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“I’m teaching you a lesson,” I say as I walk past him standing in his underpants. I make my way over to one of the metal lockers and I take out an iron bar with my good arm, impressed with the meth staving off any pain I expected to tear at my ribs from holding the weight of it in my hand.
“Come on, Julissa. This isn’t necessary. I know you’re afraid of your feelings for me but you don’t have to do this,” he begs, backing away from me.
“Don’t let me chase you around this fucking room, what do I look like? Stand still,” I say.
“Why would I do that? I don’t want you to fucking murder me like you did to them,” he says.
“Who said anything about murdering you? You want to know about my feelings for you so I think the best way to let you know how I feel for you is to show you, right? Isn’t that what you want?” I ask.
He takes off running. “You know, you’re not making this any easier for yourself, Snow. Where are you going to run to? Are you just going to keep running around in circles hoping that we’ll both tire each other out? Is that what you’ll do?” I ask as I start to move toward him. He starts running in the other direction. If this were a day when I didn’t have potentially broken ribs, I’d humor him. I’d chase the fucker and it would make kill him even sweeter but my body doesn’t feel like my own right now. Even numbed, I can feel my bones shift against themselves and I’m standing in the room with the reminders of why that is.
I look at the proof of betrayal before me and I watch this damn perverted criminal run around the room after disrespecting me by confessing his feelings for me, disgusting me with the fact that he even thinks I’d consider it! What kind of a person have I painted myself to be so that he’d assume that my standards and morals are in the gutter? Even the gutter is too good a place for him. His confession about his feelings only makes me feel that much worse about myself, more disappointed, as if I’ve failed in my efforts to create the person I want to be. And I’m seething. All he’s doing is aggravating me more.
I work out the tension in my neck, straightening my torso to smooth out my crinkled ribs and I walk back toward the metal locker where I retrieve a massive handgun. “Stop running,” I say. My voice just sounds exhausted. I raise the gun toward him. “You can either live or die today because I’m this close to putting me out of my misery by eradicating your ass like a fucking epidemic. So, if you want to fucking live, you’ll stand still because I promise you, I’m a pretty good shot.” I fire a bullet at the side of his head for evidence of my claim.
He freezes and I start walking toward him again, preparing myself for him to start running again but he doesn’t. As I get close to him, realizing that he’s not running anywhere, I swing the iron bar, hitting him in the ribs so that we’re matching, how cute.
I pile on the beatings until his skin is filled with abrasions and wales mirroring the shape of the bar. I keep hitting him below the pecs and in his back as he falls over bawling and yelping as each blow is repeated in the same spots. When I’m satisfied, I fling the bar to the floor and it clunks in an echo beside me. “Wash yourself off, get dressed and get your ass back on that street. I can’t have you in the fucking casinos after all tonight. You’re only fit for a fuck in the gutter. High paying clients ain’t gonna pay for a bruised fucker unless they’re the ones to cause the bruising.”
When he doesn’t move to get to his feet. I pick my foot up to kick him in his shattered ribs when he reels back and juts his hands out. “Okay, okay. I’m getting up. Please. Don’t,” he says.
“Hurry up, I don’t have all fucking night.” I scowl.
“Can you help me?” he asks, holding his arm out and I scoff.
“Do I look like your fucking nurse? Don’t be a little bitch. Come on, get your ass up. Now!” I demand, tapping my foot in impatience.
I watch as he struggles, getting to his knees before breathing hard against the pain in his ribs, bent over on his hands. He closes his eyes and bites his lip, suppressing a groan as he brings himself to his feet with a shudder. He starts to make his way over to me and I look at him in amusement wondering what the fuck he thinks he can do to me in this state.
His hand comes up fast, surprising me as he cradles my face. I’m stunned as I stare at him, pushing past the pain to speak. I’m shocked he can even stand to be honest. I know I told him to but I didn’t expect that he would. “I know why you’ve done this,” he says with tears in his eyes. I look at him with fake emotion, fake pity. “I get it and you can do whatever you want to do to me, it won’t change how I feel.”
I fling his arm away from my face, swiping at my own face in disgust as tears well up in my own eyes. I’m overcome with nausea at the realization that I failed in my attempt to get him to hate me. The fucker’s sick and obsessed. I think he’s found a way to normalize all of this abuse and why wouldn’t he? This kind of shit is normal to him. Why did I ever think forcing him to have sex would be punishment for him? And how could I have enjoyed it? I’m grossed out as I storm out of the room, waiting until he exits to shut the door behind him. Secured in the knowledge that the recruits won’t bear witness to the dead bodies locked away in there, I storm away from him, instructing a few recruits to see to it that he’s showered and dressed before I leave the facility. I don’t care to go back to the streets to oversee anything anymore. I’ve had enough of this shit.
Chapter 32
Julissa
I’mstandinginfrontof my bathroom mirror in my bra and panties with a makeup wipe pressed onto my face as I attempt to drag my skin off with the make-up. I stare into the eyes of the person I’ve grown to hate the most, repulsed by my image. I had dreams coming back here and they were so grand, so fucking monumental. I gave up the potential for a life of love for this because I thought I’d be changing the world for the better but the reality is so far from that dream. It’s a lot more than disappointing, it’s disgusting knowing that in my efforts to do something to reverse this fucked up system, I only became it in the process. I spent so much time creating an organization that I thought would kick ass only for me to fail, still, being betrayed by ones I’ve grown to trust, the majority of which I risked my life to save.
And I’d do it again, save them, I mean, not because they asked me to but because I give a shit. But what difference does it make in the grand scheme of things? I’ve built this whole fucking shitshow to prevent something that’s still happening under my fucking nose, punishing pimps while having one of them enjoy the fucking punishment and even worst, engaging in fucking him so much that I enjoyed it myself?! If I could cut my fucking skin off, I would. I cry for Selena and her betrayal. I’m exhausted by emotion, running out of reasons to keep going. This is all a fucking sham. It serves no purpose. Selena was right. The only thing it feeds is my delusion to feel as if I’m doing something but I’m not and, in the process, I’m becoming someone I can’t bear to be around. And the rest of the recruits, the honest ones, they’ll be fine without me. It’s evident that I’ve trained them well.
So that’s it then. I give up. Plain and simple. I’m worth nothing if I’m just a monster without a purpose, just like them. I’d rather die than be anything like the people I’ve sought to destroy but that’s who I am. And just like I would get rid of them, I guess it’s my time to go. So if they want my head, they can have it or at least, they can try to take it. I’ll offer it up to them but not on a silver platter. If I’m going to go down, I want to take a few of them down with me in the process, so they’ll have a fight on their hands.
I pull myself away from the reflection of my body, about twenty pounds lighter than I was a few months ago and take a pull on the cursed meth pipe, another reminder of how far I’ve fallen. My eyes roll back in my head as I suck in as much of it as my body can take, lacking self-control and I sigh, waiting for it to settle before I leave the bathroom and get dressed in a pair of black slacks and a hoodie, grabbing a bag from my bedroom and heading toward all my weapons where I load a fucking carryon up with everything; I’m talking hand grenades, the sniper rifles, machine guns and pistols. The whole shebang.
I’m super alert, shivering with how good the hit dances through my blood, lifting the weight of my self-loathing off my back. In fact, I can’t feel anything but the need to fuck shit up and the exhilaration to get it started as soon as I can.
To sweeten the deal, I grab a pen and a piece of paper to write an announcement letter to the press.
Dear fuckers of Las Vegas,
Especially Evelina. I hear you’ve been looking for me and I guess your search is over because I’m challenging you to a battle. As many of you that can take me on are welcome to try.
Law enforcement, I’m coming for you too bitches. And the government?! Oh my goodness! If you’ve been wondering what’s happened to a few of your people who just ‘mysteriously disappeared’, I’ll just say, don’t expect them back. ;-)
Let’s see who’ll find me first. Catch me if you can fuckers.
Xo,
