Take Me Somewhere Else
I don’t show my personal side online. I figure it’s really none of anyone’s business how I feel, what I’m doing, or how I’m thinking. I think it would be boring for the most part. I don’t do very much but try to survive, and attempt to create on a daily basis. Artists tend to be lonely only because once you get into your own bubble to create something for the world, it’s a little frightening to rejoin the human race once again after being in solitude for so long. This not only goes for visual artists, but those that write as well. I will go blocks of days with no one around me so I can throw some chapters out onto the computer. I insist that I don’t be interrupted. I turn the phone off, and the television goes blank. Just me and my words – if not my paints and canvas.
So it’s no wonder that I don’t have many friends. Sure…I have acquaintances. And those that I see, wave hello to, and shoot the shit for a few minutes. But, there’s really no one I can count on when I’m in trouble. The only one I CAN count on is thousands of miles away, and the other one I can count on has a new life of his own. There is virtually no one. If I emotionally fall, I’m on my own. It’s my fault, I’m the one who pushed everyone I know out of my world so that I would be it’s sole tenant. So I shouldn’t be too upset when they were all just following human nature. You know – steer clear of the asshole.
There are some of you who would say that Tim should have his fingers (and nose) into every vein of my being. But, he doesn’t. As with every relationship, there’s a constant war in the works. It may not be noticeable to the public, but its definitely there in private. I don’t know anyone who gives their all in a relationship. That’s why there are fights, arguments, and snarky comments over neutral battlegrounds in the war zone. When you thought getting coffee in the kitchen would be safe, it really isn’t because the blood that escaped the wounds from the words that sliced last night are still gummy on the cold tile floor this morning. And, with any war, you don’t use all of your weapons to exhaustion. You put some back in reserve to use later just in case they’re needed during the big blow out.
Words. Sometimes they hurt worse than if he would actually just break your nose with a calculated punch. At least you can see the punch coming. The words slide in with a stealth so criminal. I’ve spent almost two decades with this man, and never did I imagine he could slice me as much as he did with a unique mixture of letters and syllables. But he did. And there’s no way I can ever hurt him back as much as he hurt me, even if I tried. I’m an artist. I had to come up with something better. Hurting him the way he hurt me wasn’t enough. I had to go a step beyond. If I couldn’t recover from this last battle, at least I can make sure he doesn’t recover either. In fact, I desperately wanted to crush his soul. I wanted him to end his existence by his own hand. The best part is that I would be the one who choreographed his misery and he would never see it coming.
All I had to do was grab his cell phone. It wasn’t difficult. He looks through my phone all the time to scan past text messages from mutual friends, or should I say HIS friends. They weren’t my friends at all because I didn’t allow myself to have any. Once in a while I’d get a text from the people we knew asking me for a few dollars, a roll of paper towels, or if I had a spare Coke in the fridge. No one ever texted me to ask how my day was going. No one cared. Tim was their friend to bullshit with. Not me. I fingered my way through his contact list. He had his family on there, smiling avatars they took just to look pretty on the internet. The smiles were fake. If only people knew the secrets they were hiding behind those photoshopped eyes and perfect hair days. Secrets so devastating that if the world knew the truth about them, they’d be just as alone as I am.
If I were any other person, I would have blasted their secrets. It’s not who I am. It was okay for them to think I was a dick, but I didn’t want them to be able to confirm it. They really couldn’t put their finger on WHY I was always a dick. They just assumed I was just a cranky person, and so they stay away. Fine by me. Let Tim be their friend. They didn’t benefit me anyway. For the record, I absolutely hate small talk. And that’s all texting is to me…chit chat. White noise. Bullshit. I don’t need that in my life. I have better things to do.
I stopped on Tim’s closest friend first. He is the reason why we fight so much. Jealousy is the monster that rears it’s ugly head whenever I’m around the guy. If he talks to me too much, Tim doesn’t say anything until after the guy leaves. Then all hell breaks loose. I have to remember that he’s Tim’s friend and I have no rights to his attention. That wouldn’t be a problem in our relationship any more. Not since I cut through his vocal chords and removed his head in the process.
He never locks his car doors. The car is a piece of shit, anyway. Who would want to steal it? The vehicle would be worth more if he’d simply leave the keys in the ignition and someone stole it. He’d at least get the insurance money for a stolen car and go get a better piece of shit. Knowing that he hops into the car between two and three o’clock in the morning to head to the corner store for a six pack of beer and a pack of smokes, I sat in the dark, back seat. The sound of the cicadas singing their nightly tune kept me calm while I waited for the alcoholic asshole to hop into the car. I didn’t have to wait long. Just like clockwork, he hopped into the car for his trek to get the beer and smokes. I waited until we were on the dark, barren road and he came to the stop sign before I made my move. I almost slipped on all the trash on the floor in the back seat. Did this guy even know what a garbage can was? He certainly knew what a fast food joint was. There were wrappers and half-empty soda cups mingling with french fries that had somehow escaped their battered containers.
I’m surprised he couldn’t hear my heart thumping through my chest. I wrapped the barbed-wire around my hands. I had gloves on, of course. Ironically, they were the gloves he gave Tim so that Tim could plant his roses in the garden without getting his precious hands dirty. I was counting on them not to get my precious hands dirty this time. A few of the barbs poked through the gloves, but it was good. The pain kept me grounded. I had a job to do.
I popped up behind him from the backseat and wrapped the silver weapon around his neck. I was lightning fast. I might have smiled a little at how ninja-like this was all playing out. There wasn’t another person on the road to play audience to my precision. The light from the convenient store’s gas sign was acting as a spotlight as the beacon slithered through the dusty, cracked front windshield to single out his head and shoulders. He grabbed for the wire, of course, to release the tension from his neck. I counted on him doing that. The barbed-wire immediately sliced through his hands. He surrendered the moment he realized he was at a disadvantage. He cursed some. Actually, he cursed a lot. He stopped when I placed my knee on the back of the driver’s seat and pulled a little bit on the wire now around his neck. I could barely hear his pleas for mercy over the chugging of the piece of shit’s engine. It was huffing louder than a 300-pound man on a treadmill. He looked into his cracked rearview mirror to see my face. I panicked at first, then I came to terms with his acknowledging my existence. It was probably the first time he ever looked me in the eyes and knew the truth of my loneliness. Fine by me. I would be the last person he would ever see. I would be the last person he would make empty promises to. I would be the last person who would make him shed tears. I was the last person he would ever lie to. I thrust my knee tighter into the back of the driver’s seat and pulled the wire with everything I had in me. The adrenalin rushing through me gave me strength. My revenge gave me power. I sawed the wire vigorously to the left and to the right. I felt the treble of bumps I was cutting through vine their way through the wire to my hands. I didn’t stop until his head fell back into the back seat to roll around in the garbage. An empty, crushed Newport box stuck to the side of his face while blood was shooting up through his neck to soak the headliner in his piece of shit car. Red was definitely an improvement. Especially when the light from the store shined on it.
That’s one roadblock out of my way. I wanted to rush home to tell Tim that this guy was dead. I wanted to be the one to tell him. I had to see his face while tears formed up in his eyes. Tim should be crying for me, not for this dickhead. But that’s not how it’s been lately. It didn’t matter. Only his friends did. I tore the gloves off and threw them in the back of the car that was still chugging and choking at the stop sign. Fuck it. Let it breathe it’s last life there with it’s piece of shit owner. Eventually it would run out of gas and die.
I walked the few blocks back home, washed my hands in the faucet on the side of the apartment building reserved for washing cars. I decided I wouldn’t tell Tim what happened tonight. I’d let someone else tell him. I intended to be there when he hears the news so I can swim in his misery. I dried my hands, walked in the front door, and pet the dog a hello. Tim didn’t even ask me where I had been at three o’clock in the morning. I figured he didn’t care…again. He got up, went into the bathroom to do whatever he does in there to get away from me. I picked up his phone, and scanned it for the next person on his contact list that needed to be taken care of.
(Note: Don’t call the cops on me. This is a work of fiction. I started it today after a conversation Tim and I talked about what would be a great short story. This is all Rapid Fire. I am typing it as I think it. There is no editing. I just wanted to share it with you all as I create it. All characters you just read about are fine. They’re still in my head, and they’re alive and well. Aren’t you piece of shit guy?? He said yes. More tomorrow as I type it out. Keep an eye out for it.)