Scarleton Series I : Before the Cult (21 page)

“Well, you
know, sometimes – “

“Fuck, Kim. It
is a yes or no question. It is either it is the case or it is not,
has nothing to do with me. No pretending.”

“Okay. No
pretending,” She nodded.

“Yeah. So?”

She sighed.
“Yes,” it sounded more like a question.

“I hope you
know this is not a test. I want you to answer truthfully. What was
that? You sounded unsure. Do you not understand me? “

“No, no. I am
sure. It’s just that you making me quite nervous. I don’t wanna
...” her voice trailed off.

“You don’t
wanna what?”

“You know?” She
paused.” Let’s get outta here. Maybe fucking will help. I think you
are too upset right now. You need something to get those endorphins
running.”

I sneered at
her.

“Or we could
just go into the bathroom for a quickie. We don’t have to leave,”
she studied me. “Of course this is genuine it has nothing to do
with cash although you will have to pay for the thirty minute chat
we just had. I mean, fuck the bitch, Sandy. Don’t let it steal your
night or fun. Right? You sound like someone who wants to end your
life right now to be honest. I can help with that. I can make you
feel better”

I shifted my
gaze to Macfearson, tendrils of anger scorching my face.“And this
does not sound like Krissy to you?”

“What did I
tell you , Sandz? What did she just say to you right now?”

“She fucked me,
Mac. She did, now she wants to fuck me too!” I shouted.

“This is not
the same,” Macfearson leered at me, frustrated. “She said yes. That
is all that matters. Trust me and we shall be free. Don’t fuck this
up.”

Then he did
that thing where he looks about nervously, sweat breaking from his
forehead.

Very conflicted
I excused myself, bells were toiling in my bladder, loud and
pinching.

The silver zinc
urinals on the west wall and the toilet on the east wall were
unoccupied. The tiled floor was smeared with dirt and sand from
shoes. Puddles of mixed liquids (beer, water and urine) dominated
the floor. Careful not to slip I emptied my tank at the urinal in
the middle. Then went to the basin. It was messed with water. I
looked up and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Staring into
my red eyes, eyelids half shut and eyelashes frizzled from
crying.

The man in
front of me was defeated and weak. His skin coarse with dead
pimples. That man looked like one who was about to collapse any
time soon. I pitied him, at the same time glad that I never got to
look at his face that often. Grateful I never had to look into that
seeping hole of sadness. Glad I wasn’t him for a moment. Yes, that
right there with rugged hair and a beaten face was not me. It was a
fucking mask. I wondered if that was how beaten my soul was in the
inside. That man resembled a meth addict, who probably had boils in
the most inappropriate and inconceivable places. He pissed in a bag
taped to his torso, it smelled foul and it leaked. It was an IV
bag, only crimson, dirty and not cared for. He hadn’t showered in
days, he reeked. His underwear brown with shit stains all over. It
was torn where his scrotum was. Skin tightly wrapped around his
limbs, no sign of muscles under there, like an undernourished
African child. He trembled and shuddered when he walked. Not me, it
was the man in the mirror, a dirty grimy mirror.

As I smiled he
dissolved.

“What the fuck
am I doing, Sandz?” I asked myself. The aches kept pulsing through
me.

“What is all
this?”

I laughed
dryly. “I get it. I don’t get it. I want it. I don’t want it. What
a freaking dilemma.”

“Getting a
fucking whore to save me? Am I that dirty. A freaking scum in my
mind, yeah she – “

A guy
interrupted, stumbling in and almost slipping.

She is,
I went on with thought,
a freaking waste of time if you ask me.
No point. No reason. Nobody will mourn her if I kill her, no one
will mourn me either so why is such a big deal. No one will care
what the fuck happens. Why pretend to love or see anything when
there is nothing. I am nothingness , how can anything interact with
me or her? Fuck, Macfearson. There is no such thing as salvation or
redemption. I call this –

“Hey, You have
a lighter on you?” the drunkard slurred, a smoke in his hand.

Fucking
cunt.

“No, sorry,” I
answered.

“Fuck, alright,
I-I will go ask someone else it’s fine.” He put it between his
lips. “What you doing there? You just standing there?”

I stared at his
narrowed eyes and his dismantled state. “I’m just too fucked.
Getting a little air I guess.”

“Are you
high?”

“No, why?”

“You look
high.”

I nodded.

“You smoke
though?”

“No.”

He exhaled
firmly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like
what?”

“Like you gonna
kill me or something. I’m sorry if I did anything dude, please
don’t fuck me up. I’m drunk, I don’t even remember what I said to
you or why we talking. I’m sorry dude,” he laughed nervously.

“You did
nothing. I’m always like that. It is just how I am.” I grinned.

He nodded and
felt for something in his pockets. “You have a lighter, china?”

“No, I
don’t.”

“Ah sorry. I
just asked you that. You look like a freakin’ deep thinker. People
like you are jus’ … you know.”

“What?” I
frowned.

“I don’t know
man. You want a beer?”

-
justified
hopelessness.

“I am – “

“Fuck,” he
placed his palm on his face, “I’m so fucked dude! Damn it!”

He stood there
wobbling on his feet. His navy blue linen shirt unbuttoned,
exposing his hairy bare chest. Under his armpits his shirt soaked
with sweat. It was a picture of gnawing desperation. The sleeves
rolled haphazardly with wrinkles branching up his arm. His beard
short and ginger, marked with negligence. There were drops of some
beverage hanging in it. He breathed audibly and somewhat
inconsistently.

“I feel quite
guilty,you know? Said I wouldn’t do this but here I am,” he
laughed. “Feels good though. Why the fuck would I not wanna drink.
This is what college is about right?”

I nodded.

“Right?”

“Yeah.” His
presence was awkward.

Am I expected
to do something or say something? What do people do in these
situations? Should I just leave? If I do leave what do I say? Do I
tell him I gotta go? Will he even care? Would that be rude?

He drew closer.
Raised his arms sideways in what would be a badass pose if it
wasn’t as sloppy, trying to steady himself, “Yeah. Fuck it! Let’s
get some bitches out there.”

He spat in my
face.

“You gonna get
bitches right?” he asked.

“Yeah, I
guess.”

“Give me a high
five.”

As I did he
held my hand and converted the whole thing into a handshake. Gazed
into my eyes in a disciplined purposeful manner. For a moment I
felt like I was agreeing to something else. Very strange.

“Good luck,” he
murmured. “Get lucky, china.”

He cunningly
said right before I felt an immense pang of pain radiate from my
abdomen. Instantly crippling, I fell to my knees. If it was not for
his tight grip on my hand I would have downright curled on the
floor but he tugged me savagely. His fist the culprit, far from
sloppy and weak. A burning rod shooting through my stomach. Alcohol
and supper spewed out of my mouth from my guts. Breathing had
become as cumbersome as lifting weights. Sniggering, he let go of
my hand and I fell on left my side, my head bumping on the floor
.Then his feet receded to the door where he made his discrete
exit.

Not long after,
the door swung opened and different shoes stopped at the doorway.
All of the bar commotion and smell seemed to coat the smell of
urine and beer on the floor where I lay, it was all a mind trick
though, I don’t think it made any difference. Then a shout, “There
is guy curled up on the floor chundering his guts off!”

A moment later
the door opened wider and a man in black pants and big boots, a
bouncer, looked down at me.

“Shit, gotta
take him out,” he said, speaking to one of his colleagues perhaps.
And as if from further inspection he knelt, “Are you okay?”

“Some guy
punched me!” I tried, but the words died in my mouth, my voice
pulling a turtle. I tried once more and again. At my last try I
vomited.

“Oh, fuck,” the
bouncer jumped. “No, fuck it. Help me take him outside, he is
freaking drunk is all. Maybe the rain will help him sober up. Can’t
have him in here for sure, he’s just messing the place.”

Like that they
grabbed me by the arms and started hauling me off. I could have
walked but that was pleasurable, being carried was always
pleasurable in bad situation or not. I vomited once more, this time
followed by gasps, gazes and flashes of camera phones. Kim must
have stared at me, I felt the warm touch of her concern and awe,
devoid of judgment and schandenfreude which all the other eyes
beamed at me.

The third
bouncer opened the door in anticipation, standing by with no sign
of concern or shock like it was all part of a common procedure. It
could rain lightning bolts or lava that stern face would not
change, seeped of all emotion. They tugged me to my feet and shoved
me out into the torrent. The sharp cold snapped the little breath I
had and shocked my heart into hysteria. My body shrivelling to the
bone, I leaned against the wall. Stupefied.

I scurried to
the porch on the left which led to the grand entrance. I sat on the
porch my back facing the wall, knees drawn to my chest and arms
locked around my knees. The rain sounded the metallic railings,
droplets diffusing into a soaking spray from the collision. The
wind frigid and immobilising on itself had joined hands with the
rain. If the sky wept for me, its tears were cold.

I maintained my
indifference to what had happened, largely because it was too much
of a mystery. The deep seated fear was more decimating, the fear
that I was not capable of even understanding what had happened. It
was the traitor you couldn’t look in the eye, where a complete
denial of their existence was better. Wilfully blindfolding myself.
Although it would have served me best to gouge my eyes, not only
would that have been a complete commitment to ignorance but an
expression grand enough to convey that facing the reality was
beyond me. I looked away, unsavoury and cowardly it was. There is
no saviour in apathy and inaction, no burden. Indifference is the
softer form of that aspect of apathy. I was preoccupied with the
pain, emotional and physical.

Suddenly the
intensity of the rain lessened. Kim had placed me under the sphere
of her umbrella. She was standing in front me wearing a black
raincoat. I had a better look at her black stockings and heels.

She
outstretched her hand to me. “Never paid me,” She spoke warily.

I gave her a
stern emotionless glance. Picked a fifty rand note from my garment
pocket and gave it to her. She unfolded it and inspected it against
the porch light, which swung restlessly.

“You look
tired,” she said. “Why does the note have blood on it? What’s
this?”

“What?” I
frowned.

“It looks fresh
too! Are you bleeding?”

I’m not
bleeding. Am I bleeding?

“No, I got
punched in the stomach not gutted.”

“What?” she
looked surprised.

“Yeah. Some guy
just punched me in the stomach while I was taking a piss. That is
why I am puking so hard.”

“Why? What
happened?”

“I don’t know,
maybe someone is playing a game of truth or dare in there, who the
fuck knows?”

She cackled.
Either I made a good joke or I was the joke, the later felt more
probable. “It might just be pure animosity. That can be as fun as
pulling a prank right?”

The entrance
opened, Macfearson walked out and leaned on the wall next to the
door. He gazed toward the porch with disinterest. The light above
his head went off and he became nothing more than a mystified
shade. His posture was far from human, like he had become a
shepherd of the darkness. He dropped his head, it was clear
whatever visual information he was receiving was sifted through
something more mental. Whether from an ache of remorse or some
other brood inducing emotion, he was immobile. With the same
downhearted spirit he sparked a cigarette and smoked. A waiting
escort he seemed, so dirty the rain kept its distance from him.

“Hey look at
me,” Kim said , snapping her fingers.

I looked up.
“What?”

“Come with me
to my car. It’s cold out here and don’t you freakin’ puke again,
please.”

Reluctant, I
asked, “Where is it?”

She pointed,
“The red one over there.” It was just three parking spaces away
from where we were. “Come on,” she offered her hand for
assistance.

“No. I will
come by. Go on I will be there soon just need to think a bit.”

She watched me
for a moment, clearly trying to make sense of the decision. She
finally shook her head and walked off.

As she did
Macfearson flicked the cigarette to the pavement and started
advancing. There was an animal instinct and an angel’s grace in the
way he did, the same swaying walk that he employed during torture.
This time it was subtle and more of an indication of the tug-of-war
brewing in him. He leaned over the railing with his arms and gazed
at me. Even in his composure the stifled emotions were showing in
his quivering fingers and the premature frown on his face. I
expected him to do something sudden and violent, cringing that it
won’t startle me when he does because he always had shocking timing
like that.