“Who burned you this badly?” I say, looking at him. “Who fucked you up to the point where you can walk away from someone who loves you enough to be fucking okay with everything you’ve done?”
“You don’t know half of the things I’ve done, Meredith…”
“I’m willing to assume,” I say, stepping close to him as more tears fall down my face. “I feel like there’s a reason for what you’ve done, and you can trust me enough to tell me.” I stare at him, waiting for him to come to his senses. “I’m sorry for whoever or whatever burned you so badly in the past, but mark my words, Michael. I will never forgive you or take you back if you leave me here like this.”
“I’ll never beg for you to take me back, Meredith,” he says. “We both know that’s not my style. You’re welcome for everything. I wish you the best in your new life.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“If there was more, I would’ve said it.”
I nod and bite my tongue; he can have the last word.
He can have the last glimpse of me because I’ll never let him back into my life again.
Taking a step, I look this man over one last time. I silently scold myself for getting my hopes up, for ever thinking that “we” were ever anything more than a planned game for him. He’s always been the far better player than I am, and this is the ultimate checkmate.
He looks at his watch, and then he walks to his car and slips into the driver’s side, pulling off without word.
He disappears into the distance and although I’m struggling to hold back tears, I can feel my heart shattering in my chest.
I was such a fool for ever trusting you…
Michael
Now
I stare at Meredith in my rearview mirror as I drive forward and leave her in my past. That’s where she’ll remain for the rest of her life.
She was a mere chapter in my book and this is our final page.
No happily ever after included.
I watch as she wipes her eyes, as she moves to the middle of the road and throws up her middle finger.
I consider throwing it back, but I don’t.
I just keep driving.
As I move farther away from her, I feel a familiar pang return to my chest—the same one I felt once before when I almost completed the intended job and killed her.
I can also hear a voice in my head, begging me to go back and get her—to come up with another alternative, where we can perhaps be together, but my job is done. I’ve done far more than I’m supposed to do for her, and one day she’ll be able to see that.
Truth is, I’ll never be whole or able to completely care for anyone besides myself until I finish dealing with the people who have brought me years of pain. I need to spend the next few months focusing on trying to put it away once and for all, even if I know that it’s hopeless to dream of a night when it won’t haunt me in my sleep.
Meredith may be just as broken and lonely as I am, but she’ll never know the same type of pain. She’ll never know what it feels like to cope after being “burned so badly”…
Michael
Long Before
When Someone “Burned Me That Badly…”
Trevor trembles in the cold, looking at me with tears in his eyes. “Did you win your chess match up there today?”
I don’t answer.
We both know that he doesn’t care. He’s just asking a question to pass the time, trying to make me think about something other than the hellish state of our existence.
“I’ve managed to make a few new friends down here,” he says. “I mean, granted they can’t talk, but it’s been the highlight of my day.”
I say nothing. I can’t play the ‘let’s pretend this isn’t happening’ game right now. The signs of reality are far too strong, too unforgiving.
“Michael?” He shakes my shoulder. “Michael, you’re zoning out again…”
I can’t help it.
He’s currently chained to the metal pole behind the washing machine, and I’m free to roam about this small, windowless room. For now.
Five hours from now, I’ll be chained and he’ll be free. It’s a rotating punishment, a twisted, psychological experiment that weighs heavily on my mind every single day.
“Michael, can you please talk?” He begs. “Say something…Anything.”
“What did he make you do earlier today?” I ask him a far more important question. “Who was up there when you went?”
He shakes his head, and he starts to answer, but no words come out. Just cries.
He’s always been the more emotional one between us, although getting passed around and sexually abused will break down any person. Even me at this point, but I’ve stopped letting it show.
Tears have never saved me or given me any grace. They’ve never stopped our Uncle Avery from using us like pets, torturing our minds on a daily basis, or offering us up as options for his sick and perverted friends.
They come every other day like clockwork, dressed in their thousand dollar suits with pictures of their families tucked into their designer leather wallets. They exchange pleasantries over a cup of coffee or tea on the “luxurious” side of the house, and they say things like, “Lovely weather we’re having,” or “How many rounds do you think you’ll go today?” It’s all coded conversation, a way to ask which one of us they want, how rough they plan to be.
That part of the house is right above us, and we’re only privy to see it when these men stop by. Our uncle always has us ready and waiting for them. Freshly groomed and showered. Left alone naked with packs of condoms, a bottle of lube, and a soundproofed bedroom.
For most of the men, me and Trevor are just sex. For others, we’re the subjects of the pictures that they store in the hidden folders of their phones. And for the more depraved group, it’s a mix of sex and a side of violence—a session of jaw punching and forcible submission, the kind that lingers in the mind years after and shows up in the middle of morning breakfast.
There’s nowhere we can go, no one we can tell.
Occasionally, he lets us upstairs to watch crime shows and cook food. He also allows me to use one of his laptops to play chess whenever one of his dogs chews up one of the real pieces. (“You’re one hell of a chess player, boy…”) From the newspapers that he lets us keep from time to time, I’ve caught sight of the world outside this hell a few times.
Our lives revolve around his basement, and no matter how many cans of air freshener I spray, it always smells like rotten fish and dried vomit. The scent is trapped under the wallpaper, woven into the threads of the fraying carpet.
The scent of hopelessness…
There are a few rats that join us here or there, but they always die after a few weeks, thanks to the boric acid and antifreeze drops that he occasionally sprinkles in the corners. It’s enough to weaken them at first taste, to drain them of their energy should they try to make it up the steps for water, but it’s never enough to kill them at once; he does this to constantly remind us of who is in control.