The Poison Morality (29 page)

“I was fourteen.  By then, Declan had been giving me looks but he always seemed creepy to me so I thought nothing of it.  I was like any normal kid I guess.  I did my homework, stayed in my room, read a lot, and hung out with my friends, you know, normal things.  The only difference was mum and Declan ignored me as much as I ignored them.

One day, I came home from school and went straight up to my room as usual.  I didn’t know he was there until he shut the door; he had been waiting for me there.  He had that look; you know that predator look when they’re hungry, head low, body taught.  He strolled up to me and I was too scared to move.  Until he,” nervously, she fidgeted with a button on his shirt, sliding it in and out of the button hole.  It was affecting him but he didn’t stop her, “his hand moved down my side and he said ‘getting to be a woman now,’ and I afraid of what he might do.”

“I pushed his hand away and told him not to touch me, I opened my mouth to scream and he grabbed my neck.  When he saw I was scared, he smiled this self-satisfied smirk and licked his lips and kissed me, wet sloppy kisses all over my face, I couldn’t turn my head but I resisted as much as I could.  His grip got tighter the harder I struggled and he just held me down on the bed by my throat and let me fight,” she stopped playing with the button and clutched his shirt, remembering.  Oliver put his hand on hers, holding it, letting her squeeze it, using it as an indicator, “kicking, hitting, squirming, pushing all the while just looking down at me…waiting.  I don’t know how long it took for me to exhaust but once I did, he,” she would rather tell him anything but what she was about to say.

“He tugged at my clothes and ripped off my underwear and he,” her nails bit into his hand, “pushed just inside me and stopped when I cried out.  He looked surprised to find out I was still a virgin, stunned really and then he pushed deeper, forcing.  I tried to push him away, I thought if I didn’t at least try to then he would do more or worse.”

“It hurt more than I can say.  When he was done, he went in my bathroom and washed the blood off and I lay there bleeding on the sheets, crying, sick from what he had done and sick from the smell of the blood.”  Sensing the tension in her body, Oliver rubbed her back, she relaxed and continued.  “Every muscle was sore for days.   I didn’t go to school for three days because I could barely move.”  The liquid courage was beginning to wear off.  Reaching out her hand to take his glass, he handed it to her, helping her hold it when her hand shook too much.

After a few minutes she yawned and continued, “Where did I leave off?”  Her body was melting into him, the tension leaving, and the words poured out of her passively now.

“How long did this go on for,” already she had told him the answer the night she was drunk but he used it to prompt her to continue.

“Off and on, for three years he did it.  There were times when I didn’t see him at all.  There are whole chunks I don’t really remember.  I figured out he liked it when I struggled so I stopped, just lying there.  Fortunately, he didn’t want anything kinky, just straight sex, sometimes he would use his fingers instead but that was it.

Then, I started finding gifts from him, jewellery, electronics, a computer, all kinds of things.  He was paying me and I accepted the gifts.  I saw them more as apologies than what they really were, which was more like bribes.

After about a year, I had lost interest in school, my friends didn’t like me anymore, I didn’t blame them.  It wasn’t possible to forget what happened at home when I was with them.  I stayed out as much as I could.  Going into London and walking the parks, choosing my special places.”

“Tell me about your special places,” he said, giving her a break from thoughts of Declan, “are they still your special places?”

“Some of them,” he could feel her smile against his chest, her nails tickling the top of his hand.  “I used to go to The British Museum when it wasn’t crowded, Dean’s Yard at Westminster Abbey, I used to sneak on some of the boats in Little Venice when the nights were getting cold, and I still go to my favourite place in Regent’s Park.  Anyway, I stayed out as long as I could, adapt to the cold, scouting places to live, checking job boards.  I had a plan to go but I didn’t know how to go about it, really.”

“One day, he grabbed my breasts and it hurt, I slapped his hands away.  I had put on a little weight but I thought it was from too many chips,” she chuckled, he squeezed her shoulder affectionately.  “Sometimes I was a little nauseous but I never felt good anymore so it seemed being sick was the only way to be by then.  He asked me, and I thought I would die of embarrassment, ‘when did you last have a period?’ It had always been light and unreliable anyway so I thought nothing of it.  I knew what he was getting at, I was naïve but not completely ignorant and I was trying to remember, he got agitated and shouted.  ‘Last month?   Month before?  When?’  I just shook my head no and I didn’t know what to do if I was pregnant, by him of all people.  That thought alone made me ill, so ill I couldn’t see but he had a solution.

He moved so quickly I didn’t even have time to respond and he grabbed my arm and punched me so hard, here,” she put Oliver’s hand on her lower abdomen, where it stayed, “I came up off my feet and collapsed doubled over.  I felt bones pop, I couldn’t breathe, I thought I was going to throw up, my head pounded, and I thought, he’s killed me, this is it.  Then he did something odd,” Sophie shifted, wanting to see Oliver’s face now, “he touched my cheek,” she touched Oliver’s cheek with the back of her fingers, “and whispered ‘sorry’, while I coughed and sputtered when a different kind of pain shot through me.  I started crying, I knew what it was and I knew what he had done.  He said ‘I’ll tell your mum you’re sick, shall I?’”

Pushing up, she sat on the edge of the couch, he sat beside her.  Her hands clasped together, her elbows on her thighs, she rested her forehead, rubbing it with her thumbs, and eyes closed remembering.  “Mum took me to hospital and after a lot of pain and a lot of blood they all looked at me accusingly.  This awful look and I heard what they were telling mum, who could hardly stand upright from all the booze.  They thought,” her chin trembled, breathing deeply, she pushed the tears down.  “They thought I did it to myself, to get rid of it.  That’s when I told mum, what I told you already.”  Oliver knew that this was the thing that hurt the most.  She accepted what he did, absorbed the thoughts of the understanding that they shared, a gift for sex but until he abused the person inside her, that was a pain that would not heal.

“I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the blackened bruise and the cuts bleeding down my leg, and what they meant.  I became numb then.  Numb to the pain, numb to the misery, numb to the smell of blood.  I made a vow that once the bruising disappeared, so would I.  I sold everything I could find, the gifts, mum’s jewellery.  I stole from them both.  I hoarded necessities and hid them in a drainage hole at the end of the street.  By the time the bruise turned yellow, I found a room to rent, I had a minimum wage job and I left.”

Then came the moment of truce when she looked at him to see the expression, it would reveal what she needed to know and she saw not pity, not sympathy but hurt, the edge of his eyes red.  “Eventually,” she said, “the money ran out.”

She was nervous when he didn’t speak for several minutes but she was relieved that he knew and he could do what he wanted and embracing her, she fell onto his chest, he kissed the top of her head and just held her, rocking her gently until she fell asleep, only shifting when he lay on the couch, taking her with him until morning.

He woke her when his breathing changed from the shallow rhythm of deep sleep to the deep breath and yawning of being awake.  She stirred but they both lay there, not saying anything just relishing the moment.  She remembered fully what she divulged and then recalled that he had something to show her. 

Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she looked up at him, already smiling at her.  “Now it’s your turn, what did you want to show me?”

Sighing the smile dropped, his hand haphazardly resting on the top of her head while he stared into the distance, “Breakfast first.”

It was hard to eat when obviously what he was going to show her bothered him more than her confession.  Now she was even more nervous but knew there was no point in asking him anything until he was ready to show her.

They barely spoke and after clearing the dishes, he motioned for her to put her coat on.  She followed, reminding herself of his words, done, once and for all.

Sophie stood in the doorway and stared blankly at the figure lying in the bed.  If it wasn’t for the raspy sound coming from her, Sophie would have thought the person was already dead for several days.

Oliver’s gentle nudging made her feet move; numbness had taken over her mind and body except for the nervous tingling that radiated through her nerves.  She held her breath, trying to be as still as possible not wanting to wake her.  How was looking at a sick person going to help eliminate bad memories for good?   This isn’t anything like what she thought he was going to show her, to look at a woman on her death bed.

“Why did you bring me here,” Sophie whispered, brows knitted together in bewilderment.  Oliver could tell by the look on her face she didn’t recognize her own mother.  Damn, he thought, he should have told her.  In hindsight, he realized the wise thing would have been to warn her first and let her make the choice before she came to see her.  He reprimanded himself for yet another foolish decision where these women were concerned.

Walking behind her, he leaned over to whisper in her ear, “It’s your mum, Sophie, Mariella.  She won’t recover, she’s dying,” his voice faded like he was speaking in another part of the room but she could still feel him behind her.  How can this be her?  A lifetime of excess in smoking and alcohol had definitely taken its toll but she always, as far back as she could remember, at least tried to hide the fact that she was a lush outside her own house.  Now there was no lipstick, no painted nails, and no hairdo, in fact, the hair that was there was grayish and wispy.  There was nothing there but the remainder of a lifetime of hatred and sadness wrapped around a skeleton about to collapse into itself.

Her own feelings of hatred dissolved into pity for the woman who was no longer her mother, the alcoholic, chain smoker who ignored her daughter’s needs in exchange for the love of a man who didn’t love her back.  Now, she was a lonely soul, hovered on the brink of death, paying the price for a life wasted and empty.  “Is this why you had me tell you what Declan did?  Because mum was here?  How long has she been here?” 

He was prepared for her agitation.  “A long time but I swear to you I didn’t know until the other day who she was.  You can leave now, but this will be your last chance to speak to her, if you want,” she could barely hear Oliver whispering even though he was speaking right into her ear. The room spun for a minute, her knees shook and she must have teetered because Oliver’s hands on her arms steadied her.  Shaking her head in disbelief, she tried to back away but Oliver held fast to her. 

Mariella coughed and opened her eyes.  She stepped to the side and Oliver let go of her, but the absence in Mariella’s dark eyes froze her to the spot.  When the light filtered in through the window, Mariella’s eyes became wide in recognition and her trembling hand reached for Sophie.  If she ever saw her again, she thought, there would be yelling and fighting not whispering and deterioration.

“Mum,” Sophie acknowledged her in a small voice, reaching out to her but when Mariella replied….

“Sydney,” she rasped a fragile smile on her lips.  Sophie’s hand dropped to the side again.

“No Mariella,” he said firmly, “this is Sophie.”  The familiarity with which Oliver used her name was bizarre.  There was some kind of bond between them where she and Sophie hadn’t spoken in years.  It seemed right that the only way she came back into her life was through an illness but coincidental that Oliver would be the catalyst for their reunion.

“Oh, yes of course,” the smile faded, “I’m still alive then.”  It was more of a statement than a question.

Sophie closed her eyes to keep the room from spinning and darkness filled her head again.  Her mouth was suddenly dry.  She felt like she was falling but she must not be because Oliver’s hand on her shoulder still connected her to the present until she felt nothing anymore.

Oliver kept his hand on her ready to catch her or pull her back if need be.  Her expression gave nothing away of what she was thinking or how she felt.  Suddenly, her spine stiffened and she stepped forward but she did not take the hand that Mariella offered. 

Mariella, with the little strength that she had left, was able to lift herself slightly, shaking under her own weight, she grabbed Sophie’s hand but she jerked it back like it had been plunged into fire.

Mariella slumped back on the bed, spent.  “So,” she began breathless, “you don’t forgive me then?”  Her hand had dropped across her stomach and her eyes closed for a couple of seconds and when she got no answer, she opened them again, the whites jaundiced yellow but the irises still piercing dark.  “The reason you came, to see that I got what you think I deserved.”  It was more of a statement than a question.

“Why should you be forgiven,” her eyes narrowed accusingly.  The harshness of her voice surprised Oliver and he stayed nearby not sure what Sophie might do. 

“Why would I forgive
you
,” Mariella stubbornly adjusted herself and continued her thought with a sigh, “Don’t misunderstand me.  I didn’t ask for it and I wasn’t expecting it.”  Wincing, she settled back into the pillows and her emaciated frame sunk into them.  “The hell I’m in, I created, because my love lasted forever when in reality it faded away or was sabotaged by you.”

“So letting him do that to me was some kind of revenge for you,” she paused, searching for a feeling, “because of the both of you I feel nothing.  Your indifference and his abuse made me numb.”
It was an abrasive tone, a deep timbre in her voice he had not heard her use before, it was sure and unwavering.

“You’re a liar,” Mariella coughed, “And you don’t get a chance to enact your revenge on me, I’ll be gone soon but you will hate me until the day
you
die,” she sputtered, wheezing.  “Scream at me, if you want,” the air escaped her lungs as she forced the words out. “I can see it in your eyes so tell me,” she let the words linger heavy in the air until she could go on, panting.  “You despise me, you hate me, anything if for no other reason than I can go to my grave knowing I am right.”  The words came out strained.

She stepped forward but Oliver kept her back.  “Right about what?” 

“That you have been just as miserable as I have and trust me,” she chuckled slightly, “I lost more than you ever could.”

She jerked her arm out of Oliver’s hand and leaned over to be face to face with Mariella and spoke quietly yet clearly. “I hate to disappoint you, but I have chosen better than you ever chose for yourself.” Oliver stepped up behind her as she stood up again, placing both hands gracefully on her shoulders to confirm what she was saying.  Mariella’s yellowed eyes looked at both of them and a single tear rolled down her temple.

Oliver watched as she turned slowly, she leaned into him and whispered in his ear, “If you brought me here for permission to speed her journey then do it.”  Then turning on her heel she walked out.

“Damn you,” he cursed Mariella, she laughed bitterly.  It wasn’t the speech she said she would give but was he really surprised?

Leaning on the wall outside the room, eyes closed, she felt his breath on her face, “Are you alright?”

“I’m not sure, I just need a minute,” she said.  She was dizzy and her knees gave out from under her.  Oliver caught her but instead of pulling her upright, assisted her to sit in the floor, her elbows resting on her knees, her head in her hands.  There was nothing he could do or say to make her feel different than she had to feel in that moment. 

All Sophie thought now when she saw Mariella was nothing more than ‘that can’t be me’, maybe all along she had a fear that she would turn out like her mother but now, looking at Oliver, she knew there was no way that was possible.  “I can never be like that.”

“No,” he agreed, surprised that was a concern he didn’t know she had and that was the most she got out of the visit.

Tilting her head against the wall, relieved, she smiled at Oliver and he took her hand, thankful she took the whole episode so lightly and he could tell he did the right thing.  One burden at least had been lifted off Sophie’s shoulders and his but…

“There’s more,” he pulled the picture of the twins out of his pocket, crouching beside her, “I found this at her flat, and it’s the same as the one at your flat.  I asked her if she left it there, she said she didn’t,” Sophie didn’t look at the picture but looked at him her expression telling him she wanted no more as he spoke.  “And I believe her.”

After a few minutes of contemplation, “Let’s go to a pub and drink some wine until we both feel better.  Let’s forget about her,” Oliver said, “it’s all over let us move on, move forward with our life with nothing hanging over us.”

Sophie liked the idea of it but didn’t know if what he wanted to achieve was really what happened.  Good food and good wine was his answer to everything.  Sophie lingered by the door for a minute thinking.  Sophie wondered if Oliver would do for Mariella what he had done for others but she didn’t want to talk about it.  Not that Sophie wanted her to die necessarily but that the misery of Mariella’s whole life was done and Sophie felt peace about it.