Chapter 29 #3
I tried journaling when I was younger. Just my luck that I would forget to put the notebook back under my mattress before my mom came into my room.
Naturally curious, she read it. For the next year, I was forced to endure an extra day of counseling each week.
Apparently, documenting fantasies about being restrained, kidnapped, and fucked till you lose control of all bodily functions, isn’t considered “normal” hormonal urges.
Good grief, when I think about it, I pity my poor mother, but that troubled teenager was the most honest version of myself to date.
The rebellious phase is a balancing act of coming into your true self and learning what’s socially acceptable, while trying not to be too harshly judged by others.
I wonder what my parents think of me now.
Are they proud of me yet or will my mother always see me as some damaged thing?
When Theo left us, I felt my conflicted, ‘adolescent self’ trying to claw its way out.
Already feeling so broken and lost, I desired safety and consistency in a world that seemed to be perpetually unpredictable.
Starting by taking away anything that inhibited my ability to remain intact, like booze or narcotics.
It was the one last component; I felt as though I had a hold on.
Also, I didn’t want to dishearten my mother.
Not again. I’ll never be Theo, but maybe…
Who am I kidding, they’re the ones who left.
I’d love to know why I still seek approval in every facet of my life.
When Brodi crossed my path, he made me feel appreciated.
I hoped he could be that special someone to me.
The one who accepted me as is. No returns.
No refunds. He was the one to approach me.
In a strip club, of all the places. I was a part of the bachelorette crew, rampaging through Boston’s finest establishments, like Cha-Cha’s.
That friend is now divorced. Maybe having the starting line of your marriage with tits and ass, should have been some kind of red flag…
but I was giddy over Brodi’s pursuit. He wasn’t like the other guys I’ve been with…
Tattooed, muscular, oozing confidence, and rode motorcycles.
It was like edging myself with danger. I was helpless against him.
Andrea wasn’t a fan right off the bat, and I’m pretty sure Theo would have hated him, if he had been around to meet my boyfriend.
As if I was a defective faucet, I allowed who I was to slowly trickle out.
Drip by drip. It was fun at first. He took me out.
Fucked me in exciting places and even introduced me to his friends once.
Over time, I opened the valve more, needing connection on a deeper level.
I wanted him to know my desires. Learn the real me.
In spite of me pouring myself out, while grappling with who I was and who I should be, he withdrew.
Sure, he stayed with me, but I felt more like a commodity.
We saw less and less of each other as time went on.
I think the turning point was when I got my vertical clitoral hood pierced.
I always wanted it, but I could tell he didn’t like it.
He said he liked his woman natural, which was a crock of shit.
I’ve seen his search history. Nothing was natural about anything he was viewing.
I was crushed, but for some reason I stayed.
I also kept the piercing. Looking back, I think it was my way of saying, “fuck you,” don’t tell me what to do with my body or how to be.
As each month passes, since Brodi up and disappeared, I have clarity.
Like I was caught in a haze, unable to see what was right in front of me.
I deserve better, I gave it my all and he rarely showed up.
I like me. Bedazzled pussy and all! I shouldn’t be ashamed of who I am, especially with someone who is supposed to be my partner.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to go back and spend just an hour with that chaotic, teenage version of myself.
Give her a glimpse of what is to come and ensure her that she will survive this.
With both glasses empty between us, Andrea is the first to fracture the still moments. “Who do you think did it?” Andrea’s finger runs along the mouth of the drained glass, smearing the glossy, mauve lip stain across its edge.
“I’m not sure,” I divulge. Honestly, I don’t even have a heading. My brother didn’t have any enemies. He wanted to work in journalism. From what I understood, everyone adored him. He was the golden child so to speak.
Andrea stands and disappears to her room temporarily. I was briefly worried she wouldn’t come back. Next thing I know, she’s rolling a whiteboard from her room.
“Where did that come from?”
She clicks the lock on the wheels and uncaps a dry eraser marker.
“Closet,” she says, before scribbling words on the white, shiny surface.
Theo, Eamon, and Stalker. “Okay, we know Theo died almost three years ago.” She writes three years under his name.
Andrea points the uncapped marker toward me.
“When did you start working at The Black Sheep?”
I think for a moment, “Around six months ago.” I had just lost my job as the hotel receptionist. Star Mart didn’t pay enough; I needed that second job.
Within a week I was offered the position at the bar.
Connor was actually the one who handed me a flyer, when I was just happening by.
It was Cassie who offered me a job on the spot.
That’s why I thought she owned the bar, not Eamon.
“How about this stalker guy, when did that start?” Andrea inquires.
I look back through my phone’s calendar and messages. “I found the earbud less than a month ago.”
She steps back to admire the chicken scratch of notes across the board. It’s barely legible; she should have pursued a career as a doctor. “Wait!” She yelps.
I startle, because she’s not one to display sudden bursts of energy. I’m drained, too tired for jump scares.
Andrea looks at me. “Didn’t Brodi disappear right before you started working at the bar?”
I guess… Yeah. It is a really odd coincidence. It was a rough time for me. Having two jobs and keeping busy helped me get through the onset of his departure. “That’s right… I did start at The Black Sheep shortly after.”
She’s at the board feverishly annotating, like a professor that’s finally made some headway on that career halting equation. “You said Eamon and your stalker seem to have known Theo?”
I nod.
She draws lines, connecting Theo’s name to Eamon and the Stalker. I chew on my lip as the story unfolds, right before my eyes. It’s just all loosely based associations. None of it makes any sense. Nothing related. Who are we missing?
“Can you add two more names?” I suggest. “Garron and Dax… they’re like Eamon's right-hand men or friends, not sure what to call them.”
She adds the two names with two shorter lines, connecting them to Eamon. The toothpick I found… could the man behind the mask be Garron?
Andrea finally sits down in the chair beside me, as we both study the board with what can only be described as a disorganized collection of acquaintances.
What are we doing here? Figuring out what happened to my brother, surmising who my stalker is, or cataloging my questionable choices. Perhaps all three?
My roommate turns to me after a long stretch of us staring at the board, trying to make sense of this perfectly illustrated chaos I call my life. “Has your stalker ever made contact with you, beyond using technology?”
Shit. I knew this would come up. I think it would have been easier to tell her I was fooling around with Eamon, who she clearly has a distaste for, rather than disclosing I’ve been intimate with a masked man, whose identity is still a mystery even to me!
Getting ready to say it out loud made me feel stupid, for engaging in such a potentially dangerous activity.
When I was with my stalker, it just felt right.
I speak my truth. As it turns out… She listens, no judgment. No snide remarks. Just hops up from her seat, pulling the easel closer, and changes to a different colored marker. She has to be part machine.
“We should list the songs he’s played for you. There may be some kind of message there, that helps us.” She writes the words The Stalker’s Playlist on the top, right side of the board.
It takes me every bit of an hour, looking through my phone, checking calendars, and messages to recall everything. Racking my already, very tired brain, was a chore to list all of the songs he has played for me, up until this point. The list barely fits on the board.
“Cindel. All of this…” She motions toward the insane amount of information. “Goes deeper than you could possibly know.”
Here comes the power of reasoning. I hold my breath before she continues, worried she’s already made up her mind.
“But we're gonna figure this out. Together.”
Okay. I didn’t expect that.
“Cindel, I’ve only ever been concerned about your safety. I’m begging you… please stay away from these men.”
I can’t promise her that. Like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to him. Drawn to both of them. Maybe for two separate reasons, but I can’t really explain it. My eyes sting, as exhaustion from this day consumes me. “I’m tired. Let’s continue this tomorrow.”
She caps the marker, then pulls me from my seat. My first real friend wraps her arms around me. I needed that. To know, we’re okay. Before closing the door to her bedroom, she signs I love you. With that, I know that if everything else goes to shit, at least I have her.