moving down the shaft in pace with his small thrusts. Seconds and minutes tick by, turning into time well spent. I release him and make my way back up his body.
I lean on him and kiss him deeply. He looks into my eyes and he nods as I reach for the lube and the condoms. He rests his hands on my arm as I rip open the wrapper and slide it on. I pop open the lube and sit up. I gently push his legs open and up and his whole body is shaking.
I slick my fingers in the cool liquid and gently press one finger against his skin.
He flinches and he lets out a small noise and I press forward. I lean over him and move another finger into him, slowly moving them, slowly stretching him.
He wills his body to relax and I feel his muscles fight to let go. Several minutes and I remove my fingers and I lean over him again.
My cock is leaking, pleading ,and I kiss him. "Are you sure?" He rests his hands on my hips and he nods. I press forward and his nails dig into my skin. I feel his whole body tense and I pause. He lets out a breath and relaxes, slightly. I pull out and push back in slowly.
He presses into my skin, his right hand on my hip and his left on my back. His breath hitches and I feel the tears as they land on my hand below his head. I look at him and tears are streaking steadily from his eyes as I move and I stop.
He grips me tighter, telling me to keep going and he cries. He cries and the sound fills the loft as he whimpers and he screams and he gasps and he lets it all go.
"It's okay," I say and it is the closest I can come to taking it all away. He shakes as my hips thrust forward and his orgasm is ripped from his body along with the tears. I drop over the edge and lean all of my weight on top of him, wrapping my arms around him as best as I can.
He cries as I slip from his body. He cries and his hands hold me close and his face is covered in tears and mucus and fear and relief and he has never looked worse, or more beautiful.
"I'm sorry," he says as he sobs and the sounds of life float back into the loft. "I'm sorry. I let him in and I'm sorry," he cries and I sit up and pull him forward and hold onto him.
"It's not your fault," I tell him and it is the closest I can get to forgiving him for something that he doesn't need to be forgiven for. It is the closest I can get to letting myself off the hook. No fault, no blame.
"It's not your fault," he tells me and he wraps his arms around my neck. "It's not your fault."
But it feels that way. And I carry it with me.
"It's not your fault," I repeat and he holds me tighter.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Jordan…
"You think someone is always going to be there to take care of you? You have to take care of yourself. Now, fight back," my dad tells me and my brother punches me in the arm. I feel the weight of the boxing gloves on my hands and I look up at him.
"Come on baby, come on," my brother taunts and he punches me again. I feel the tears well up in my eyes and I turn to my dad who steps into the ring.
"Tears are not going to help. If you want to survive in this world you have to fight back. Him or you," he tells me and he pushes me back to the center of the ring and he steps outside the ropes.
I turn towards my brother and he swings and I block him. He swings again and my fist connects with the side of his jaw. I swallow the blood as it flows from my lip and I stand up straight.
"That's right Jordianna, him or you," my father yells.
"Him… or you."
"Him," I whisper and I will my body to move. I press my palms to the hardwood and push with all my might, leaving streaks in the cooling blood on the floor.
I hear him moving around the kitchen and I wipe at the blood trickling down my face. I ignore the blood and fluids trailing down my legs and I move towards the kitchen, peeling my shirt down and scanning the foyer. My eyes land on one of the tools left by the workers and I thank God for construction.
"Nothing but soy and low-fat bullshit," he says to himself with a shake of his head as he looks in the refrigerator.
He turns around when he hears me and the smile on his face vanishes with the first swing of the sledgehammer. My arms are weak and shaking but my grip on the handle is firm and relentless and I swing again.
He stumbles backwards into the stove and knocks the pan of eggs onto the floor. He raises his arms to try and grab the hammer, to try and protect himself.
I swing and I swing and my anger is blind.
His blood mixes with mine and all I can feel is warm as it sticks to my skin. Bone and cartilage decorates the unfinished kitchen as his bowels release.
I swing and my legs give out, tears streaking bloodied pools onto my shirt. I swing and my body slumps to the floor next to his. I move away from what is left of him and reach up on the counter for the cordless phone.
Him.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Justin…
"Thank you," I say and I mean for more than the last couple of months. Brian nods and he lets me hold him tighter.
He grabs my shirt and cleans us both off before guiding us to the head of the bed. I rest my head on his pillow and he runs his fingers through my hair.
We sit in silence. No words are needed and he kisses me and I move closer, tears still cold against my skin. Nothing is between us, nothing exists; only him and me.
Return to Do Unto Others