Sixteen
I ’ ve scrubbed my skin raw, yet I still feel so dirty.
What the fuck have I done?
I stand under the shower spray, and the water is so hot, it feels like my skin is peeling. But the pain is a reminder that I’m alive.
I fucked up.
But I didn’t think Gianna would harm Lenny. I gave her Bria on the proviso that Lenny was to remain unharmed. But she lied.
I thought it would finally be over and that my mom could live the life she deserved with Aldo paying for his sins. But all I did was make things so much worse.
I don’t know how to make this better.
I could go to Aldo and tell him what I did and perhaps strike a deal with him. But if I do that, I know I’m dead. He won’t forgive me. Look at what he did to my mom.
The one person I would go to for advice is chained in the basement, and it’s all my fault.
I need to make this right, but images of him responding to Bria’s touch have tears burning my eyes. I don’t know what to do.
I don’t understand why I have such loyalty to Gianna and my mother—neither woman cares about me. Look what they’ve done to me. The only person who cared now hates my guts, and he has every right to.
I lower my chin, the water cascading around me, drowning out the voices in my head. I’m so fucked up. I wish I wasn’t, but I’m damaged goods, and I don’t know how to fix it.
But perhaps that’s where I’ve gone wrong.
I don’t think I can ever be “fixed.” I doubt I’ll ever be normal, and I realize I like Lenny because he is busted up inside like me. We are two halves of the same broken heart.
And the only way to repair that heart is to rip out the heart of the monster who created you.
This has been a long time coming, and I guess I was biding my time, waiting for the right moment. But there will never be a right time to kill the motherfucker who destroyed your innocence because he deserves to die a thousand deaths.
But alas, humanity doesn’t allow it.
So I’ll just have to make sure the one death is as painful as a lifetime of torture.
Switching off the water, I’m on autopilot as I dry off and hunt through my drawers for what to wear.
A white nightgown.
I plait my hair into two pigtails just like he used to. Tonight is about being reborn, and what better way to welcome my arrival into the world than by ending the life of the asshole who stole mine.
I slip into my combat boots and slide my knife snugly inside.
When I look at my appearance in the mirror, a sense of happiness fills me. Most girls would be gushing over what’s in fashion, but not me. I only feel any shred of emotion when bloodshed is looming.
I’ve accepted that I’m beyond fucked up, and the only way to deal with it is to give in to my temptations, not fight them. Fighting is fruitless. This is who I am. Who I was always destined to become.
I sneak out of my bedroom, ignoring the pang of regret I have for leaving Lenny behind. But he made his choice. We will never be on the same side. We may love one another, but our determination and individual needs will always stand in the way of us ever living side by side in harmony.
My only love sprang from my only hate…
I don’t know what that means for us, but I realize I can only ever rely on myself.
Trusting others only ever gets you hurt. Or forces you to watch the boy you love getting felt up by two other women.
Looks like he made good on his word as I remember what he said.
“If you don’t say it, I’ll make you watch me fuck someone else, tesoro mio.”
The memories only incite this inner rage, and I jump into my car, taking off into the dark night where I’m one with the shadows, just how I’ve always been.
I’m a robot behind the wheel.
My mind is clear.
I wish I could say I was hit with an epiphany, and I uncovered all of life’s mysteries. That I saw the light, and I was saved.
I wish for so many things, but there’s no fighting biology.
Or fate.
I was born a killer.
Fighting my nature is a battle I’ll always lose.
And I’m sick of trying to be good because when I pull up by St. Maria’s Orphanage, there’s apparently no good inside me.
There never was.
The mask I wore has been ripped away, and this is my true face—the face of a killer.
And now, the only thing I can do is embrace the real me.
I don’t bother concealing my car. I don’t care if he knows I’m approaching. I think he always knew this day would come.
My boots sound softly against the pavement, the only noise filling the still night. It feels as though nothing living inhabits the surroundings because things only come to St. Maria’s to wither and decay until all that’s left is a shell of what once was.
Closing my eyes, I extend my hand and brush my fingers against the tall chain-linked fence. Memories assault me of when I was trapped on the other side, wishing I was able to break free.
However, now that I’m on this side, I realize that freedom isn’t what it’s cut out to be. I’m as much a prisoner on the outside as I was on the inside. And that’s because I’m a prisoner within myself.
Counting in my head, I stop at fifty-seven. It’s here where I find the same small hole in the fence. I used to stare at it, mesmerized by the possibilities of this exit I could take. I could run away and never be found.
But where would I go?
No one wanted me. Not even my own mother.
Which is why I don’t understand why I have this sense of loyalty to her. Perhaps I have a heart after all.
Scoffing at that notion, I open my eyes and bend low to crawl through the hole. Thick flowering bushes hide it but no longer flourish as nothing grows on this barren land. I slip through with ease and keep to the shadows as I make my way through the open field.
I remember first laying eyes on Lenny as he rescued Cat. How that event changed my life forevermore. When I approach the spot where he once stood, I peer upward at the room that was once mine.
The attic.
Locked away from the world because I was unlovable.
My fingernails dig into my palms as I curl them into fists because, how can I love when I was only ever shown hate?
Sniffing away my tears, I continue my journey into the past that I need to slaughter to embrace whatever future I have. The doors are locked, but that doesn’t stop me as I retrieve my knife to pick it.
It pops open with ease.
It’s eerily silent when I step inside.
Memories overwhelm me, and I close my eyes, allowing my equilibrium to settle. I refuse to be a victim to them.
Reopening my eyes, I see nothing but revenge as I stroll down the hallway. I peer into the rooms of fellow orphans like I once was. I wonder if Father Merry has taken an interest in one in particular as he did with me.
This only fuels my need to do the most unspeakable things to him and do so with a smile.
It’s after ten, so he will be in the chapel, saying a prayer. I know this because once he made peace with God, he would come to me and drag me to the depths of hell where he violated my soul, assuring I would never be accepted into the pearly white gates of Heaven.
He ensured I was to forever be sullied.
A whore.
A sinner.
Father Merry isn’t the reason I’m this way. I was born this way. But he played a part in shaping who I became…and now, it’s time I give grace because I embrace this woman I am with both hands.
This is who I am.
And this is the only thing I know.
Opening the door quietly, I see Father Merry kneeling behind a pew, his hands interlaced. The only light is from the candles burning softly on the altar. I make sure to lock the door behind me.
What a stage it will set.
Father Merry isn’t aware of my presence; I have Gianna to thank for that. She taught me well. Muted whispers pass through those sinful lips, lips which lied. Lips that defiled me in ways that are most despicable.
It only seems fair I return the favor.
Silver rosary beads are intertwined through his fingers, fingers that violated parts of me that left me incapacitated for days.
“No, please stop, it hurts.”
“Hush, child, you are a vessel of the Lord.”
The feeble voice of that scared child is foreign. I don’t know who she is any longer. All that remains is a vacant husk who knows nothing but pain.
Father Merry’s fingers cease from sliding over each rosary bead.
He knows I’m here.
“I always knew you’d be back,” he says, his back still turned. “A sinner always comes home. Pray with me.”
His voice is calm.
I do as he says and round the pew, coming face-to-face with the monsters in my dreams.
He hasn’t changed.
He still resembles a kind man with his blue eyes and blond hair. A cleft chin and silver glasses. He looks like a man here to save those who have sinned. But he is the most dangerous monster of all. The unsuspecting are the ones who lure those in with their smile and charm, as one is unaware of the demons they harbor and the fear they will instill in their hearts.
He doesn’t meet my eyes.
He bends his head and continues to pray.
I kneel beside him and interlace my hands. I can’t remember the last time I prayed.
Our Father…
I didn’t know how I’d feel being here again. Yes, the memories are rampant, but there is a clarity I’ve never felt before. I wait for Father Merry to finish his prayer because they’re to be his last.
“So you’re here to kill me like the sinner I knew you were?”
I’ll give it to him; even in the face of death, he isn’t afraid. I would admire that trait if it didn’t belong to my abuser.
“You’re right, Father Merry,” I reply, eyes focused ahead. “I’m a sinner. I always have been. But unlike you, I don’t hide behind a veil of falseness. I embrace who I am. I embrace the woman you created.”
“Do not blame your immorality on me. I looked after you when no one else did.”
“You looked after yourself,” I clarify without faltering. “You don’t remember all the times you came to me and told me to be quiet as you did God’s work? You don’t remember all the times you forced me to my knees so I could gag on your filthy cock?
“Because I remember. I cannot forget. You ensured you remained with me long after you were gone, for what you did was an act so heinous that I could never forget it. But that’s what you wanted, is it not? For me to always remember you.”
I finally turn and lock eyes with Father Merry, who was my boogeyman for as long as I can remember. But now, he doesn’t look that scary.
“You are a whore, just like Mary Magdalene.” He crosses himself as if that can absolve him of his sins.
A laugh bubbles from my throat, and Father Merry cocks a brow.
“Whatever are you laughing at?”
His stuffiness just has me laughing harder.
“You. I can’t believe I was afraid of you for so long. You’re pathetic.”
And he is.
I once thought him to be some magical being, him the puppeteer and me the puppet. But now I see him for what he really is. The monster I feared is nothing but a coward. A pathetic little man made up of nothing but flesh and bone.
Flesh and bone, which I intend to peel from his body until nothing is left.
Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
“Say your prayers, Father. Make peace with your God.”
Father Merry nods and returns his gaze to the altar, mumbling the word of the Lord under his breath.
Excitement courses through me because I have been waiting for this day for what seems like a lifetime. I don’t know if this will help me heal, but it sure as shit will feel good.
However, it seems this asshole won’t go down without a fight.
Father Merry reaches for a Bible and catches me unawares as he whacks me in the face with it. Instantly, blood pours from my nose. He launches from the seat and runs down the aisle toward the door.
The thrill of the chase only fuels the hunter within, so I do what any predator does.
As I take off, blood spills into my mouth, and the familiar metallic tang feeds the beast, which is forever hungry for violence and carnage. Mid-run, I reach for the knife in my boot and throw it with precision.
I never miss.
Father Merry drops to the floor with the knife embedded in his leg. He howls in pain while I roll my eyes.
“Oh, stop being such a baby. It’s just a scratch.”
He’s crawling on his belly toward the door, his hand outstretched, freedom within reach. The sight pleases me immensely.
I stand in front of him, blocking his path. He tries to get up, but I stomp on his fingers, breaking two. His wails grow louder. As does the need to inflict lots of pain.
“You won’t get away with this! Help!”
“Your God can’t help you, Father. He can’t hear your cries. Just like He couldn’t hear mine.”
Memories of Father Merry’s hand over my mouth as he mounted me from behind assault me. I remember the way he tore at me, not caring about the damage he was doing to me mentally and physically.
Dropping to a knee, I yank the knife from his leg and kick him in the ribs. He rolls onto his back, attempting to stand, but I bend low and violently stretch out his arm, stabbing the blade through the middle of his palm and impaling him to the floor.
He tries to pry himself free, but it only results in the knife cutting in deeper.
“Take what you want. Just let me go!”
In response, I spit in his face. It’s colored with my blood. “I can’t believe I actually once feared you. You’re fucking pathetic. Nothing but a scared little coward.”
“Please.”
“Please?” I mock, gripping his throat and thrusting his head back at a painful angle. “You’re begging me to show mercy?”
His eyes plead for me to let him go.
“Where was my compassion when you gave me to those men like I was nothing but a toy? Where was my mercy when you raped me over and over again? And what about the other boys and girls you tortured? Where was their compassion, Father Merry? Where?” I scream, punching him in the face when he tries to answer.
Blood pours from his nose, which I just broke.
I rip off his clerical collar because he is a disgrace to God. However, this is one souvenir I wish to keep as I place it into my boot for safekeeping.
I’m done playing.
Yanking out the knife, I swiftly pull back on his arm, dislocating it.
He inhales, his mouth opening and closing as sound is replaced with pain. I yank him up and drag him to the altar. He tries to fight, so I punch him in the stomach, winding him. He’s wounded, his arm hanging useless as he drags his leg.
The trail of blood he leaves behind is a visual that is nothing but beautiful.
I force him to bend over the altar. Once again, he tries to fight, so I thrust my knife into his uninjured hand, impaling him. He is buckled, unable to bear weight on his wounded leg. But he is forced to stay upright.
Looking at the pillar candle on the altar, I have a wonderful idea.
Yanking down his trousers, I grab the candle and don’t give him a chance to beg or brace for what comes as I ram the lit end straight into his ass.
He cries raucously. Blood coats the white candle.
Leaning over his shoulder, I whisper into his ear as I force the candle deeper into his channel, “Hurts, doesn’t it?”
I begin to fuck him with it, just as crudely as he did to me. I push it so deep inside him that it robs him of air. Only to retract it so I can shove it back in deeper.
“P-please,” he begs, a pathetic heap as I defile him. “Please stop.”
“What was that, Father?” I ask, placing my ear inches from his lips. “You want me to stop?”
“Yes, child. Please. You win.”
I tsk him. “There aren’t any winners, Father Merry. Only victims created by your hand.”
Pulling out the candle, I toss it on the floor.
He sighs in relief.
I step back and look at my handiwork.
He’s a bleeding mess, but it still isn’t enough. It never will be.
Peering up at the large wooden crucifix on a stand behind the altar, I wonder if perhaps God has spoken because I’m about to outdo myself.
Father Merry sags as I pull out the knife from his hand. I grab him by the back of the neck and shove him.
“Say the Lord’s Prayer,” I order just as he once did to me.
He’s defeated. He doesn’t fight as I strip him naked. The gold crucifix he wears around his neck brings back memories of when he lay on top of me, it swaying before my eyes as he buried himself deep inside me.
I yank it off, wanting to destroy it with the man who wears it.
Kicking down the crucifix, I lay it on the carpet. Father Merry has gone to his happy place, but fuck no. He doesn’t get such clemency.
I slap his cheek, awakening him to the reality of what’s to come. He continues to recite the Lord’s Prayer in hopes that some miracle might occur and he will be saved.
“We’re past saving. It’s time to pay for your sins. Confess your sins, Father. Perhaps the Lord will forgive you and accept you into His kingdom.”
“You’re nothing but a whore,” he pants, his head lolling to the side as spittle runs down his chin. “Just like your mother.”
I wish I could prolong this, but I know soon, someone will come looking for him. And besides, he has robbed enough air as it is.
I begin punching every part of him. He doesn’t stand a chance. I was born for this, raised to fight. He was always going to lose.
He drops to the floor, and I drag him toward the crucifix. He tries a last-ditch attempt to flee, but I press my boot into his stomach, pinning his back to the wood. Bending down, I yank out his arm and stab my knife into his palm, spearing him to one side of the crucifix.
He turns his neck to look at the knife, understanding how his life will end. “No.”
“Oh yes,” I correct with a smile. “You always thought yourself to be God, so it seems fitting you die with your beloved Lord close by.”
Thinking on my feet, I reach for a smaller gold crucifix off the altar and drive the pointy end into his other hand, crucifying him.
I position his feet so they can rest on the small ledge underneath the Lord’s feet and move the crucifix back to standing behind the altar.
Oh, what a sight this is for all to see—Father Merry naked, bleeding, and crucified.
There is a statue of some saint, arm high as he raises a spear into the air. I pry it from his hand and walk over to Father Merry, whose chin droops to his chest.
I commit this to memory because this memory will now replace the others. I will no longer allow the abuse I suffered to rule me because this now replaces the pain I once felt.
Slapping him awake, I peer into his eyes as I stab the spear into his chest and cut downward. “Ring around the rosie,” I sing, severing through flesh and muscle.
The nursery rhyme he sang to me as if to make what he was doing to me okay.
I continue singing as I cut Father Merry from sternum to groin. I pry open the wound and reach inside, disemboweling him.
I would cut out his heart, but I want him alive.
“We all fall down.” The song is done. As is Father Merry. “I’ll see you in Hell.”
Stepping back, I admire my work and tip my face to the heavens.
I’ve been reborn.
The moment Father Merry stops breathing is when I leave. But not before I wipe my thumb down my forehead and over my eye, leaving a bloody slash to commemorate what was done tonight.
It reminds me of Lenny. How I wish he were here.
I know what I have to do. I have to make things right.
Opening the chapel door, I waltz down the hallway, whistling, uncaring that the sisters scream in horror because I sure as shit probably look a fright in my blood-splattered nightgown.
I know this is the beginning of the end…but I just don’t care.
And perhaps I never did.