February Sucks - Gone Girl

"Still, I wasn't going to be the wuss. I'd stand up, and take my beating in front of all my new classmates. Before the punch landed to my face, a lightning bolt in the form of one Robert Fulton came crashing in from my left, tackling MacDonald. Then Robbie started beating him in the face like that kid in The Christmas Story.

"That was the beginning of our lifelong friendship. I was thankful and eternally grateful to Robbie. The bully never bothered him or I again, until prom night." He seemed to want to give me time to digest that, but I still couldn't see where this was going.

"I met Larissa 5 months before prom. I was the one who suggested to Robbie he ask the one girl in school he couldn't get his mind off of. Even with my prodding, he felt you were out of his league. Why, I'm not sure. Your beauty came with age. In my opinion, you were pretty much gangly and homely back then, but he didn't see it that way. Imagine his surprise when you said yes."

I too had been surprised. My boyfriend had just dumped me not two weeks before Robbie had first approached me in home room. That shallow boy, had found a Maserati in one of the sluts from homecoming court. He'd traded in the Honda Civic, me, which had wounded my pride and self-esteem. Robbie hadn't just asked me almost three months early, so I couldn't use all the normal excuses; he was also a very nice boy. He was funny, kind, and he'd treated me like a queen, which had helped to salve my wounded ego.

He was a shy boy though. I had to ask him out for our first date. Certainly his charm wasn't lost on me. I caught myself grinning and blushing far too often. He also sated a desire to have my friends see me with a new guy. As much as I became enamored to Robbie prior to prom night, I knew it was temporary. I'd be off to college in the fall, and off to start my life. Why not give him an experience to remember? A high school memory to last a lifetime. At least until he found the love of his life.

"You were everything to him, you know?" Daryl brought me out of my reminiscence.

"No I wasn't. We barely knew each other. It was only 3 or so months."

"Yeah, 3 months." He spat bitterly. "Long enough."

It started to dawn on me, as I pieced together that night in the gym. Daryl was blaming me in the most heinous and egregious way. He stood up and threw his half full bourbon glass at the wall with everything he could put into it.

"Look at the pictures again dammit. LOOK AT THEM!" He screamed through me with all the vitriol he could muster.

I complied. "Look how happy he is on the dance floor, with his...whore. See that other picture? Pure devastation. You stupid bitches think a man who falls for you, can't tell the difference between your first best smile and everything else? It's been that way since the cavemen. In fact, they were better at it. They saw through brighter eyes."

"Robbie was right there at the table with me when Mac...asked me to dance. I didn't do anything wrong."

"Right. You keep believing that you self-centered bitch. It wasn't bad enough that you danced four songs with him, including slow dances. Then you fucking left with that bastard. Left with Robbie's arch enemy, Troy fucking MAC Donald."

The words stung hard and cut deep, as I made the connection. Mac was what we'd all called him then. As I looked up, to look at Daryl, I saw he was weary of this discussion, and for the first time since he brought me here, I feared for my life. Daryl, fell, rather than sa, back onto his chair and grabbed the bottle, drinking directly from it.

"You didn't even have the decency to tell your boyfriend you were leaving," Daryl said, much calmer now.

"That's not true." I sounded pathetic through my tears. "I looked for him. He was nowhere in the gym."

Daryl provided a sarcastic laugh, "He was in the boy's room, puking his guts out. A result of your first best smile and also where Mac had his hands."

We sat in reflective silence for several minutes. Daryl broke the quiet. "Why? Why did you do that to Robbie? What did he ever do to you to deserve that?"

"I...I don't know. I was the plain girl. Yes, I dated a jock. But he dumped me. My self-esteem was all over the place. Mac was the star quarterback. While we danced, he filled my head with things. He said I deserved this. One night where everyone we knew could see me leave with him. I told him I wanted it, but couldn't do that to Robbie. He laughed at that, then said if I really wanted to, I could go back to the him tomorrow, no hard feelings.

" Robbie was a true friend. He actually cared about me. We hadn't even have sex yet. I thought, I could have my one night and then I'd go back to Robbie and he'd understand. He'd know me, how I felt. Plain old, same old me. And I'd make it up to him. I was only a kid." I began to sob as the enormity overcame me. "Only he never talked to me again. Wouldn't take my calls, avoided me at all costs in school. A month later we'd both graduated and were on to bigger things."

Daryl wasn't finished with the proverbial knife though. "Ha, just a kid. It worked so well the first time, you decided to do the exact same thing to your husband? Looks like some people just never learn."

I had my face buried in my hands as reality washed over me like a wave on Maui's north shore. That thought sent a shiver down my spine. What if I'd done the same thing to Jim as I had to Robbie? Surely, he'd known by the next morning that it was all a set up. Our friends would have told him about the joke. Just a little fun. The pretense of an event with a capital E. Still, I hadn't come back, so I couldn't explain myself. So what if he took it like Robbie had? It was starting to dawn on me that I might have a lot of mending to do if and when I got home. How had I missed all this?

"Tell me something; I've been wondering. Did you have sex with Troy that night?" Daryl was much calmer now.

"No...I was...a virgin."

"So, no kissing? No blowjob?" he asked, as if already knowing the answer. I didn't give him one.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said. "Plus he bragged to anyone who'd listen that he got in your panties. So much for virtue."

I needed to know. Despite the horrible person he'd painted, this might be the moment that I could use to get free. "Why are YOU doing this? Sick revenge? How do you know I was the reason?"

"Ah, now we get to the rub. Okay, Linda. After the prom, Robbie was a mess for weeks. I stayed with him and helped him through it. He'd been there for me since second grade, as I told Larissa when she got pissed I wasn't spending enough time with her. I had to see it through. He was getting better, and was off to college in the fall. The job he had that summer at the grain mill, kept him very busy. That gave me more quality time with Larissa.

"Well, life took over. I spoke to Robbie often at school. He seemed well, at least somewhat normal. I was starting to feel some relief for him. Larissa and I got engaged our junior year. Robbie was my best man. He looked...fine.

Fast forward four years, and Larissa jumped into my arms after work one day, announcing we were pregnant. We were on top of the world. Two months later, my wife and unborn child were snuffed out needlessly by an eighteen- year- old flying high on meth." Daryl had severe pain behind his tears. His voice had gone down an octave, and the eye contact was gone.

"Now I was the one who was depressed. I reached out to my friend, only to find he was even in worse shape than me. Clinical. Maybe a relapse, maybe something happened in that last year of college. Regardless, he wasn't there, and I wasn't there. Eleven months later I got the call. They found him swinging from a rafter in his parents' basement. Needless to say, he never really got over you.

When I saw you at the funeral, I swore to myself, if I could ever hurt you, cause you some pain of any kind then I would, for Robbie."

I went to the small fridge to see if Daryl had been gracious in his wine purchasing endeavors. I guess we were on a budget. Bringing an empty glass, I asked for a shot of bourbon.

Daryl continued unsolicited. "Imagine my elation. The sheer irony of it all. I'm recruited by the NFL. Mark LaValliere's attorney drafts an employment contract for four years. High six figures later, and my engineering degree means nothing at all. I play my role in public. Deal with all the camera flashes. Walk into an engagement, security gives the all clear, I go behind the curtain, and out walks the legendary tight end.

"Money and plenty of women. I had it all, but I still thought often about my wife and my friend. Then one day, a friend calls and invites me to a meeting, when I might get paid to pull a prank. They show me your picture. My brain goes into overdrive. Here's my chance to set the world right. I'd already been siphoning off Marc's bank account, slowly so no one would notice. The contract renewal upcoming I was dreading, and I'd already banked nearly $3million,plus a little over a half mil I stole from Marc. He's probably missing the last withdrawal of $400K but I wrote a lot of smaller checks that, he'd never miss unless he audited his bank statement.

"Now I had a purpose. I felt like an avenger. A real life avenger. I suggested to your friends how we might do it at the club. Shit, it wasn't hard. All I had to do was remember the details from the prom. Actually, I convinced them to do it exactly as I laid it out. And of course, you and your stupid friends went right along. I was worried you'd recognize me, even with my shaved head. But then I realized, you already had it in mind that I was fantasy Marc. You'd be thinking and dreaming about that, and a high school acquaintance with a full head of hair wouldn't be on your radar.

"I was set to destroy you. Your husband and family were collateral damage and I felt bad about that at first. Then it dawned on me that he and your kids would be better off without you. Hell, everyone would be better off without you. You killed my friend, whether you meant to or not, as surely as if you'd put a gun to his head. I watched the look on your husband's face while we danced, when I wasn't playing the part of the seducer. He looked just like Robbie did. The difference was, your friends already had a plan to keep him at your table. I'm the one who held Robbie back. Second grade was one thing. Robbie was 5'7" maybe 5'8" and a buck fifty. Mac was big jock, over six feet, and had at least fifty pounds on Robbie. I didn't want to see him humiliated by you AND then beaten silly in front of our whole class. I decided you weren't worth the trouble."

It took me most of a week to get my head around all what Daryl had told me. Then the depression set in. I was a horrible person, and I'd ruined lives through my actions. The way he told the sordid story, I was entertaining doubt as to how Jim had reacted...was now reacting. Was some other woman providing comfort? One of the women from our small group of friends? Since they were co-conspirators, Jim had probably disowned them. How utterly stupid had I been?

And what kind of monster had I been to Robbie? Just a sensitive, kind boy who'd tried to help me. Soon, though, self-preservation returned to the forefront, and I put all of those things out of my mind. I couldn't control them after all. What I could control, was working on a way out of here. If nothing else, I had to somehow make amends for the things I'd done, people I'd hurt.

Daryl warmed to me after his identity was revealed. I can't take the credit for that. I think that his own guilt was more a factor than my play-acting the good little slave and captive. Of course, I still did that. I cooked, cleaned, and followed his every order. I never denied him my body. I never went asking, but I knew better than to turn him down. Faking orgasms became the norm. Without much difficulty, I became his wife of convenience, his woman in chains.

But, the more time passed, the more distant he'd become. After two years spending every single day all day together, I knew him well. I had a bad feeling he was tiring of this life of revenge, and yearned to move on. That wouldn't bode well for me, so I upped my efforts with the floor bolt.

The floor bolt was the center of gravity for my captivity, and now the center of all my attention. The only tools I had at my disposal were a butter knife and, I supposed, the cast iron skillet we cooked in. The latter would come in handy as my one and only weapon, but first, I'd need to get free. Nothing was going to alter or loosen the 3/8" chain link. The ankle brace attached to the chain was still tight, two years after losing weight all over my body. Daryl switched ankles every second or third day, depending.

That left the floor. Wood is softer and easier to manipulate than steel, or so I thought. I learned much later this floor was milled from the Ironwood tree that was indigenous to the Cayman Islands. The wood was so dense and heavy that it was one of only a few worldwide that sank in water.

My first attempts almost got me caught. If not for Daryl's melancholic moods, I'm sure he'd have noticed, and that would not have been good for me. Scraping the floor around the large bolt that I surmised went deep into the wood, and possibly a ledger below that, left marks that could be seen with the naked eye. Fortunately, I saw it early and had time to find a solution before Daryl returned. After trying and failing with oil, some cleaning supplies, and toiletry products, I found that lime juice soaking the wood hid the scratches best. Over the next few weeks, I used the juice from fresh limes, ripped up pieces of toilet paper, and my own spit on the wood shavings to hide my work. It took almost as long to patch up the floor to make it look flat and normal, as it did to chip away at it. Daryl was buying more limes at my request, passing it off as now being a craving in our meals.

My worst fear, besides being caught, was my meager progress. At the rate I was going, I feared I might run out of time. So time itself was now as much an enemy as Daryl. My captor was becoming more distant, easily agitated, and less eager to take me sexually. That combination made me shiver whenever I thought about it.

With more time alone in bed, I was left with my thoughts. Some nights those thoughts made me want to give up. Sure, it was easy to make excuses for my actions. We all do that without much introspection. He'd never really been my boyfriend, right? We'd only known each other three months. Surely we'd both known it wouldn't last past graduation. We'd never discussed being exclusive.

Then of course, societal issues crept in. All girls wanted, maybe deserved the prince-their knight in shining armor. To be the princess of the ball.

Every one of those excuses fell apart when I thought about what I'd done to my husband. Jim had been the perfect mate for the 12 years I'd known him; almost ten, we'd been man and wife. He was a great father. He loved our kids for sure, but he was also wise and able to care for them. I cried, remembering that I'd missed our ten year anniversary, bearing the brunt of extreme guilt knowing that I was the cause of my own absence.

Every night I fell down the rabbit hole, I arrived at the same conclusion: something was wrong with me. I had a thinking problem, perhaps even a mental problem, where I couldn't decipher the consequences of my actions, especially not the effects they had on the hearts and minds of others. There'd been no difference between Robbie and Mac, other than that Mac had been bigger, stronger and THE STAR quarterback. So in all honesty, it was about who I'd be seen with. Who would be gossiping about Mac and I the next several days. Talk about a Cinderella Complex, I thought. When I'd think about that, and the things I would need to do to fix myself, once free, it became almost too much. I'd always focus back to the situation at hand, which of course was earning my freedom.

Jim

My personal hell seemed to always be just around a corner, waiting to jump out at me. It was hard for me to believe, sometimes, that everyone else was healing, even though the evidence was all around me.

By that first Thanksgiving, since Linda's disappearance, Jane and Phil were already separated, and waiting for the final decree of their divorce. There was never a doubt, it had been hard on Jane, however Phil was in the rearview. Jane was already moving on. I admired her strength, and optimism, considering her future was so much up in the air.

Jane, and more specifically, her positive attitude, had been a godsend. It had taken some time for that to permeate into my heart. She never stopped being amazing. She still was. I wanted that same thing, yet there seemed to be a black hole, not within my heart, but somewhere outside, sucking all the joy from me.

Those meals on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays really helped me tremendously. All the positive energy of our kids' laughter, and raucous banter made me remember what happy felt like. We wouldn't even give the kids dessert until they came down a few notches on the excitement level. Jane and I would always retire to the living room and talk. Damn that woman loved to talk, about any and everything. Jane had better adapted than I, to be honest. On those evenings, I sometimes felt like this was my real family. Of course, I knew how silly that was, and yet I allowed the warm feelings to keep me outside my own head.

Her enthusiasm for a future whose details she wasn't even sure of inspired me. Sometimes, it made me skeptical, but I knew in those times, it was just the darkness seeking its way back in.

I'd spoken to Ellen about her often, more than often, truth be told. I talked about the fear, the hesitance, and even the disbelief that everyone else was really doing better. I tried to explain how, unlike Jane, I couldn't feel optimistic for a future that I couldn't actually see. Maybe it was hesitance. As a result, I'd just been trudging along on the edge of an abyss.

Ellen would state simply, and to distraction, "Life goes on, Jim." It seemed so simple. I just wasn't getting it.

I also told her about me and Jane - or, more precisely, the lack of a "me and Jane." We'd never made it to bed together. It was no slight against her. She was charming, witty, and beautiful. She was loyal. She was keeping me from falling into the abyss. I could frame it as fear, guilt, or hesitance and I tried to sometimes, during our sessions. Ellen saw through it. I finally admitted to myself that Jane just wasn't right. Even though I couldn't see what my future was, I knew what it wasn't. It wasn't "me and Jane." We'd become great friends. Wistfully, that's what we would probably always be.

Ellen, on the other hand was very clinical in her approach to me. I'd thought, we were either very much alike, or she was incredibly good at her job. We often found ourselves in carefree discussions after the sessions. There were also the occasional light touches on the arm. When that happened, Ellen would immediately slip back into professional mode.

Christmas came, and it was complicated but good for me. The kids and I had split up our time between the grandparents, Jane and her kids, and surprisingly, Ellen and her daughter, Meagan. Extra gifts, more dinners, four trips at least to see the neighborhood light show on Candy Cane were even a better distraction than my weeknights with Jane. They ate up all the time I would've spent wallowing. For a few weeks, I simply didn't have time to get in my own way.

It all came together: Jane, the kids, the dinners, the talks, the drinks, and the therapy. Something clicked. Something mended. On January 10, after an extremely upbeat counseling session, I'd fumbled over the words.

"Um, Ellen? Would you like to...I mean, could I...take you out to dinner sometime?" I'd swallowed hard waiting for the obligatory professional rejection. But she'd surprised me. It wasn't the darkness coming around that corner again. It was heavenly.