Chapter 24
Janet
Janet Kade watches as yet another man leaves the apartment, this place where she’s come to be alone, but somehow never is. He slammed the door behind him without so much as a goodbye, footfalls heavy in his steel-toed boots.
There’s a parade of men coming in and out at all hours of the day or night.
Some are sweet, bringing her little gifts—costume jewelry, a bouquet of daisies, a grease-stained stack of cheeseburgers—and others are assholes, treating her like a receptacle to be used and forgotten as quickly as possible.
And she allows it.
Maybe it’s because she doesn’t respect herself.
Maybe it’s because she no longer cares. But Janet thinks it’s mainly because she can no longer feel anything.
And she longs to feel something, even if it’s outrage at being used like a sex toy, or being slapped across the face because she said something he deemed smartass.
Or maybe if it’s to touch upon a glimmer of hope when one of them is nice to her, when the conversation supersedes the physical intimacy in terms of closeness and contentment.
And yet, anymore all she can seem to muster in the way of emotion is numbness.
How had she ended up like this? She was a walking realized prophecy of her husband’s, the bastard. He’d been suspicious of her throughout their marriage, labeling her a whore, a slut, and never allowing her a moment of freedom because she “couldn’t be trusted.”
Janet shrugged and lit another Kool menthol off the butt of the last and watched as the smoked meandered up to the ceiling, highlighted by the end table lamp’s dull light. The TV was on, casting flickering light on her, the voices and laughter a low drone, unintelligible.
She’s taken a room in one of those extended-stay motels on the southside—cinder block, rusty railings, outside corridor, and dented metal doors.
“I never imagined this is what my life would become,” she says to no one in particular.
There’s really no one to listen, not anymore.
So she might as well talk to some imaginary person, spilling out her disappointments and despair.
“When I got married, I was so happy. I thought we’d ride off into the sunset together and live in this blue-sky reality with a cute little house with a white picket fence.
We’d have a little dog, we’d call Buster, after Lily Tomlin’s Edith character’s dog.
And kids! We’d have lots of kids and they’d bring endless pride, joy, and excitement into our lives. ”
She could still imagine it, even if the scenario seemed as fantastical as a trip down Alice’s rabbit hole.
What had she done wrong? Janet asked herself the question over and over through the years, as her husband first withdrew and then become abusive—first with words and then with his hands.
She had no clue from where his rage and jealousy came.
She could honestly say she’d never done anything to inspire it.
And the kids—Josh and Shondell—such adorable little buggers when they were small.
But as they grew, they morphed into people she didn’t recognize.
Shondell withdrew into a world of B-movie horror and gruesome paperbacks.
Josh looked at her as her husband did—with disdain and contempt, something that had managed to crawl out of the gutter.
She guessed he believed her husband’s lies.
And none of it made sense! Damn it!
She’d been a caring wife and a loving mother. She wasn’t perfect. Who was? But she could honestly say and know she’d always done her best by them.
And her reward? Hatred and suspicion, so much so that it finally engulfed her in a dark embrace, making her wonder what was real and what wasn’t.
A pounding at the door startled her out of her reverie.
“Hang on!” Another man? At this hour? What the hell? It had happened before.
She grabbed her robe off the bed and went to open the door.
When she saw who was standing there, she was shocked, but not unhappy. “Well, this is a surprise. What brings you here?”