The Rabid: Fall (14 page)

19

Day turns to night. I’m not sure how much time passes; everything seems to blend together when you’re trapped inside your own head.

The door swings open and in walks Guy; the two guards that have been watching me throughout the day are at his back. He’s carrying a suit on a black hangar, complete with boutonnière. He looks me over and shakes his head, frowning with disappointment. “I had high hopes for you, my boy. I told you, didn’t I? Daddy Trask knows best.”

“I try to consider the source when taking advice.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means I don’t take life advice from a guy that looks like a Happy Days reject.”

“What’s Happy Days?” He turns to the two men beside him; they both shrug, just as clueless as he is. Guy squares his shoulders and throws the suit onto the bed. “Say what you will…but it looks like I’m having a happier day than you.” It’s a pathetic recovery, but I’m not going to push my luck, not when I’m handcuffed and my friends are being held as collateral.

“Let’s get on with it. I’m assuming the suit is for me.”

“I’m going to unlock those cuffs and you’re going to put it on. Any funny business and they drop you, Trask has instructed us to use any force we deem necessary. We clear?”

“Yeah, let’s just get this over with.”

He undoes my cuffs and then stands back with the others, watching me.

“Can I get some privacy, fellas?”

“Nope. Daddy Trask’s orders, we’re not to let you out of our sight.”

There goes my plan: hide by the door, attack when they come back in to check on me. I know, it’s not the most sophisticated tactic, but I’m scraping the barrel.

***

The streets are dark, cold, and empty.

“Where is everyone?”

Guy stays two steps behind me, to my right. “They’re all waiting on you, the man of the hour. The wedding is a…compulsory event.”

“I know how they feel.”

“It’s not really a bad deal; I don’t get all your belly aching. You’ll get to be big man on campus. Plus, Lydia is a great girl. I had a thing for her for awhile, you know that?”

“This must really be pissing you off then.”

“How so?” There’s that insecurity again; another nerve touched.

“How long did you work on her? Here I come, out of nowhere, and I close the deal in less than three days. You’ve got to be asking yourself all sorts of questions.
What’s wrong with me
?
Am I too short
?
Too wide
?
Maybe it’s my ridiculously large hair
?”

“You’ve got a big mouth, you know that?” I can practically feel the heat radiating from his face. I’m surprised he doesn’t crack me over the back of the head. “You know, fellas, I’ve been thinking. Since our good friend Tim is getting married, he doesn’t need that whore anymore. What do you say we head on over there tonight and throw a few shots into her?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Count me in.”

I breathe in deep, trying to calm my racing heart. “I want you to know something, Guy.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“I’m going to kill you, very soon. I’m going to stand over you and watch you die.”

They all laugh, loud.

“I’ll be on the lookout. Now move your ass, your bride awaits.” Guy gives me a kick in the back and sends me sprawling onto my hands and knees.

I remain there, collecting myself, calming my temper. A smile creeps over my lips as I imagine what it’s going to be like to watch the final breath leave his lungs. Grasping firmly to the promise of pleasures to come, I stand and continue on.

***

The wedding is set to take place in Ronald’s backyard. There are two clusters of chairs, covered in white linen, separated by a narrow carpet made of red velvet. There are lanterns on hooks and white lights strung through the trees. There are a couple of distinguished-looking gentleman playing soaring love ballads on a pair of violins and a viola.

The guests sit like mannequins, grins glued to their stupid faces. They shake my hand as I move up the aisle, heads bobbing. Ronald is waiting for me at the end of the aisle, standing on a wooden platform, holding a fat Bible to his chest. He’s watching me close, alert to every step I take, every handshake I accept, looking for any crack in the foundation, for anything that falls outside the boundaries he’s established for this little ruse.

For Katia.

For Sonny.

At the front of the aisle, I turn and face the plastic crowd.

Ronald’s hand clamps down on my shoulder. “You’re doing well, son.”

“It’s amazing what you can accomplish when there’s a gun to your head.”

His grip tightens. “You keep that image front and center when my baby comes walking down the aisle. When you say
I do
, you better make her believe it.” He slaps me on the back and straightens up.

The violins kick up and the strings begin to weep the Wedding March.

Mendelssohn, 1842
.

I once performed a wedding themed, interpretive piece with a middle school classmate; she was dressed as the bride and I was dressed as the groom. No one clapped and some parents complained that it was inappropriate for children. That’s how I’ll make it through this; I’ll pretend. It’s just dress up. I just have to make it through the piece and let the curtains fall, then I can make my move.

Lydia exits the back of the house and begins making her way up the aisle.

Subjectively, she’s beautiful: thick blonde curls falling across her shoulders, pearl-covered dress clinging to her figure, porcelain skin, blue eyes peering out at me from beneath a thin veil.

Objectively, she’s a viper.

She smiles as she approaches. I smile back. My stomach rolls. The corners of my mouth ache from the strain. As she gets close, I can see the moisture in her eyes.

Holy shit, she’s crying
.
This is real to her
.

She stands in front of me, clinging to her bouquet with one hand and using the other to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Heavens, I’m a mess.”

Ronald leans over, lifts her veil, and kisses her on the cheek. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She tucks the handkerchief away and takes my hand. “You look so handsome.”

“I uh…thank you, you look, um…you look beautiful.” Just touching this crazy bitch makes me want to take a shower, but having to tell her she’s beautiful on top of it requires an otherworldly level of self-discipline.

Ronald starts the ceremony. Two sentences in and I drown him out. I stare into Lydia’s eyes, but I’m not present. All I can see and hear is Katia, bleeding and broken, lying in the street, calling out for me.

“Tim, did you hear me?” Ronald sounds irritated.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry…I got lost in your daughter’s beauty.”

“Oh my gosh, Tim!” Lydia bounces excitedly, her eyes welling up again.

There are a few rogue
awwwws
from the crowd.

“Well, I suppose that is to be forgiven.” Ronald sounds like he can see straight through my lies. “Do you take this woman to be your bride?” He slips a ring into my sweaty palm.

The vomit swells in the back of my throat. “Yes.” She squeals as I place the ring on her finger. It fits like a glove.

“Lydia, do you take this—?”

“Yes, yes, a hundred times, yes!”

“Darling,” Ronald laughs, “you’ve got to let me finish.”

“Sorry.” She ducks her head sheepishly.

“Lydia, my only daughter, do you take this man to be your husband?”

“Eek! Yes! Yes! Yes!” She seizes my hand and slides a ring onto my finger. It’s a size too big; probably her father’s old ring. He’s got fat, stubby fingers.

“Tim, you may kiss your bride.”

I’m not ready for this. There’s no way to fake it. She’ll be able to tell.

I meet her halfway.

Her lips wrap across mine. She’s eager. She forces my mouth open and slides her tongue inside, flicking the tip up and down rapidly like the fucking viper she is. I hand myself over to her embrace, meeting her tongue with my own, wrestling with her lips, setting my hands on her waist, playing my part, yet refusing to find pleasure in it.

Lydia breaks loose and hugs me, her arms locking around the back of my neck. “I love you, Tim.”

I pry the words out one at a time, “I…love…you…too…Lydia.”

20

After the wedding, Lydia and I are escorted to our
new home
; a gift from Ronald. He drops the key into my hand and closes my fingers around it as if he’s entrusting me with some magical gem. The two guards assigned to us (me) remain outside the front door as Lydia and I step inside.

“Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful!” I can’t help but think Lydia has seen this space before and that her theatrics are meant for my benefit. She twirls around the pre-furnished living area, arms out to her sides, her fingers brushing the fixtures and furniture. “Isn’t it perfect, Tim?”

I nod. “Yeah, nothing to sneeze at.”

“Maybe we should go check out the furniture in the bedroom.”

Well, that didn’t take long.

Lydia is standing at the bottom of the stairs, stroking the railing suggestively.

“Well, uh, aren’t you a little hungry? Maybe we should eat some dinner first.”

“I’m hungry, but it’s not for food. Now come on.” She holds out her hand, beckoning me with two fingers.

I’ll walk slow, give myself time to think, figure a way out of this predicament.

She pulls my hand, guiding me up the stairs. I try to resist a little, slowing my pace, but she just pulls harder and giggles louder, basking in the challenge. When we reach the bedroom, she kicks the door open. She whips around and grabs me by the collar of my button down and yanks me inside, turning at the last minute and shoving me backwards onto the bed.

“You stay right there, husband of mine. I can’t get used to that word…
husband!
” She folds her hands over her heart and smiles so big I think her face might tear. “I’m going to change, don’t you go anywhere.” She kisses me and trots to the bathroom.

I couldn’t go anywhere, even if I wanted to. Aside from the armed guards outside, I’ve got no idea where they’re holding Katia and Sonny. Lydia would put out the alarm and they’d be dead long before I reached them.

Minutes pass. 

I don’t remove any of my clothes; I even leave my shoes on. The more she’s got to deal with, the better. Maybe she’ll grow frustrated and give up. My plan, at the moment, is to avoid outright conflict. Passive aggressive, it’s the only play I’ve got.

The bathroom door slowly squeaks open, and Lydia emerges like a stripper from an eighties movie, one bare leg at a time; all she’s missing is the smoke machine and strobe lights. She’s wearing a lacy, pink thong and a matching sheer bra that gives full view of her nipples. She’s got thick hips and a tight waist; smooth curves and soft surfaces. She’s the opposite of Katia. Katia is all lean muscle and hard edges. Both of them are undeniably beautiful, but Lydia is missing that fire behind the eyes. It’s all black, a deep well of madness.

If this was another time, if I was the excitable shut-in that I’d been before everything took a sharp, left turn for Shitsville, this would be a dream come true. A beautiful, half-dressed blonde, with big tits, and the scent of vanilla ice-cream wafting from her skin, are you kidding? I’d have finished as soon as the first naked leg popped out of the bathroom and would be sitting here soaking in my shame, crying and apologizing for the mess. But this isn’t
then
, this is
now
. And she’s not just some beautiful, half-dressed blonde, with big tits, and the scent of vanilla ice-cream wafting from her skin. She’s the devil.

“Put your hands on me, Tim.” She’s standing over me, her stomach in my face.

I don’t move.

“Tim?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m nervous.”

“It’s okay, me too. Stand up.”

I do as instructed.

“Why are you still wearing this thing?” She removes my jacket, kissing me. I kiss her back, barely puckering my lips. She doesn’t seem to mind, it doesn’t dissuade her prying tongue. With my jacket cast aside she begins working eagerly on my shirt. “Put your hands on me.”

Think, Two-Step, think!

I can’t do this. This is the bitch that took Katia from me. I won’t betray her like that.

So think, you silly asshole!

I place my hands on her waist, fingers barely touching her skin, like some pensive freshman at his first high-school dance.

She pops the last two buttons on my shirt right off and tears it from my shoulders, sending it sailing in the same direction as my jacket. She departs from my lips and kisses down my neck, my chest, and my stomach. She gradually drops to her knees and begins working on my belt with one hand, using the other to leave claw marks across my torso.

I can feel myself starting to react to her as she pulls my pants and underwear down around my ankles, despite my best efforts. Without thinking, without meaning to, I grab her hair and jerk her head back, stopping her just as she is getting ready to wrap her lips around me.

“What?” she sounds confused.

“I just—”

“Am I doing something wrong?” Her hands are on my thighs. She looks hurt. This is sensitive ground; I know how quickly sadness can transform into anger.

“Don’t you feel like we’re moving a little fast? Like…we barely just met, we got married, and now this. Don’t you want to, I dunno, talk a little? Get to know each other?”

“You’re my husband, Tim! This is our wedding night! People have sex on their wedding night! It’s bad luck not to!”

“Where did you hear that?”

She stands in a huff. “Are you serious right now? I’m about to put your dick in my mouth, every guy’s fantasy, and you’re trying to stop me!”

“I’m not tr—”

“It’s about that bitch, isn’t it?” She puts her hands on her hips. “Katie?”

“Katia. And no, it’s not about her at all.”

“Then what is it, Tim? Do tell. Because never in the history of the world has a guy turned down a blowjob from a girl that looks like me.”

“Where are you getting all of this information, did you take a poll or something?” I really need to shut the hell up.

“I can’t believe this! After everything we went through tonight, after everything you said to me at the altar, after telling me that you love me, now you’re pulling this. Was it a lie? Are you just covering your ass so your little girlfriend doesn’t get hurt?”

“Just, hear me out for a second.” I reach for her hand and she slaps me across the face, busting my bottom lip.

“Don’t touch me! You don’t get to!”

The tinge of copper overwhelms my taste buds. “Your father put a gun to my head, Lydia. He forced me to marry you. You can’t get mad at me for having reservations.” It suddenly occurs to me that I’m standing here with my dick out. I reach down to pull my pants up. A drop of blood falls from my lip and splashes against the hardwood.

“You humiliated me!” She stomps towards the bathroom and slams the door.

I follow behind her, trying to regain control of the situation. “Lydia, sweetheart,” saying the word makes me cringe, “can we talk about this, please?”

The bathroom door flies open and she storms past me, now wrapped in a pink, cotton bathrobe. “Don’t follow me.”

I follow her, getting as far as the bedroom door.

She stops and swings around, stabbing at my face with an index finger. “Don’t follow me or I’ll have the guards gun you down! Test me, I dare you!”

I raise my hands in surrender and allow her to slam the door in my face. A few seconds later, the front door shuts so hard it quakes the house.

I don’t care. 

I’m borderline delirious. I need some sleep.

I collapse on the bed and close my eyes.