Shandrease Cushionberry



The Water Closet Kidnapping

 

I wiped a tear that had fallen on my cheek bone.  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.  I was supposed to be the one in control.  This was my last chance to take my life back.  You know how it is when you are just fed up?  Well this time I am done.  Now, this has been said before, but I am serious this time. I am getting out of this relationship as soon as he lets me out of this bathroom, the police show up, or he kills me.  Either way I want out, by any means necessary. 

           He is like plaster.  I am like water.  Our chemistry produces heat and we harden.   I could see the veins popping out of his neck, his eyes became glossy, and his pupils turned the color of a raven.  He leaned in towards me and whispered, “I am not letting you go until you say you will be with me.”

            Shaking my head in disbelief I hissed, “Enough is enough, I’m done with you.”

            His hands began to shake, “I will kill you before I let you leave me.  I will kill both of us in here.  Do you hear me?” he said.

            I rolled my eyes.  He is so pathetic.  Even when he is wrong he insists on going to extreme measures to make me think I am crazy.  Well I am not crazy.  “You disgust me!” I yelled.

His eyes watered, and a single tear slid from his cheek to a crease in his neck.  “Do you want me to kill myself? Angel?! Answer me.” 

Ughhh! I thought to myself, frustrated that I allowed myself to end up here. Had it  been a year ago the guilt trip would have worked flawlessly, but not now.  Now it was just old.  If he was going to kill us he would have done it by the thirty sixth-time that he said it.

Without looking at him I reminisced about our relationship the good, the bad, and the worst.  Too much damage had been done, too much blatant disrespect.   Using my mind to escape, I drifted off letting my imagination take me anywhere but here; anyplace but with him. I was on the beach.  The sun was hot, the sand was hot, but the breeze was cool.  It whipped across my face like silk.

“Do you hear me?”

 I ignored him and started to think, maybe I was crazy. Only a crazy person would have stayed with him after the first time he smacked me.  What was his excuse that time?  I’ve never done that before.  I’m sorry; I’ll never do it again.  Yea right. 

Back then, I just cried. I didn't want to live anymore!  How pathetic of me.

That only made him madder, and now every chance he gets he threatens to take my life or his own, sometimes both.  So I guess I am crazy, but I am not deaf.  I know exactly what I heard.  I thought back to earlier in the day, to the events that had led me here.  I had picked up my phone expecting to hear a,“Hey baby.” Or a, “What you doing?”

Instead I heard moans, filthy, deceitful moans of pleasure.  My stomach churned, my heart burned and my hands began to shake.  The only thing on my mind was to show him.  I am not sure exactly what I wanted to show him, but I wanted the tables to be turned.  I did not want to play the victim anymore.  I drove over to his house, my body trembling with the devil's rage the entire time. 

When I got to the front door it was unlocked.  There was no turning back now.  I pushed through the parade of people drinking and partying, who were completely unaware of my presence, and made my way upstairs hopeful but scared of what I might find.  I was too late.  I should have known his moans only lasted seven minutes tops.  By the time I got there the deed was done.  I found him in the hallway leaning on the stairwell with his accomplice close by, too close for my comfort.  Without reasoning, I pushed her out of the way.  Her frail body went flying against the wall.  Bamm.  I didn’t know my own strength.  I watched as she slid down the wall, daring her to take me on; but she didn’t.  I returned my attention to him.  He was in complete shock.  I had him right where I wanted.  I held the power in my hand—a clenched fist with no intentions to loosen my grip.  I pushed him with every fiber of me.  I pushed him for all of the times he called me a bitch, the countless times he hit me, for all of the times he cheated on me.  I punched him one time for every time he gave me an STD, every miscarriage he caused, and every abortion he forced me to have.  Never had I been so livid by one person’s actions.  Before I knew it I had forced him to his bedroom and he was lying there, stunned on the bed.

Instantly,  I picked up weights that were lying on the floor.  Almost without effort I hurled them at his head, and missed.  At that moment I lost the power.  I was defeated.  He swooped me up, threw me over his shoulder, rushing in to the bathroom and locked the door.  He had blocked my exit.

“Let me out.” I screamed

After the first hour of pleading for him to free me and banging on the door for someone to rescue me, I gave up.  I sat on the floor crushed  in my mind and no longer caring which one of us died in his bathroom. “Tell me the truth.  I know you slept with her.”  With every lie I knew I was closer and closer to my breaking point.  That thin line of no return was in my sight and I was sprinting towards it at full force.

I know what I heard!

“Baby I have and never will cheat on you.  You have to believe me.  I love you.” His eyes melted like marshmallows in hot chocolate.

But I knew better.  “Does the word Chlamydia mean anything to you?” 

Shaking my shoulders he said, “I told you I went to the clinic I’m clean.

I could never get him to admit to any of his wrong doings.  He was the only person I had ever been with but he almost had me believe that I had given him something.  He had a way of doing that.  They way he turned things around on me, leaving me feeling guilty and having me apologize was remarkable.  I stood and gave him a standing ovation. “You are the best actor I have ever seen.”

Pleading with me, he said, “What do I have to do?”  The way he pretends to be weak all the while preying on my weakness infuriates me.  I am not stupid, I am not deaf and I am not crazy! I said as I tried to convince myself. 

My mind went back again, taking me back to my first reaction after the phone call.  In my mind I was back at home retrieving the gun from my father’s dresser.  He kept it loaded, at the very top of the dresser.  I had to stand on the dresser just to get it.  It remained completely out of sight.  I felt around for it, it was cold, and if he caught me he would have killed me himself before I even made it here.  A part of me wished daddy had caught me.  Then I would not be here.

“Angel!”  His words snapped me out of my daze, and I realized I had the gun pointed at him.

“Tell the truth.  For once in your worthless life, be honest." I said.

I knew he wouldn’t.  I wanted him to.  I knew what I heard, but he would lie to the death of him, literally.  Laughing at me he reached for the gun.  The smirk on his face taunted me.  There was a struggle.  My body hit the wall and then his hit the sink.  I lost my balance, and we both lost balance, yet neither of us lost focus.  We both wanted to be in control, and then it unloaded, Bang... Bang.....Bang. 

 


   Copyright  © 2013 Shandrease Cushionberry

 
 
Shandrease Cushionberry is an author, poet and online business owner (www.shopherheels.com.) Presently, she attends Southern New Hampshire University as a Creative Writing Major. Cushionberry’s short story, "Little Black Girl," was recently published in The Penmen Review. She lives in New Jersey with her two daughters and husband and is currently working on a novel inspired by her family.