Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts Read online

  I roll my eyes at the pesky boy that is following me around like a little fly.

  “What do you want, Welch?”

  “I saw what happened. Are you okay?” he calls out from the bathroom entrance.

  “I’m fine. Go away,” I yell back.

  “You’re not fine. I can see it.”

  Welch is right, but I will be damned if I tell him that. I walk into the last stall and crawl into the corner, hugging my legs tight to my chest. I close my eyes in the hopes that this is all a wicked dream that I will soon wake up from.

  But it’s not. Life is merely what we make of it. I pull my head up from between my legs and decide to continue to survive. Little do I realize, this is just the beginning of something dreadful. The demons will soon come out to dance with the devil and I have front row seats to the show.

  I’ve been kicking the same rock along the road for over twenty minutes now. School today was shit. I spent the second half of my day in the bathroom stall, ditching classes plotting to be the angry bitch for the rest of my life. The new Gwendolyn Fitzpatrick has been born and she doesn’t take shit from any assholes.

  I hear Welch’s footsteps crunch behind me.

  “Why are you so quiet?” he asks.

  “Why do you ask so many fucking questions?” I return, surprised by my dirty mouth.

  “Because I want to know you,” he replies.

  “No you don’t, Welch.”

  It’s true. I don’t even want to know me, the girl I am becoming. But it can’t be stopped. I can’t change the fact that my parents are gone or the thoughts that invade my mind as a result of my drastic lifestyle change. It’s a dark place in which to wallow and I am treading deeper and deeper into obscurity, not able to make sense of it all. That in itself is scarier than loss, not being able to understand the changes that are happening to me.

  I turn right, down the dirt road that leads to home sweet home. The off white single-wide trailer has sagging gutters and missing shutters with dirt and mold accumulating on the siding. The concrete steps that lead to the front door are a foot away from the entrance and if you aren’t careful, you can trip and fall in the gap. The grass is overgrown and there is an old, rusted truck in the driveway. The rocks in the drive have pushed themselves down into the dirt, making it muddy when it rains. There are several trash bags strewn about in the front yard and a stray cat is tearing through one of them in search of a meal. I can’t comprehend it, but I have to understand that this is my life now, at least until I turn eighteen.

  I was instantly relieved to not hear Claude and Helen as I entered the trailer with Welch on my tail. I turn down the narrow hallway that leads to the bedroom that I share with Welch, throwing my bag down, while plopping onto my mattress which lies on the stained carpet with the stench of all things dirty. I smell of old mashed potatoes and crave a shower. I decide that now is the best time since Claude isn’t home. Welch enters the bedroom and hops onto his bed, getting a notebook out while chewing on the end of his pencil.

  Well, isn’t he just a dutiful student.

  I roll my eyes at the thought as he brings the pencil down to the paper.

  “Keep a look out on the bathroom, ‘kay? I’m getting in the shower.”

  He gives me a peculiar look.

  “Just do it, okay? If Claude gets home, knock twice on the door.”

  “Okay?” he says, unsure.

  I head over to a cracked Rubbermaid container that holds the clothes that I have. I don’t pay attention to what I grab, then walk to the bathroom. Out of habit, I lock the door even though it doesn’t work. I turn the water on hot and lodge myself in, appreciating the temperature, along with the burning sensation on my skin. I suppose it makes me understand that I am still living; whether I am grateful for that or not is still in question.

  I quickly wash my hair and the stink of caked on food off my body and exit the molded shower, wrapping the towel around myself. I dry myself off as I hear two quick knocks on the door. I clutch my clothes and forget the bra, pulling the white tank top over my head to cover myself. I take the shorts and put them on as I see the knob turn in slow motion. The door opens slowly and the only thing that is keeping me hooked in the moment is the wetness dripping from the strands of my hair. My legs are still wet and my hair is a damp mess. Claude sneaks his head inside and I want to jump up and down screaming, I won, you bastard. You can’t see me! Ha! Ha!

  He looks at me with intent, like he knows exactly what he wants. I make the decision to continue to survive and be an angry bitch. I won’t give him what he wants. If this is a game to him, I won’t let him win. Clearly he doesn’t understand what kind of girl I am becoming. Even I don’t understand me, but it isn’t sunshines and rainbows any longer.

  “Go to your room, Gwendolyn.”

  I stare at him, saying nothing. My heart drums in my chest while all I can think about is hurting him. It’s fucked up to think about such sentiments as I sit here in this debacle, wondering what his throat would look like if it was sliced open cleanly, the crimson liquid rushing from his skin. I don’t even cringe at such thoughts. Something has to be wrong with me.

  He opens the door all the way, pointing towards my room. He steps aside, allowing me to walk out. I go quickly past him down the hallway, then into my room, getting colder by the second as the drips of water stain my bare shoulders.

  “What are you doing, Gwen?” Welch asks, throwing his notebook and pencil to the side while standing abruptly from his bed.

  He apparently senses some disconnect in my eyes. I shake my head no to him, but I can tell he sees through it. He looks to Claude, watching him enter the room with his eyes glinted, then to me, and then to him again. I know he wants to question Claude, but he won’t because he doesn’t have it in him. He seems far too gentle to stand up to someone as grisly as Claude.

  “Sit down on your bed, Welch. Gwen, sit next to him,” Claude demands.

  “What for?” Welch finally musters.

  Claude says nothing as he begins to unbutton his belt. He yanks it off his dirty jeans and brings it above his head with a smile on his face. He’s happy about what is going to happen. I am due to be thrown into some sick game while he remains the master. Something in my gut tells me this isn’t going to end well.

  “I don’t think you should be asking any questions, boy. Now… put your arms around Gwendolyn.”

  This is not what I was expecting. Not at all. I am frozen in time, a statue that is about to be broken down by a cold-hearted fiend that raves in the daylight. Welch looks at me and I see something in his eyes. I am gazing into them because they are the only safe place for me. It’s fucked up to reach such a revelation, but it is now that I understand that even though I don’t know what is about to happen nor do I fully comprehend who Welch is, that he is my safe place.

  He reluctantly puts one arm on my shoulder as his eyes stay on mine.

  “Good boy,” Claude says, as he shows his appreciation by groping the outside of his jeans.

  Welch mouths, I’m sorry, and I shake my head no to him.

  “Now, kiss her. No resistin’, Gwen. You do, you will meet this belt here,” he sneers, wrapping it around his fat hand.

  “I can’t do that,” Welch bites back.

  I hear a snap as I see the leather belt swipe across Welch’s cheek. Bright red liquid oozes from a clean cut on his face. I remain in the same state, trying my best to detach myself from the situation. I lick my thumb and reach for the cut, wiping the blood away. Welch’s eyes are watering and he looks deep inside of me, muddled and unable to grip what is arising.

  “I won’t tell you again, Welch. Kiss her,” Claude says.

  His hand makes its way to my face and he cuddles it, pulling me closer to him. His lips meet mine and I open up for his tongue, feeling it gently sweep mine. It’s as if he is trying to say he is sorry with these movements. I am brought out of the second just as soon as it happened as I hear huffs in the doorway. I pull away from Welch
and his eyes widen as we see Claude in the threshold with his hands down his pants and his eyes closed.

  A loud thud snaps him back to reality as Helen enters the trailer.

  “We will finish this later,” Claude whispers.

  Claude then puts his belt back on and exits the room, shutting the door behind him. The slamming of the door shocks me and I have the urge to do something that I haven’t done since my parents died.

  Cry.

  I look at Welch wide-eyed and slowly back away.

  “Gwendolyn, I’m so sorry.”

  I shake my head at him, not because it is his fault. It isn’t. I am disgusted with the situation and all I want to do is crawl into bed and forget. I don’t want answers because that means facing why my parents are gone.

  I just need to fall asleep and never wake up.

  I crawl across the nasty carpet and into my bed, pulling the thin blanket over my trembling body. The cold, wetness of my hair prevents me from falling asleep. I pull my knees into my body tighter as I hug my legs, digging my nails into my calves. Finally, I feel some relief as the salty drops start to form in my eyes and stain my cheeks.

  If this is what it takes to start to feel again, I want to die.

  I wake up sweating, praying to see the sun shining through the torn yellow curtains. The room is dark and all I see is a bit of twinkle coming through the holes in the shams. I want so badly to be hugged, shaken out of this nightmare and to know that I am not alone, but I have no one. I can only rely on myself.

  The warmer temperature from the previous afternoon is absent as I feel goose bumps rise over the surface of my skin. I feel my teeth chattering and for a brief moment I contemplate climbing across the ground to Welch because earlier in his eyes I saw comfort. I’m not sure what it means or if it is real. I curse my parents for making me an only child, for birthing me and then going away, leaving me to fend for myself. There is so much that I am furious about, and I must find a way to deal with it. If not, it is sure to yield bad results.

  I hear a heavy set of footsteps make their way down the tiny hallway. My breathing is rapid as I see the light turn on and illuminate the hall beneath the crack of my door. I find myself holding my breath as my lungs start burning. My eyes are watering, not from crying, but from a bodily response from the adrenaline running through my veins. I feel terror, but more so I have the urge to strangle the shit out of that creepy molester. It’s clear to me he has done it before. The look in his eyes when they gaze at me up and down is one utter abhorrence. I hear the clicking of the door knob and I feel my vision getting cloudy. I remind myself to breathe again.

  The door opens and I see Claude’s shadow before me. He takes a step inside of my room and I feel the bile rise slowly in my throat, burning it and making me hurt. Well, I was sure of having front row seats to watch the demon dance with the devil, I just wish I had more time to prepare for a way to get back. Whatever he plans on doing to me, I have to fight, right? That’s what I have to do.

  He steps closer to me and I become more nauseated, seeing him in tight, white underwear and nothing else. His protruding abdomen and gray, hairy chest are moving up and down at an uncontrollable rate. I sense that he is grinning and that his smile means that he is pleased with what he is about to do.

  “Where do you keep your dirty clothes, Gwen?” he whispers.

  Is this guy fucking serious?

  I don’t offer him an answer. His eyes squint and he cocks his head to the side, running his large, fat hands through his greasy hair. His nostrils flare and I know he is angry at me for not providing him with the answer that he wants.

  “Don’t make me get the belt and beat ya, girl,” he sneers.

  “Over there,” I point to a pile at the end of my bed on the floor.

  “Good girl,” he says, in a softer tone than before.

  “Grab a pair of dirty panties for me. Now.”

  He really is a basket full of crazy. He clenches his fists at his side. When he senses my hesitation, he points to the end of my bed. I clasp harder onto the bed sheets. I take a deep breath in and then expose myself in my shorts and white tank top to him. I scurry to the end of my bed searching for the panties I wore today. I find a pair of simple, white cotton underwear and pick them up with shaking hands.

  “Hand ‘em to me,” Claude says.

  I hear rustling around across the room. Welch must be waking. I’m both grateful and pissed at the same time. I want him to save me, but I don’t want him. I’m more confused than I have ever been my entire life.

  “What’s going on over there? Gwen, are you alright?” Welch asks.

  Claude barges further into our room and makes his way to Welch, bringing up his iron fist and slamming it onto his face. I hear nothing but the beat of his hand meeting Welch’s cheek. My heart breaks and I become more fueled by rage.

  “You sit the fuck down you rat-ass kid,” Claude churns to Welch.

  He stomps back over to me, then bringing my used panties up to his nose, inhales deeply. My mouth is agape and I am hoping that is all he has planned. He has my underwear up to his nose with his right hand and I see his left hand reach and grab his crotch. I hang my head and squeeze my eyes shut until they hurt. I hear stroking movements followed by a long groan resembling a dying animal and all I can think of is how it would feel taking a knife to his throat so I don’t have to hear that noise any more.

  His strokes cease and he says nothing. I hear him come closer to me until he is huffing at the edge of my bed. He drops my underwear on top of me and his footsteps leave, fading down the hallway. I exhale in relief and then I start to feel again. The tears become inevitable and stream down my face. I feel my world caving in on me and it is just a matter of time before I am suffocated by it.

  So I have two choices.

  Give up or fight back.

  I’m going to fight like hell.

  Welch is breathing heavily and reality is crashing down on top of me.

  “Gwen?” he calls out to me.

  Life is about choices. I am making another, choosing to take Welch along with me. I climb on all fours along the carpet and over to Welch’s bed, feeling it burn my knees as I go.

  “Pull your covers back, Welch.”

  “But-,” he interrupts.

  “Not everyone wants to have a feel-good party. Just pull back your covers.”

  He listens and I climb inside, welcoming his warmth against my body. I do feel safe while lying next to him, but being safe and sound only lasts for so long when you are trapped within the gates of hell. It’s time to devise an escape plan.

  I lay my head over his thudding heart and allow myself to feel again as the silent tears pour out of my eyes and mark his T-shirt. He wraps his arms around me and entangles his hands in my hair, squeezing me tighter.

  Life is for the living, that much is true.

  But Claude forgot to think of another factor… what about those that are dead?

  I wake up sweating, praying to see the sun shining through the torn yellow curtains. The room is dark and all I see is a bit of twinkle coming through the holes in the shams. I want so badly to be hugged, shaken out of this nightmare and to know that I am not alone, but I have no one. I can only rely on myself.

  The warmer temperature from the previous afternoon is absent as I feel goose bumps rise over the surface of my skin. I feel my teeth chattering and for a brief moment I contemplate climbing across the ground to Welch because earlier in his eyes I saw comfort. I’m not sure what it means or if it is real. I curse my parents for making me an only child, for birthing me and then going away, leaving me to fend for myself. There is so much that I am furious about, and I must find a way to deal with it. If not, it is sure to yield bad results.

  I hear a heavy set of footsteps make their way down the tiny hallway. My breathing is rapid as I see the light turn on and illuminate the hall beneath the crack of my door. I find myself holding my breath as my lungs start burning. My eyes are watering, not fro
m crying, but from a bodily response from the adrenaline running through my veins. I feel terror, but more so I have the urge to strangle the shit out of that creepy molester. It’s clear to me he has done it before. The look in his eyes when they gaze at me up and down is one utter abhorrence. I hear the clicking of the door knob and I feel my vision getting cloudy. I remind myself to breathe again.

  The door opens and I see Claude’s shadow before me. He takes a step inside of my room and I feel the bile rise slowly in my throat, burning it and making me hurt. Well, I was sure of having front row seats to watch the demon dance with the devil, I just wish I had more time to prepare for a way to get back. Whatever he plans on doing to me, I have to fight, right? That’s what I have to do.

  He steps closer to me and I become more nauseated, seeing him in tight, white underwear and nothing else. His protruding abdomen and gray, hairy chest are moving up and down at an uncontrollable rate. I sense that he is grinning and that his smile means that he is pleased with what he is about to do.

  “Where do you keep your dirty clothes, Gwen?” he whispers.

  Is this guy fucking serious?

  I don’t offer him an answer. His eyes squint and he cocks his head to the side, running his large, fat hands through his greasy hair. His nostrils flare and I know he is angry at me for not providing him with the answer that he wants.

  “Don’t make me get the belt and beat ya, girl,” he sneers.

  “Over there,” I point to a pile at the end of my bed on the floor.

  “Good girl,” he says, in a softer tone than before.

  “Grab a pair of dirty panties for me. Now.”

  He really is a basket full of crazy. He clenches his fists at his side. When he senses my hesitation, he points to the end of my bed. I clasp harder onto the bed sheets. I take a deep breath in and then expose myself in my shorts and white tank top to him. I scurry to the end of my bed searching for the panties I wore today. I find a pair of simple, white cotton underwear and pick them up with shaking hands.

  “Hand ‘em to me,” Claude says.