Rage

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Lara

W e’re home again, in safety, back in our space, where we’ve lived together for many years. The box is still on the mattress where I left it; discarded in a fit of angry words. I can’t regret dragging her out to report it, I can’t… Even if it’s going to do no good.

I’m angered even more by the antipathy shown to this sunshine girl by law enforcement. Don’t they care that he groped and grabbed her, this precious being of mine? Don’t they care that he took her and made her do things against her will?

Was it really only this morning that I called her mine, and mine alone? I could never, would never, have never dared to demand. Sure, I take from her, but only because she allows me to. With me in control, my sweet girl holds all the power. So, the things he did?

It’s unthinkable to us both.

She’s so broken, curled up, crying her whole soul into the sheets that encompassed the joys of our marriage, just a few short hours ago. It’s breaking me too, seeing her so destroyed. She’s usually so full of life and warmth, a smile on her face

There are words still falling out through her tears. I can’t hear them, can’t make them out—can’t listen.

But not because she isn’t being clear.

It’s because I don’t want to. I revoke her words, refuse to accept them in the same air as my beautiful wife. But my sweet, vegan, violet-haired darling heart—the one who cries when I evacuate spiders into the wild urban streets—she continues spilling her dirty words and her pained tears onto the bed sheets.

Words like unclean; tainted; polluted and contaminated… in a voice so small, so tiny; barely a whisper of her usual vibrancy.

For my part, the underpinning sadness is hardly enough to contain my rage, these threads of anger simmering, bright and heated under the surface of my skin. Thoughts tinged with malice—pure hatred and vitriol swirling around in my head; all the violent, ugly thoughts of revenge. I’m aggrieved, violated for her, with her. I want to possess and devour all of her to show her that she’s mine, erase whatever evil he laid inside her.

And even though I might be able to do that, reclaim her body for myself, I still can’t repress all that’s inside me. I want to hurt, maim, defile… just like he did to her.

It’s not just him that is the problem though. The mark he left on her— in her—is a canyon sized void, an argument for every day, voices raised in anger and despair. We can’t agree, won’t agree, our rights and opinions dividing what is usually a harmonious co-existence.

“Kath, we need to seriously think about this! I don’t want it. I don’t want to be around something that reminds me of this… This horror. How could you look at a child like that and love it? A product of that violent claim?”

“But I already love it, Lara. Since the second I knew I was pregnant, I loved my baby. You don’t have the right to tell me to get rid of it!”

“I have the right to have a say in our relationship, in our marriage though?”

“You do, and… And if that’s the say you want, then I can’t…” She chokes on her own words, but she doesn’t need to say them. I can feel the pain of the choice in the silent tears flooding her cheeks.

“You’d really choose a fetus—a rapist’s unborn baby—over everything we have? Over me?”

“If all you can find within you is to tell me to get rid of it, then yes. Yes, I would.”

“How?”

“Because I want to have the time to choose, Lara. And I need that grace from you. You know we’ve talked about it, this—this might be our one chance.”

“A chance given to us by the Devil?”

“But what if it isn’t? What if it’s a miracle instead? A moral dilemma, a lesson of how something good can come from such violence and evil deeds?”

Only she could find any good in this. Only my brave, beautiful, intense artist, free to think out of constraints of society; only she could turn this into something positive.

And I can’t help falling in love again. “Okay. We’ll think… We’ve got time.”

Days pass. Days of my Kathy drifting, faded out of life, the bold activism and bright smiles of her usual demeanor nowhere to be seen. And I decide—thinking isn’t enough for me. It isn’t enough to erase the hurt, to undo the damage he’s done to us both, to our relationship. The damage he’s done to her soul.

I need action. I need solace, to know that he isn’t going to do this again to another…

I need revenge. Solid, motherfucking, painfully sweet revenge.

But the more days that pass with no resolution, no reprisal, the longer he walks free, the more I want to take things into my own hands. To the point that I even think about doing something really fucking stupid.

“Why have we not heard back from the cops? You gave them what they wanted. He can’t be allowed to get away with it, can he?”

“I… He already has, Lara.”

Kathy lays a pacifying hand on my arm, but I’m riled. To fuck. I don’t want to calm down right now.

“Well, he shouldn’t! He can’t, I won’t… I’m not gonna let him.”

“And what exactly do you think you’re going to do about it? About any of it? He works for the mayor, and you heard the cop. He didn’t care. This guy practically has immunity.” She regards me, wary gaze with pursed lips, hesitation etched in her very being for whatever plan I’m hatching.

And believe me, I’m trying. My every spare hour is spent challenging myself to figure out a way to find him, get close to him, even be near him without him knowing who I am or what I’m standing ground for.

But I can’t. He’s too guarded, too closed off… And I’m too close to the problem to think straight anyway.

Until one night, driving home after my MMA class downtown, my eyes track across the frontage of an abandoned building.

It used to be a strip club, around a decade ago. That was before it was uncovered as a Mafia front for money laundering, drug smuggling and other unconstitutional activities, and was shut down by the Feds. But the rumors of corruption went much deeper than the superficial arrests, right up through the government officials—right into the mayor’s office itself.

But Kath and I? Well, let’s just say we know a certain someone who used to work there.

The guy in question is one I know she’s kept in touch with, even though I’ve made it quite clear over the years that I’d rather have nothing to do with him myself. To give him his due though, he’s always been supportive of her career, even commissioning art pieces from her and paying over the odds for them.

On the other hand, he’s always been an asshole to me, is an absolutely inappropriate pervert and completely self-absorbed most of the time. It’s not ideal, and of course I wouldn’t generally advocate consorting with criminal types in any way, but—in this kind of case? It’s all about who you know.

It’s not common knowledge, I guess, but Kathy and I have known Lockey for a long time. Way before he got in too deep with the wrong people and ended up serving a sentence for fraud. Even if we happen to know it was more than that. So, I know for a fact; he’s someone who can probably help us to get to this disgusting excuse for a human, and I will have to just hope against hope that he probably still knows some people.

People that won’t let assholes like this get away with things like violently assaulting my wife.

I don’t like it, but I will take fucking anything to help us get to this little motherfucker. Even if that means working with someone I can’t abide.

“Kath, do you still have Lockey’s number? I think… I think he might be the only one who can help us right now.”

She looks at me, eyes wide, alarm etched all over that face I love so well. “Lara… What are you planning?”

“I’m planning on not letting him get away with this, Kath. I’m planning on confronting him, and making him pay.”

“Pay for an abortion?” She says it quietly, like the word still frightens her.

“At the very least. I want to talk to Lock anyway, and see if he can get me to meet with this motherfucker. Somehow.”

She shakes her head, disbelief in her tone. “Are you serious right now? You hate him.”

“I don’t hate him. I don’t particularly like him, but that’s because he’s intentionally offensive to me.” I shrug. “He likes you though.”

“He only does it because he’s a brat and you bite back.”

“Ugh.” I swear, my eye roll sprains something in my brain. “Why would I like him? Why would anyone when he’s got an ego bigger than the motherfucking city?”

“ I like him, he’s funny. But he also likes winding people up.”

“Right. That’s what we’re calling it now.” I call it being straight up insulting, but tomato, tom-ah-toh, I guess.

“Well, maybe though. I know that he has connections with people.” She pauses. “Or at least, had them. I don’t honestly know if he still does, but…”

“But you still have his number, right?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I do, and I think he might still be able to help. But Lara… Be careful, okay? I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

I take her face in mine, pressing my lips against hers in a searing kiss. “I promise you, my love. I will be the most careful. Besides, he deserves to pay, doesn’t he?”

“Mmmhmm.” She murmurs her peace against my mouth, satisfied with my response.

My dear, sweet girl; she can’t possibly fathom what I really mean by ‘pay’.

It takes me a couple days to pluck up the courage to actually reach out to our old friend though. And even when I do, I have to take stock of myself for thinking of actually going through with this. I can’t quite believe what I’ve been driven to.

Well, I can, because fuck that rapist piece of shit getting away with what he’s done. Why the hell should he get to walk around scot free when the love of my damn life is spending all her waking hours stressed out, having to make a choice between facing that trauma for the rest of her life or going through the trauma of a termination?

It’s not a fucking choice.

It’ll never be a fucking choice.

He took her fucking choice away.

What difference does it make if it’s between different levels of trauma? Not to mention that she’s got to live with the fucking trauma anyway, that of being raped by some fucking asshole who can’t take “I’m not fucking interested” for an answer.

That thought makes my choice to press the call button a little easier, because I can’t regret at least trying this option.

So, I’m making the call.

Is it a last resort? Sure, but I’ve run out of ways to do anything further by myself. Besides, as much as I personally think Lockey’s a complete dick, he’s always been an ally in the community. And he is Kath’s friend; the kind of friend who protects what he cares about. Kind of like me, I suppose.

I use her phone to do it though, because I’m not stupid enough to think he’d actually answer a call from an unknown number. Because who the fuck does that?

A wave of nausea rolls over me as the dial tone sounds. I half expect it to go to voicemail, but he picks up at last, his voice ringing overly loud through my tangled thoughts. I’m still not sure this is the best course of action, but I guess it’s too late to back out now.

“Hey, babe, long time no speak! How you doing?”

“Hey, Lockey. It’s Lara.”

“Who? I thought… This is Kath’s number, isn’t it?”

“Lara; Kathy’s wife. The bitchy booby blonde?” I know he hasn’t forgotten that description.

“Oh, fuck, yeah! Um… Sorry, ‘bout that, y’know.” There’s a pause on the line. “But like, it was supposed to be a compliment. ‘Cos they’re some good tits.”

I know he can’t see the eye-roll I give him, but I do it anyway because it makes me feel better. “Oh, I know. So does Kathy.”

“Well, I should think so. What’s up then? You okay?”

I inhale through my nose, gathering courage, because this is why I called him. And I’m sure he must know something is up really, because why would I be calling him and not the one who actually tolerates him? “We’re… No, not really. Well, I’m okay, but Kath is… She’s not so good.”

“Fuck.” The word is more of a breath than an actual utterance, heavy with the despair that laces through my heart too. But it lifts mine a little, pulling the broken pieces that little bit closer, because it means that someone cares. Some one , some where gives a fuck too. “Tell me how I can help her.”

There’s an edge to his tone now, far removed from the friendly overture of his first greeting. I like it. It makes me glad to spill the whole guts of the story, actually, in a sort of cathartic, avenging angel way. He lets me get it out, the whole thing from start to finish in a jumbled raging mess of words. But I know he gets it.

I know, because his first thought after I finish is laced with all the pain I feel too. “Okay, so who do I need to hurt?”

No. No, that’s not—that isn’t the story, that’s not the plan.

“I don’t want you to hurt him. I want to. I just need your help to access him, because he’s a guy who—well, he’s a city official, so… I kinda thought you might have some way of getting to him. You know.”

There’s a moment of silence between us both, a pause that sends a chilled panic through me, a finger of dread creeping down my spine. Because if I know he can do this, it means that I know too much.

shit. this was insane. he won’t, he can’t, he thinks you’re fucking crazy ? —

“Okay. Give me a name, Lara; I’ll get you to him somehow.”

Those words… That’s what I needed, that’s what I wanted; because those words give me hope.