Fantasy Pt. 05: Life in the Ruins

I had to concentrate on the task, to get through it. You fucking monster! Okay. Okay. One thing at a time. One step follows the other, I thought, but there was no good course to be followed here, no good outcome. Alice quaked when I pulled her arms and legs out from her body, and when I helped her lie on a beach towel. She shivered while I cleaned her wounds, sprayed cold antibacterial mist on them, and bandaged them. I had to ask her to turn on her stomach so I could do her back. I was speaking in a soft tone to keep from frightening her more, and she was growing calmer, but she was still shaking. She watched me and responded to what I said. She didn't say anything herself. Dear Lord, her left cheek and lips were swollen. I'd done that to her. I went for an ice pack. It made her shiver more to hold it against her face.

Alice's naked body didn't excite me anymore. When I looked at it, I saw the wounds I'd made. My erection had fled to some far distant place. When I had to attend to a breast or her vulva, I worked to make sure -- for her -- that there was nothing sexual in the contact.

Now she needed clothes. The next task. Take things in order. There were no clothes of hers in the house, so I got out an oversized Las Vegas t-shirt.

"I'm sorry. I dumped all your clothes. This will have to do for now." She shifted her hips to help me pull up her panties, and she sat up so I could get the tee on her. I had to help her sit.

"Can you stand?" Not without help and not very well. She put down the ice pack and I took both her hands to pull her up, and she was so wobbly that I had to let her lean against me, to hold her up. I could feel her still shuddering. "Have you eaten anything?"

She shook her head and rested her face on my shoulder. I'd have thought she couldn't stand touching me. And me, I was afraid to let her do that, afraid of what I would want to do. When she raised her head and spoke for the first time since the storm, her voice was mere sandpaper, and so quiet I had trouble hearing her. "Not much. I didn't have any money. I was sneaking... from casinos, but I was caught and sent away. Then, there was a soup kitchen."

"What about the money Richard gave you?" I could smell her hair. I turned my face away. I didn't want to be too close.

"It's gone. Motels. Meals. My car broke down. I used the last to try to win a stake at blackjack." She coughed again and leaned back against me. "I lost it all. Just like me."

By then I was somewhere out in the cosmos. She could have gotten access to our money if she'd really tried, if she had thought of it, if she'd had any survival skills at all. If what? If her mind were working right. If. If. I had this image of her starving in the midst of plenty, dying of thirst beside a casino's pool. Remember Nevada being a community property state? There was the house, and all her stuff I'd thrown out. What had happened to her? She had always been smart and practical. So, yes, I finally figured it out, and I realized she needed more help than I could give her.

"Well, come on. Let's get you something to eat." She leaned on me all the way to the kitchen. I helped her sit down and poured her some milk. There were fresh grapes. She liked grilled-cheese sandwiches, so I started making one. She sat passively and watched everything I did. Every few minutes a fit of shaking grabbed her, but the coughing seemed to have stopped.

What was I thinking? That my hatred had evaporated. You knew that, didn't you? It was gone, and it didn't matter what she'd done. It wouldn't come back. She wasn't even my Alice anymore. I didn't know how she had become this other person. I still don't know, not completely. She was just a poor, lost soul, and I wanted to be kind to her.

It wasn't forgive and forget. Don't think that. Forget? You know that would be impossible. And forgive? Forgive what parts? It wasn't Alice who'd toyed with me, but Richard, and Sherrie was right. Stop letting him mess with me. But she'd done enough. The leaving. Letting me hang. Sexing Richard exotically in front of me. It was more than enough. Especially the last thing. Except for that I'd never have hurt her. No, I can't say that with certainty. I might have. I guess I might even have shot her. But that last act took us to a completely foreign land.

The leaving? Hell, that happens all the time. There's a whole industry devoted to handling it. You fight or you give the "it's not you, it's me" speech -- even if you don't mean it -- and you get divorce attorneys. About the rest, well, I can't unsee or unhear all the things Richard sent me, but Alice may never have known about them. They were probably just part of Richard's vast collection of mementos, things to play back to himself when he's old and impotent, and of course useful for tormenting Henry. They weren't the worst of her actions. Her deliberate actions. And those finally came down to the blow job. The stripping and deep throating in front of me. Showing off her depravity. It was breathtaking that she could so demean herself to demean me, I being held defenseless right there, to demonstrate her fealty to her lover and master. It was hard. It's still hard.

Was it forgivable? What does forgiving even mean? Somehow getting past it. Letting it go. Not hating her anymore for her past actions. And yes, I needed to recover my soul. If I could do that, I could do the rest. People have forgiven worse. I heard an Auschwitz survivor once who forgave her captors. You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din. Still, Alice didn't physically hurt me or try to kill me, so maybe there wasn't as far for me to go. I don't know about that, but the hate really was gone. You know that already.

There was the other, harder thing. I needed to earn forgiveness for what I had just done to her.

*****

Her cheek looked awful. I gave her the ice pack again and told her to keep it on until the skin grew numb. What was she thinking? Was she wondering if I'd help her? Or if I'd decide to hurt her again? I think she trusted me. Neither of us spoke while I cut the sandwich. What small talk do you make with a woman you've just whipped unconscious?

"You kept yourself looking nice." Oh Jeez, you idiot!

She tried to smile. "I washed my clothes in restrooms and wore them out into the air to dry."

"You stayed shaved." Why did I bring that up? Fucking moron! Maybe it would be better not to talk at all. Do. Not. Mention. The. Rings! I could see the outlines of her nipple rings against the front of the tee. Ignore them!

She answered, though, her voice falling. "At first I thought he might take me back. Later. I thought I should sell myself. To get by. And I should look right. For the customers." A sigh. "I was trying to," she paused, "sell myself at a casino... well, security caught me loitering. They passed my picture around." I didn't ask how many customers she'd had.

"And you tried to kill yourself."

She startled.

"How did you know?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't say these things, but it just came to me. It fit with everything else."

She had begun gasping and started coughing again.

"I'm sorry, Alice. It'll be okay. You'll see." I got a dish towel and tried to dab her eyes, but she pushed my hand away, took the dish towel, and covered her mouth with it.

After the coughing passed, she told me. "I didn't really try. I was staying at a homeless place, but I was..." she paused, just taking those quick, shallow breaths. I began to think she couldn't finish. "I got myself raped by some guys. And most of my things were stolen." Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. "That was when I considered ... you know. But I wasn't brave enough. I thought about it all the time."

"I'm sorry, Alice. Really. I shouldn't have said anything. That's all past. Things will get better. You'll see." She might believe me if I said it often enough.

She was amazingly, depressingly open about everything. I thought she might tell me anything I asked about. I didn't ask if her attempt to prostitute herself had led to her rape, or how many men had done her. She was gorgeous enough to be a successful escort, but she'd know almost nothing about how to be a pro, alone, or how to deal with the dangers. The rape helped explain her thinking, but even it was just the last event in a series that pushed her into a black hole. She didn't have to tell me every detail.

More trouble: she wouldn't eat. "You need to. To get your strength back." But she said she couldn't. Finally we agreed that I would eat half the sandwich and we would each take bites in turn. She took tiny bites of sandwich, which set off more coughing. She nibbled a bit of a grape. That was it before she faded out.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." She began swaying again the moment she stood, so I let her lean on me again and helped her to the bathroom. I got out a new toothbrush and found some prescription cough medicine that had officially expired. Then I helped her to the guest bedroom. Some buckle wounds were seeping through the shirt. I decided I'd have to take her to a clinic. They would recognize those wounds. They'd know. There were any number of things to have checked out, the injuries from the rape, the possibility of STDs, her lungs, but the whipping was its own thing. I'd have to turn myself in. Well, that was for tomorrow. First she had to be strong enough to manage on her own. I rebandaged her while she sat on the bed, and I got her a clean tee.

In bed, the sheet pulled up, Alice was more fragile looking, and -- even with her swollen face -- seemed more beautiful, than anyone I had ever known. Yes, it was stupid. It wasn't just her mind that wasn't working right, was it? It would be so easy to fall into the fantasy of being Sir Galahad coming to a maiden's rescue. Idiot! Idiot! We both needed time to heal. And she wasn't even my Alice, though I guess she was mine in a way, since I was responsible for her wounds.

She took my hand as I rose.

"Henry. The reason I didn't tell you I loved you." I stood over her, my hand in hers. "It was because I don't have the right to tell you that. Not anymore. I don't have the right to put that on you." She was going to cry again. My Alice? No. I keep telling you. Not mine. I sat back on the edge of the bed. I wanted to fold her in my arms and carry her away. That fantasy again. All I did was keep hold of her hand.

"Don't you think you've been punished enough?"

"That's not it, Henry."

"Alice, I'm not an idiot. You still have an IRA. Until a few days ago you could have gotten money from our accounts. You own half the house. You're well off."

She lay there looking up at me, holding my hand, not saying anything at all. I'm not sure she completely believed it, not at first, because she shook her head, but then she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and clenched my hand, and I could tell she understood.

"You know what I think? I think you decided you deserved to be in Hell. That's what I think. Well, I don't agree with you." I saw myself whipping her. I heard her begging. "Earlier I did. I really did. But I was wrong too. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you."

I bent to kiss her forehead. I was struck by its softness. I'll never kiss you again.

"And it's okay. You don't have to pretend you love me. We'll work everything out."

I had to leave quickly. I didn't want to be too weak in front of her.

* * * * *

There was nothing more to be done. Wait for the curtain to fall. There I was, with Alice but alone. Flipping through the TV channels. Picking up books and magazines. Tossing them. Web surfing. Pouring a glass of Scotch and leaving it standing. Pacing. Pacing. Pacing. Thinking I'd like to drive through the desert again, but then Alice might wake up during the night and need me. Pacing. Pacing. Picking up the glass of Scotch, sipping it, putting it down. Web surfing. Kicking books and magazines. Flipping through the TV channels.

I got a navel orange from the refrigerator. It was cold and sweet and bright tasting. Remember how Alice's pudendum tasted like something citrus? Why had she stopped wanting me to lick her? Don't go there! In some way it's part of everything that happened.

I showered, brushed my teeth, put on shorts and a tee, and walked out onto the porch to let my mind wander. Here was the spot Alice had stood, then sat for so long, miserably alone in the world, desperately hating herself. I'm sure she was terrified to finally come to me, but in her state of mind I was her last option, and here we were.

There was a sweet smell in the desert air. Something blooming. We were far from the casinos, so far that the stars were bright. My mind flicked here and there. I thought I should call my attorney before we went to the clinic. It seemed reasonable. Or maybe Mickey Edwards. He might help me get quick bail, so I would be able to pick up some clothes for her, something she could wear when she went to find real clothes. How long would she need to stay with me? I kept remembering that it was her house too. Everything was complicated. It might be best if I put her up in an apartment. And I should get her car fixed. I'm sure she would need counseling. Wait! A shooting star! If only I were superstitious, I'd wish for something good to come of this. I kept smelling the desert air so it would stay with me when I went back inside. I'd miss it in jail.

Pull yourself together, Henry. Focus.

I looked in on her. She was asleep, but the sheets were tangled.

*****

I tossed in bed for the longest time, and then I fell into the dream of Alice. It was the usual dream. I hadn't had it for a while, the one with her on the bed and inflamed, me on the floor, the men jerking off over her body. Suddenly I was awake. Is she home? Damn! Of course she's home, for now. Remember? Is she really? Go check on her.

I turned to look at the clock, and when I did I saw a long lump on the floor beside the bed -- Alice, wrapped in a blanket. She looked dead.

"Alice? Alice. What happened?"

She half-turned and looked up at me.

"I'm sorry, Henry. I couldn't stand to be alone. I didn't mean to wake you. You looked so peaceful."

If only.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

"No. I'm afraid to go to sleep, because they'll get me in my dreams, but it happens when I'm awake, too. For a while I'll be okay but then it comes over me. Suddenly. I don't know..."

"Panic attacks."

"I can't stop them. I was afraid, being alone. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry to do this to you. Could ... could I sleep in here? Down here? I promise I won't bother you."

"Sure. Look, come on up."

She didn't move. "No. I don't want to bother you."

"It's okay. You'll be more comfortable up here and it won't bother me."

She climbed onto the bed, atop the spread.

"In the bed, Alice. You may as well be comfortable. And we've slept in the same bed for years."

She slid under the covers, on her side, turned away from me, on the far edge. I watched her as long as I could. Just as I began to fall asleep, she jerked. It was like an explosion.

"Alice?" I reached to her.

"I'm sorry, Henry. I'm bothering you." Her breathing was off again, and she sounded terrified. At least she wasn't coughing.

"Okay, let's try something a little different." Sigh. Make the offer. "Let's do spoons."

"Henry, no. I don't want to bother you."

"It won't bother me and it'll help you. You have to trust me. Right now, I have to think for both of us."

Thinking for both of you or just for yourself? Oh, shut up! It will help her, whatever it might do for me, and I'm letting go, so just shut up. Are you sure? Shut up! So, you're not gonna parlay it into sex? No. She'll gladly give you apology sex. No. Gratitude sex? Stop it! Maybe even sex sex? Go away, God dammit, it's not going to happen!

Alice took no side in this conversation, which of course she couldn't hear, and she didn't say anything. She moved toward the middle of the bed and scootched back toward me. I draped my left hand over her waist and pulled myself all the way up to her. She took my hand from her waist and drew it to her lips and then whispered something: "Thank you, Henry."

You sad, strange, devastated creature, I'll help you. I'll protect you. Tonight, or for a few days. Until you're better. You were dear to me once, and I care for you today. I realize that in all those years together I never completely knew you, but I know you need someone now.

I squeezed her hand. In a few minutes her breathing became deep and regular, and I could let myself fall asleep.

End.

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A Note to the Reader

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Is that all there is? Is that all there is? If that's all there is, my friend, then let's keep dancing.

Is Part 5 the end of "Fantasy"? ("Please!" say a bunch of you) It is for Henry Jekyll. Maybe not so much for H. Jekyll (I'll get to that in a moment). It ended for him where he and Alice fell asleep together so sweetly in the last lines. That romantic fool. It's a good ending. It doesn't tie everything up in a neat, Hollywood conclusion but lets the reader imagine an ending that works best for him or her. Rather like "Sleepless in Seattle," my favorite chick flick, where you don't absolutely know for certain that Sam and Annie are going to have a fabulous, Gawd-bless-it, romance and that everyone is going to be able to be happy. Though they probably will. Nora Ephron was a fucking genius!

A lot of readers like things to stay a little undetermined, a little nuanced, so they'll agree with Henry. If you're one of them, STOP READING HERE. Your story is done! In fact, when I first wrote a version of "Fantasy" many eons ago (in Internet years) that's about where the story ended.

This ending also has a great advantage in that it causes the heads of some members of the Literotica Loving Wives Mafia (often named "Anonymous" in my Comments section) to explode. The only thing that could make their heads explode harder would be for Henry and Alice to get back together and Richard to get away with what he's done. Well, I can't promise that. I'd say I won't promise those folks a classic "beat the bitch" ending either, but then Alice already was beaten, and she'd had a pretty rough go of things after Richard threw her out so unceremoniously.

But events certainly had to go somewhere after our couple--that God may have joined together but Richard certainly put asunder--got some shut-eye, and some might want to follow it. Oh, not so far that we get to where everyone dies of Alzheimer's or broken hips. But events do keep happening, don't they? Unless an asteroid hit Las Vegas, which I assure you it didn't. And I can give you a version of what happened next in these folks' lives.

I'm not 100 percent completely sure how this is going to come out, given the range of possibilities and the recalcitrance of some characters. If you read it and don't like the ending, feel free to write your own, with my blessing. I've had readers do that before. And why should I have all the fun? Just let your readers know where they can find the original, so they can compare.

Who am I to say that? Unlike Henry Jekyll, the narrator so far, to whom bad things have happened, I'm H. Jekyll, the actual author. We're not the same person. I'm tougher, and not nearly as nice a guy as Henry. Everyone likes him, really. Me? Not so much. Also, no one has ever stolen my wife, at least not to my knowledge, and I think could tell. Anyway, if you'd like to follow them a bit further, I'm willing to usher you along that path as far as you'll read. Just so you know, it won't be in Henry's voice, but mine. If you're not interested, well this is a great place to disembark.

For any remaining, metaphorically turn the page to Part Six (when it's available, which means once it wends its way through Literotica's arcane moderation system), to the middle of that night...