Page 15 of Dirty, Bruised Martini
Tapping the key pad with trembling fingers, I was terrified I’d blurt out the truth of what he put me through. I’d mess up the story I was supposed to be telling her and instead admit what he did to me. I’d never lied to her before. Always burdened with a naturally guilty disposition as a child and teenager, I’d confess everything with just one disappointed shake of her head.
So I really, really wanted to tell her everything. Not just because I was ashamed of lying. But because I want her to know.
As much as it hurts me to admit this—since I know my confession would hurt you too—I wish I had someone else to share this with besides just us. I love you so much but you’re angry. Angry like I am. Both of us furious and vengeful and broken. She would be too, but in a different way. She’d want to defend me as a woman and my mother and the person who has known me the longest in the whole world. I sound babyish and sentimental, I know. Sometimes a girl just needs her mom. I need her to cry for me and with me. Hate him and comfort me. Comfort you too. That’s what mothers do.
I realize that’s also unfair. To you and to her. You’ve given me everything without expecting anything in return and I should be more grateful. Iamgrateful. It just isn’t easy to console you with your heartache when I’m so damaged myself.
Besides, she’s safe. You continue to protect her, and I can’t jeopardize her security or her innocence over who you are and what you do. Or by telling her the truth. So I need to keep up the guise. I promise I would and I will. I did.
Somehow I made it through our conversation. Pretended the massages were the best I’d ever experienced. Raved how adorable my glittery purple fingers and toes look. Laughing I never drank so much minty / cucumber / lemon infused water. All I can hope is she believed me when I assured her I was fine and happy and healthy. That I won’t go so long again without calling her. That we’ll absolutely get together for the holidays. That the cracking in my voice was simply emotion from hearing hers again and nothing else. I definitely wasn’t crying.
At least my agreement wasn’t a lie when she doted on you. Few men are as generous as you are. Unwilling to spoil a woman as much as you do me. I could tell from your expression you didn’t feel the same from her compliments. I don’t know how to convince you otherwise.
I think about my own mom when you call yours.
After twenty years, most of the memories have faded. I can’t recall her laugh or voice or scent any more. The few that remain are the ones of her when she was the happiest. When she’d play piano for my grandfather who loved the traditional songs from the old country as he called them. When she’d make her signature Bloody Mary’s for my father. Rubbing his shoulders for a few minutes before he’d pull her onto his lap and nuzzle her neck. She’d slap his big hand away, attempting to stop him from wandering up her thigh, but she didn’t mean it. I’d act like I was disgusted by their display of affection, but I didn’t mean it either. I liked that my parents were still in love after all the years they’d been together.
Probably sick, but I’m glad they died together. I don’t think either of them would be happy without the other. I was fifteen and able to take care of myself. Then a few years later take over the business from Uncle Stavros after his stroke. He never stopped blaming himself for the car bomb that stole both of them from us too soon.
I guess that’s where I got my penchant for bombing my enemies. Nothing provides more satisfaction that the destruction fire ensures. Feels good to return the favor to those assholes. Even if they aren’t the ones to murder my parents. They killed someone else who’s loved and missed. Payback is a great fucking check to cash.
Especially when it’s on your behalf, rosy girl.
But I don’t want to think about that right now. All I want to do is hold you when you hang up your phone. As much as I want to blame that bastard for making you cry, I know it was really me. Damn it!
I think about him as you reveal your secret.
Your horrible, horrible secret that you’ve been keeping for sixteen days. You break my heart Kane. All the anger and guilt and fury you’re carrying around. For me. I knew you were hurting. That you were upset. But I had no idea. No real understanding the damage this has done to you too. As much as I hate him too, I can’t let you do this to him anymore. To yourself anymore. You’re hurting yourself more than you could ever hurt him.
I think about him when you plead with me to stop torturing him.
It fucking destroys me when you ask for mercy for him after what he’s done to you. Even worse that you look at me like I’m a monster when I describe to you the daily torture he endures at my hands. That he absolutely fucking deserves. Jamming a long steel rod into his asshole. Slicing off each finger piece by piece—nail then knuckle then joint. Shredding his skin with a sharpened grater. Glorious fucking revenge for each day that he held you. For each day he kept you from me. For each fucking day he made you think I wasn’t coming. That I was giving up. That I didn’t care anymore.
I am a monster, rosy girl. I’m a monster fucking delirious with the relentless desire for vengeance on that bastard. I’m so desperate to punish him for the torment he’s caused you. I love my floor coated in his blood, thick and glistening like a ruby red ocean when I flick on the light. Not that he can see without his eyes or hear without his ears. Yet somehow he senses I’m there to mutilate him some more. Crying and begging until I ripped out his tongue. Kicking in futility with the stumps of his legs. Arching back against the cold, hard concrete only to have what’s left of his skin be sliced from the bladed surface.
Surprising, all in all, because I didn’t think he would last as long as he has. But for you, I will slice out his heart today. I will end this only because you asked me to. I will do fucking anything for you.
You say it’s for me. To keep me from falling deeper into this pit of suffocating retaliation. The need for retribution stronger than quicksand pulling me farther away from you and us and what we need to focus on. We can’t heal with him strung up in the dungeon I created for him. Far enough away from you that he’ll never see your angelic face. Smell your strawberry shampoo. Feel your silky skin. God damn it I’m furious again writing about what he fucking stole from me. The hell he put you through that I can’t take back no matter what punishments I dole out to him.
I think about him while I wait for you.
To return to our bed. A place where we should feel comfortable and relaxed. Although we haven’t felt that contentment in a long time. Especially tonight. I can’t find any respite without you. Well aware of what you’re doing, I can’t settle down. Unable to sleep. Incapable of stopping the images of your vengeance from floating through my mind.
I wanted to comfort you and protect you because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop you. But I also couldn’t be anywhere near him. You’d never let me anyway.
But I hope I can offer you some solace when you return. I pray that you come back and let me be the one to help you.
I think about you when you reach for me.
Despite your closed eyes, I knew you were awake when I climbed into bed. I could see the stress darkening your sweet face in the dim lamp light. The frown pulling down your gorgeous lips.
I tried to be respectful. Didn’t touch you even though I wanted to more than even I can understand. To sink deep inside you and hold your body tight and whisper in your tiny ear that it’s over. He’s dead. You’re safe. I’ll never let him or anyone hurt you ever again.
In spite of my shower, the scent of bleach lingered on my skin. A light sheen of sweat coated my chest from the exertion of adrenaline still pumping through me. I took from him everything I could until he died. Yet your steady touch reminded me you still love me despite the monster within. Forgiving me for the mistakes I’ve made.
You scooched over close enough to entwine our hands. Your loose tits bounced under your tee shirt brushing my bicep. Your silky hair tickled my neck. Your hesitant gaze met my eyes. Healing me, if not you. Not yet anyway.
I say this will take a long time. I believe it will take a long time. But I don’t want it to take a fucking god damn long time anymore. Now that he’s gone, I want you back completely. I want the insecurity out of your eyes. I want you to believe you’re mine again.
