Page 1 of Absolution

6 Months Ago

“Ratchet?” I whisper into the silence of the room. No one responds in return. Shaking off the drum line pounding in my head from the night before, I outstretch my hand to the spot he had occupied next to me in the bed, only hours before. The space now lies coolly unoccupied. My heart drops with disappointment, while my body aches with each movement as I turn over to see what my hand discovered. He is gone. He left me here alone without so much as a good bye.

Should I be surprised? No.

Was I hoping he’d stay after last night? Yes, but even I am not naïve enough to think that after giving into the lingering desire between us, that he would stay once he had me. The conquest was over, and the magic of the chase had dissipated. I was no longer unattainable, and with that change in status, I was likely nothing more to him than one of those club whores who lived to serve on their knees. The fall from queen to whore stung, and even though he had never said those words directly, I could feel it in his absence.

I was nothing to him. Just like every other man in my life. I was a bargaining chip, a drug mule, and their whore. When the appeal was gone, so were they.

No man ever stays. I lived my entire life as the discarded newspaper from the day before. Tossed onto an empty park bench waiting for someone else to come and pick me up. I came from nothing, and remain that way thirty-three years later. Happy birthday to me.

Despite what I knew about him, I had hoped Ratchet was different. Maybe hope wasn’t the best word to describe the situation I found myself in for the past year.

I wanted him to be different.

He was there at my lowest point. He was there when I screamed at the nightmares that spiraled into my mind refusing to let me go. He was there when I pleaded for someone to just kill me and end it all. He was there, and now he is gone. No other man in my entire life had ever taken so much interest in me, which is why finding him gone the first time I truly let him in, hurts so much. Knowing that I meant so little to him, and that I wasn’t deserving enough to get a goodbye, before he rode off into the sunset. Was there someone else? Did he ever care for me other than the desire to get between my legs?

The man who rescued me didn’t see me the way I saw him, and it sliced me open from the inside out. What do you do when the person that you care about the most leaves you behind? The answer may not seem so simple for others, but for me, it’s one that I have experienced more than once.

The answer is that you move on and never look back. Looking back only causes more heartache, and after a lifetime of it, you just become numb to the world that continues to shit on you. This time I won’t forget my umbrella.

Shifting under the sheets, I force my legs to leave the warmth of the blankets covering my nakedness and into the chilly morning. You’d think that living in a semi-desert climate that the cool morning air wouldn’t be so shocking, but even years after taking California on as my second home, I am still not used to it. Back in Kentucky, this time of year is hot and humid to the point that you’d be cemented to the sheets with sweat, as soon as you woke up. Something that I don’t miss at all.

Pushing through my soreness, I stand and pad to the bathroom, still hoping to find Ratchet.

You’re an idiot, Ricca. He was never going to stay after you fucked him. You gave him what he wanted.

I shake the doubtful words from my mind and continue walking to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, my reflection in the mirror grabs my attention. I peer into the misty glass, not recognizing the woman I see before me. Years of abuse, drugs, and violence has taken away the glow from my cheeks and the brightness from my eyes, and at times, my will to live after many restless nights of nightmares.

Most mornings I wake up in terror, reliving the days I spent chained and gang raped by a man who I thought loved me, and his crew. Those images flashing through my mind, haunted me every night. Their hands touching me as I screamed out for help. The helplessness I felt as they each took their turn at my flesh. How the blades skimmed my skin and the metal from the shackles dug into my wrists as I fought. My soundless screams that reverberated from my swollen throat after days of begging for mercy. The images of them and their demented deeds forever burned into my mind.

Stop thinking about it. Just STOP!

I shake my head in an attempt to force those memories out of my head, but I know it’s futile. They’re always there. Within seconds, the panic sets in. My skin becomes clammy, while my stomach retches as my mind relives my time in hell.

“Oh, fuck,” I exclaim before running to the toilet. I retch and heave up the alcohol and food I ate the night before, until there is nothing left. Bile burns my throat, while my lungs restrict my air flow. Suddenly, the room begins to spin as a panic attack begins to brew.

“You’re okay. They’re dead and can’t hurt you anymore,” I mumble and repeat in some stupid fucking mantra to keep the memories at bay. Every morning starts like this. Sure, maybe I did need go back to my victim group counseling sessions, but I knew the Kumbaya mentality they used couldn’t help me. The demons in my head were of my own creation, and they were never just going to go away by telling others who thought they were like me about them. I couldn’t forgive the men for the things that they did to my body and even with their deaths, my mind would never be able to see the world the same way. They took the last shred of innocence out in that desert, and it was something that I was never going to be able to get back, even if I had ruby red slippers, clicked my heels, and said it three times.

Life isn’t a fucking fairy tale. And no matter how hard I hoped he would be, Ratchet was definitely not Prince Charming. The knight in shining armor isn’t real, and he was never going to ride a white horse to my tower of terror.

I will admit that yes, he did save me physically that day, but mentally? Never. I’ve lived my entire life in hell, and that was never going to change. The only thing in my future was more self-induced pain.

Pain is such a funny word when you think about it. It can encompass such a multitude of physical, mental, and emotional things in a person’s life. For me, it is a word manifested so deeply into my soul that the lines between normal and tragic blur together.

Flushing the toilet, I step into the hot spray of the shower and into my place of solace. Call me crazy, but after living in shit my entire life, watching the water wash it all away, helped me find a momentary solitude of peace. It cleanses me and resets my brain for a few seconds watching the filth of the world circling the drain between my feet.

I press my head against the cool stone wall trying to shut off my mind. While the horrors of my past wash away, the self-doubt and shame replaces it. I mentally tick away at the timeline of my life and shudder with each misstep.

My emotional dam breaks, and the tears begin to flow heavily down my face. With each sob, my body weakens, until I slip to the floor and just weep. I cry for the pain, I cry for the loss, and I cry for the future I know I don’t have. Why would the future want me anyway? I have nothing to give it in return expect for the pleasure of maybe living in it. I would be a waste in its expanse. My dark thoughts continue, until the world quietens once more, and the sound of the water soothes me into a state of semi-consciousness.

The water begins to run cold, when a voice startles me back to the present.

“Ricca,” a timid voice calls out from the other side of the door. “Are you in there?”

“Just a minute,” I stammer out, before forcing myself off the shower floor. Reaching to turn off the water, I quickly exit and wrap my shivering body in a towel. I take a deep breath and plaster on my brave face, before opening the door to find Dani on the other side. One thing that I have learned in my years is how to pretend that everything is okay.

“You okay?” she asks, trying her best not to pry, even though I’m sure she heard the emotional breakdown outside the door.

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