17. Callum
CALLUM
S ome people work because they need to eat. Others because they long for riches and fame. Then there are people like her, those who take a vocation not because it will lead to fame and riches but to help others.
Staring at the raven beauty, it’s not hard to see the black circles under her eyes or the redness within them.
I often watch as she leaves the building with her shoulders slumped and defeat consuming her entire frame.
Yet some nights, she wears a radiant smile on her majestic face as she walks.
Her steps carry a quiet triumph like someone stepping into the sunlight after years in the shadows.
Why did she choose this line of work? How can she throw herself into the constant misery of broken people thrust into devastating lives? People with bleak futures, constantly digging for a semblance of joy. Every day, I see her embrace those society has discarded with pure love.
Her touch and her words contain no malice or judgment. She gives these people hope in a world of despair and never asks for anything in return other than their acceptance of her help to enrich their lives.
How different would my life be if I’d been assigned a social worker like her instead of the tired, miserable men and women who were placed in my path? Individuals worn down and disillusioned by the system, losing all faith in its potential for improvement or reform.
I see how gentle Mona is with those society has discarded as vermin.
How she shows them beauty when all they’ve known is disgust. She judges no one.
She doesn’t condemn or scold. She simply smiles and tells them they’re worthy.
She gives them the same gift she gave me.
The knowledge that I’m better than I was driven to believe.
She is the definition of poetry in motion. A cascading flow of beauty that dances in the darkness. Something beautiful in a world riddled with violence, misery, and destitution.
She is the paragon of virtue, and I am the demonic sinner who longs to corrupt her.
The darkness casting a shadow over her light.
Even when she’s forced to bear witness to the most barbaric acts, she never once steps into the darkness.
She stands tall even in the most impoverished of situations, fueled by the embers of hope burning in her heart.
I stand in the shadows, intoxicated by her, as I watch her lock up the community center. I devour the high of her melodious voice as she hums to herself. Her captivating beauty holds me frozen as if under a spell. She possesses a beauty that haunts both my dreams and nightmares
Mona has a calming influence—an ability to tame the most violent of thunderstorms into refreshing summer rain.
It still bewilders me how she provided me with unimaginable peace while I held a gun to her temple and uttered disgusting words laced with malevolence.
She didn’t even blink at my threats. I wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t believe me or because she would rather die than bend to any man’s will.
Her silent defiance captivated me from the moment I laid eyes on her.
Atlas is wrong about one thing. It’s not us Mona can’t love; it’s me .
“I’m not kidding, little girl. I have no problem decorating these mundane walls with your blood and brains,” Marcus sneered in his thick German accent.
His bloated fingers played with the loose strands of her raven hair.
“Pretty Mona, it would be such a shame if I had to get rid of you before you fulfilled your full potential.”
“I won’t break for you or anyone else. You can starve me, beat me, rape me, but I will never break.”
Marcus chuckled. “Oh, silly girl. You think you’re the first brave woman I’ve seen?
You think you’re the first girl who’s strolled into my path believing you’re strong and defiant?
” Marcus leaned over, his lips barely brushing the beauty’s mouth.
“Sweet child, the strong ones are my favorite to decimate. You present the greatest challenge.”
My hand twitched with the urge to move the barrel of the gun from Mona’s head to his, but I remained still. I wasn’t stupid. I knew he had guns trained on me in case I stepped out of line.
Marcus gripped the hem of Mona’s blue t-shirt and ripped it, exposing her black satin bra. “Look at you. Aren’t you delectable, Mona?”
Mona held Marcus’s gaze, and her pretty lips tilted into a smile. “Aren’t you pathetic, Marcus?”
In a swift move, Marcus seized her dark hair, causing her to grimace. “You’re different, Mona. I’ve been kind to you. Much kinder than I am to the others. But if you step out of line, I’ll break you just like I broke them.”
Two kinds of women existed in our community—those who came willingly looking for salvation and those brought here by force.
I never enjoyed it when Marcus inflicted humiliation and terror on the prisoners.
I preferred it when the women and girls wanted to join him.
It was so much easier. All I had to do was wax lyrical about how the commune was paradise on a desolate and destructive earth.
Those women believed that Marcus was their salvation, the second coming of a proverbial Jesus to save their souls from the brutality of the world.
Once they understood the truth, they didn’t care because they’d become fixated on the notion of sacrificing their choice, their freedom, and their lives to worship at the feet of a man who didn’t care about them.
Those who presented the challenge were women like the one who stood before me. Women like Mona.
I stood there weak and pathetic as Marcus forced her to her knees and kicked her in the face.
Mona wiped away the blood trickling down her face and glared at Marcus. “You can try to break me. But you won’t succeed.”
“You pathetic bitch,” Marcus hissed. “You think the worst I can do is beat you? There are far worse punishments for women like you. I can pass you around my men. Let each of them take a turn. Use your body until you can’t walk straight. So I’d be careful if I were you, you dumb cunt.”
Marcus turned to me when Mona laughed at Marcus’s words. “Make her bleed.”
Guilt is a complex emotion because its outcome is never entirely predictable. Some people turn guilt into violence, while for others it becomes a penance.
My guilt sparked a curiosity that evolved into an obsession. A burning need to ensure she was okay. So I became a shadow.
Her shadow.
Most nights, I watch Mona close up the center and walk the few blocks of urban decayed sidewalks to her modest apartment.
An apartment in a part of town that makes my eye twitch.
She doesn’t have to live in that hellhole.
One of her sister’s husbands is ungodly wealthy.
He could set her up in a penthouse, but Mona wants to stay near the people she helps.
Admirable or stupid? I’m not sure which, but it doesn’t matter because we own the building.
Mona is safe. She’ll always be safe with Atlas and me.
I stand on the other side of the street and watch a neighborhood punk pull a knife on Mona.
“ Don’t be a stupid bitch. Give me your purse. You don’t want to die today, do you, lady?”
Someone will die tonight, but it won’t be my angel.
I cross the street, watching the scene unfold.
My instinct is to rush the motherfucker and slit his throat, but a part of me enjoys watching Mona handle challenging situations.
Is that some sort of kink from watching her take a beating without flinching?
I understand how fucked up that is. Getting hard as fuck by a woman being beaten, but it’s not her abuse that consumes me.
It’s that she can take a punch. The fight rivets me.
“I’m not giving you anything,” Mona says calmly. “I will help you, though.”
My shoulders shake as I silently chuckle. This asshole is threatening to slice her up, and she’s offering him a helping hand. This is why she needs me. She may think she’s tough, but she’s too sweet for her own good. This cocksucker will take advantage of her, and I simply can’t have that.
“Listen, bitch, it’s not like you can’t afford it.”
“You think I can afford it? I live in this neighborhood and work for a nonprofit. My bank account has forty-three dollars and twenty-one cents in it.” Mona pulls out her wallet and shoves it at him. “Is twenty bucks and some loose change worth going to jail for?”
The punk sneers as he steps closer and holds the knife to Mona’s throat. “There won’t be any jail time if you can’t talk, bitch.”
Nah, motherfucker, it’ll be you who can’t talk when I slash your throat and drain the blood from your worthless body.
“You can stab me, but having my death on your conscience won’t be worth the couple of dollars you’ll get out of it.”
The asshole sneers and presses the tip of the blade into Mona’s throat.
“Shut your mouth, bitch, before I slit your throat for shits and giggles. You’re so fuckin’ annoying.
I’m sure I’d be doing the world a favor.
You think I’ve never come across do-gooders like you?
Holier than thou chicks who think they can fix the world with a few pleasant words and a meal? ”
Mona moves, allowing the blade to pierce the delicate flesh of her throat.
“Do it. If you think you’ll feel better, go ahead.
” She laughs. “I bet you’ve never even seen a dead body, have you?
You think I’m weak, but you don’t know the first thing about me.
You don’t know where I’ve come from, what I’ve endured, and what I’ll sacrifice.
Go ahead, big man. Show me what a bitch I am. ”
Do it? Fuck, Mona.
The punk sneers and pushes the blade against her throat. “Oops. Looks like the blade slipped a little. I’d hate for it to puncture your jugular. Why don’t you be a good girl and give me your purse?”
I don’t even think. No hesitation, no concern, no plan. I bolt forward, grab the fucker’s shoulder, and twist. That’s when I see the blood.
Mine?
His?
His arms flail, but I dodge his fist as he tries to punch me. I shove him to the ground and fall on him. I pummel him, my fists connecting with his face repeatedly until blood gushes and splatters streaks of crimson onto my face. “She. Is. Mine. And. I. Don’t. Like. My. Things. Touched.”
I’m unaware of the carnage my hands are creating.
I don’t care. I’m no longer a man. I’m inhuman.
A creature longing for vengeance and blood.
I hear screams from behind me, but they’re faint and barely noticeable, much like the soft hum of the wind.
Even if the shouts were thunderous, I would ignore them.
It’s easy for me to shut out my surroundings when my brain takes on a mission.
I see nothing but my target and the completion of the task bestowed upon me.
A good little soldier. I know what my mission is and deliver results.
The one time I couldn’t complete my task is the same reason I’m willing to murder a man in cold blood.
“Please,” a sweet voice pleads. “Please stop. You’ll kill him.”
“He deserves it,” I spit as my hand connects with the punk one more time, and his head lolls to the side.
Then I turn around, and my heart stops.