Page 37 of Beneath the Dirt

“Get off of him, you crazy fucking bitch!” Dad shouts again and once again, she doesn’t listen.

“I’m almost—” she gasps. “I’m al—” a stutter, her voice weakening, “… almost there,” she mewls, faint, but it’s there.

Shouting fills the room, competing with the chaotic melody of Araceli’s panting and the machines beeping. Every part of this room, and my body as well as hers, is going absolutely haywire.

My eyes finally open, barely, but enough to see the chaos unfolding.

Two security guards barge in, multiple nurses follow, but all I see is Araceli in a hospital gown on top of me, straddling my body. Standing her ground with my dick still inside her, she fights off the hands clawing at her to get off me.

She looks so sad. The usual golden hue of her skin, robbed by a ghastly white. The wig she got from the Halloween shop, splitdown the middle with the competing shades of black and blonde, still rests on her head. Tilted slightly but there. The blonde side, however, is covered in the red liquid spewing from her wrists as she tries to fight everyone off her.

Strength like I’ve never seen before overcomes her, breaking through the stronghold of however many sets of hands there are trying to get her to get away from me.

She lunges forward, and the blood follows, dripping onto my hospital gown, causing the fabric to become drenched and stick to my skin.

Not paying any mind to the doctor trying to fight his way to her with a syringe in his hand, her lips find my ears. “I’m coming back for you,” she whispers. “Don’t believe his lies. I’m not leaving you.”

Araceli is pulled off of me, our physical connection lost on impact. My cock bobs free of her warmth, but I can still feel her release coating it.

“Get off me!” she shouts. A security guard now holds her arms back, and the doctor looks hesitantly at my dad.

“It’s your call,” he says, monotone, waiting for him to give the order to inject Araceli with the syringe.

Her eyes lock onto mine for a moment before she looks at the hospital staff. “Where was all this help when I called for you afterhedid this to me?!” she screams, pointing at Dad, deep sorrow and anger coating her words.

Dad clears his throat. “She’s a liar. A deviant with a drug addiction. Do not listen to her,” he says with arrogance. “You heard the song she’s been singing since the paramedics found them. She kept singing it here just now. She’s trying to kill him!”

“Look!” She manages to wiggle one hand free. Circular burns line her skin. They look fresh. They look almost identical to the ones he used to leave on me before I learned that obedience means survival in a tyrant's home. Same as the ones I found on her back the other night.

“Do it!” Dad instructs the doctor, who begrudgingly listensand pumps the fluid filled syringe in Araceli’s arm while the guards pin her down.

She thrashes about in their hold before her eyes eventually glaze over. As her eyes finally close, mine close with her in solidarity—I want to scream. To tell her it’s okay, but what I now realize is that a breathing tube in my mouth makes that impossible.

The shiver that attacks my spine doesn’t stay put for long. It crawls onto my shoulder, crashing its violence onto my jaw. My entire body is cold and clammy in the same breath. Shivering. Shaking uncontrollably.

A nurse runs over. “He’s going through withdrawal,” she announces, messing with what I think is the bag that’s hanging from the IV drip.

Another nurse comes over. “This will help him.”

Warmth finds my veins as the lingering scent of tobacco wafts its way to my nostrils. It’s as overpowering as the urgency, now competing with my exhaustion to stay awake.

My dad’s tongue clicks and his fingers snap, causing my eyes to pry open and weakly glance in his direction.

“Please. Leave me and my son alone for a few moments.”

The nurses nod and file out, leaving me and my father alone as he approaches the side of my hospital bed.

He remains silent until the door slams and when it does, it’s not his words that break the air, it’s the jingling of keys.

“I warned you to stay away from her. I warned you that she was trouble, but you didn’t listen. No one ever listens to me,” he pauses, and laughter follows. Loud and sinister, hair-raising laughter. “No one ever fucking listens,” he grits, repeating himself, “until it’s too late, but don’t you worry my son.” He reaches for my hand and the black sleeves of his jacket brush against my wrist first before he squeezes my hand. His entire body trembling from anger. His dark eyes bore into me, scaring me, but I’m too weak to move anything. I haven’t seen this look on him since the first and last time I disobeyed him. He clears his throat, lowering hismouth to my ear, breathing out a cryptic warning. “She’s getting what’s coming to her, but lucky for you, I know how to make this mess go away.”

The keys in his other hand jingle.

“It may take a bit more creativity.”

Whatever medicine the nurse administered to me has pulled my eyes shut. Soft tingles of warmth burn through my veins.

“But I’ve done it before.”

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