The only reason I put up with his shit is because my mother is miraculously still alive after waiting on a kidney for almost three years. I wish I had another option. Any other option, besides basically being a highly paid whore. But without health insurance and with the pharmacy requiring payment up front for thousands of dollars in prescriptions, not to mention daily in-home dialysis, I was fucked.
I didn’t just sell my soul to the devil to help my mom, I gave up my life and my freedom, along with pretty much everything else, including my pride, my self-esteem, my hopes and dreams. And worst of all, I had to give up Cedric, who I haven’t seen since the day Lowell dragged me from his house.
I used to like myself. Not anymore.
Now, I’m just an empty vessel thanks to the pills I pop like Tic Tacs daily. I like to call it Russian roulette when I take a few various tablets from my husband’s bathroom stash. None of them are labeled, but I’m sure he knows what they are. He usually doesn’t care what I take either, preferring for me to be a docile wife who doesn’t fight him or argue with him. I just do what he wants when he wants because it’s easier than fighting. Fighting is a lost cause. This is my pathetic, miserable life, and nothing is going to change unless I lose my mother. That’s not something I would ever wish for in a million years, no matter what I have to do to keep her alive.
Cedric
When the dark cloth is finally removed from my head, I gasp for air and then try to figure out where the fuck I am and who the hell the…now ten, ten fucking men with ski masks over their faces are! Most are wearing black pants and long-sleeve black tees like it’s a required kidnapper uniform or something. It doesn’t help that I’m also hanging upside down by my ankles and hogtied wrists with all the blood rushing to my head.
The silence as they all just stare at me through the creepy eye holes is really starting to freak me the fuck out.
“Well, are you dickheads gonna say something or just stare at me all night?” I snap at them.
“You already know what we want from you,” one of them swaggers forward and responds, his words muffled by the mask. Each step of his boot echoes loudly like we’re in some sort of big, empty warehouse. It’s pretty dark, though, so I don’t know that’s where we are for sure. The windows are all high with just a little bit of moonlight shining through onto the assholes.
“Actually, I don’t have any fucking clue what you want from me,” I tell him.
He smacks his palm against my chest, right over my Savage Kings’ patch, sending me swinging back and forth like a pendulum before finally stilling again. “Give us all the dirt on the Kings that we need, and maybe you’ll get to live,” he says.
“I don’t know shit about any Kings,” I respond.
“That prospect cut you’re wearing says otherwise,” the fucker mutters.
“What, this fucking vest? I got it at Goodwill.”
“Stop lying and start singing like the canary we all know you are, you little cunt!” he bellows. “Sing or your head is going to get dunked into a big, dirty pool of water for however long it takes for you to break.”
“Okay, there’s no need to waterboard me or whatever,” I agree with a sigh. “I’ll sing.”
“Let’s hear it,” one of the men says.
And so I sing. “What is love? Baby don’t –” The lyrics are cut off abruptly when I get whapped in the face.
“Try again,” the asshole growls.
So I do.
I sing the beginnings of at least twenty old hits before the men lose their patience and get tired of hitting me in the stomach and face.
Someone brings the lead guy a big ass gun like the one I saw the guys with earlier. He doesn’t even need to cock it before firing it up at the ceiling.
Okay, so first they threatened to drown me, and now they’re bringing out a gun. I don’t think they have a fucking clue what to do to torture me. Or maybe they do and aren’t trying very hard.
“Now are you ready to talk?” the guy I’m assuming is the boss asks.
“Yeah! You want to hear me do Biz Markie? Oh baby you…” Before I can draw it out any further, I get punched in the stomach, turning my song into a grunt. “Maybe your questions…need to be more specific,” I suggest, wetting my dry lips that taste like copper.
“Fine,” he grunts. Crouching in front of me, he says, “Give me all the addresses for the Savage Kings.”
“You could probably find that out with a quick internet search,” I tell him. “Easier to punch it into Google than punch it out of me.”
“Are the residences monitored by security systems?”
“Oh yeah,” I respond. “There are mines all around the perimeters. One wrong step and BOOM!” I lie. “Some are even surrounded by moats filled with crocodiles and piranhas.”
Growling in annoyance, the man stands up and tells the other guys, “Put a bag back over his head. This time a plastic one. And don’t take it off until he’s dead.”
Shit.
I hear the rattling of a plastic grocery store bag and then a masked man is coming up toward me with it.
“Any last words?” the new guy asks me.
“Yes, wait!” I exclaim.
“Well? Spit it out, fucker,” he says.
“Okay, so those plastic bags are, like, really bad for the environment. Sea turtles see them floating along in the ocean and think they’re jellyfish, so they eat them and then they die. Which is incredibly tragic since sea turtles are an endangered species and all. You should really switch to reusable–”
That’s the last thing out of my mouth before the plastic is being fitted around my upside-down head and secured tightly underneath my chin.
“Someone get me the duct tape,” the man calls out even though it’s already becoming hard for me to suck in any air. Or maybe I’m just panicking because I thought this was all just a final test of my loyalty, one by the Savage Kings before they vote on whether or not I get to patch in.
None of the men sound like the Kings, though, so now I’m not so sure. Either way, I refuse to say shit. I’d rather my last words be about the environment than betraying the Kings who have given me a home for the past two years and taught me what it really means to be a man. My dad was a man, sure, but he was the emasculated kind who puts on a suit every weekday to go into the office and be some other guy or woman’s bitch. My dad is a sweet guy, but he’s a pussy, the kind of man who would hide rather than stand up for himself and fight. I obviously took after him growing up, my sole male role model, and am trying my best to be better than that.
Just when I’m certain I’ve taken my last breath, the pointed end of a knife slices through the bag right near my mouth and then the rest of it is slowly removed from my head.
“One last thing.” The man in front of me rips off his cotton ski mask and stares down at me with a humorous twinkle in his eyes. “Reece wanted me to tell you congratulations, you’re no longer a pussy.”
I let those words sink in for a few seconds before I slam my eyes closed and exhale in relief. “Oh, thank fuck.”
The entire place lights up like the sun is rising, causing me to blink to try and see what’s going on. Across the empty room, a group of men filter in, all in a similar uniform. The only difference is that these guys are wearing black leather and jeans and I recognize each one of them.