kills us.
It’s that simple.
I drive the same monotonous route back to my house as I always do. I walk inside, undo myself of my coat, take off the pin button and place it on the table, unbutton my shirt, zip down my pants, untie my shoelaces, and strip myself of everything. Leaving everything on the floor, I walk to my bathroom. In the mirror, I stare at my naked body and the redness that covers my hands. Wearing gloves is no use; the stain went right through it.
Sighing, I open the faucet and hold my hands under the water. I love the feeling of fresh water gushing down my skin, except this time, it’s not enough to rid me of this nastiness. Grabbing a brush, I start scrubbing my nails over and over again. It hurts, but I won’t stop. Not until this filth is gone. Not until I’m whole and clean again—no stains, no spots, no nothing. Just emptiness. Clarity.
My mind is anything but clear. Voices fill my mind with clutter. Laughter. Screams. More laughter. More screaming. A woman, crying, her squeals pierce through marrow and bone. I could hear everything. I was there, witnessing it all. Never once did I stop it from happening.
I am a monster.
I lean down on the sink, not able to look myself in the eye. Bent over, naked, I stare at the water infused with blood. My darkness, my sins, doesn’t go down the drain with it. This is exactly what I loathe. The fact that, no matter what I do, I will not be able to rid myself of this evil.
In the midst of the chaos, I lose my mind. I can’t deal with this anymore—the hurting, the punishment, and the debasement. My soul has been crushed, and I’ve lost everything I once deemed good about myself.
My fist tightens around the brush, the pressure from the hairs beginning to puncture my skin. I clench my teeth. The blood that spills from my hand is a meager relief. There is nothing that can temper this anger, this rage, that boils inside me. Nothing that can change the way things have become.
Except her. That woman who bends the rules and refuses to listen. The woman who keeps coming back, no matter what. I admire her tenacity and her willingness, even though I warned her. She has changed me, and I don’t know why or how, but I can feel it. I risked everything for her just by talking to her. In this moment, against all odds, I think of her. I think about her words and her undying interest and adoration for a man who she thinks she wants. For a moment, I picture myself being just that—a man a woman like her could need and desire.
Once the pain and anger have subsided, I let go of the brush and drop it onto the tiled floor. I rake both my hands through my hair, leaning on my elbows. The razorblade lying on the sink catches my attention. Sharp blades that could cut through anything. There is one single thought that crosses my mind, and it scares me so much I can’t hold on to the sink anymore. I walk backward, away from the reflection that confronts me with horror. All I can think of is putting an end to it all. An end to me.
Instead, I step into the shower and rinse away the impurities.
This process repeats itself over and over again.
Lust. Desire. Execution. Pain. Hurt. Confusion. Death.
Regret.
Cleansing.
Rinse and repeat.
There is but one thing keeping me from exempting myself from the equation; I stopped it once.
I spared someone. I could do it again.
Meeting Room, Genesis. Providence, Rhode Island – April 27 th , 2013, afternoon
“I’m going through these books like they’re cake,” Hubert says, sifting through the stack of books lying on the table.
“Be careful. You might sprain your ego,” Arthur says, laughing.
“Oh, fuck off. I’m having fun.”
“Takes a lot more for you to have some fun these days,” I note.
Hubert turns to face me, frowning, but doesn’t respond. He grabs a book and casually saunters back to his chair, sitting down like he’s the king of this room. “Well, at least I’m having fun. What have you
It’s that simple.
I drive the same monotonous route back to my house as I always do. I walk inside, undo myself of my coat, take off the pin button and place it on the table, unbutton my shirt, zip down my pants, untie my shoelaces, and strip myself of everything. Leaving everything on the floor, I walk to my bathroom. In the mirror, I stare at my naked body and the redness that covers my hands. Wearing gloves is no use; the stain went right through it.
Sighing, I open the faucet and hold my hands under the water. I love the feeling of fresh water gushing down my skin, except this time, it’s not enough to rid me of this nastiness. Grabbing a brush, I start scrubbing my nails over and over again. It hurts, but I won’t stop. Not until this filth is gone. Not until I’m whole and clean again—no stains, no spots, no nothing. Just emptiness. Clarity.
My mind is anything but clear. Voices fill my mind with clutter. Laughter. Screams. More laughter. More screaming. A woman, crying, her squeals pierce through marrow and bone. I could hear everything. I was there, witnessing it all. Never once did I stop it from happening.
I am a monster.
I lean down on the sink, not able to look myself in the eye. Bent over, naked, I stare at the water infused with blood. My darkness, my sins, doesn’t go down the drain with it. This is exactly what I loathe. The fact that, no matter what I do, I will not be able to rid myself of this evil.
In the midst of the chaos, I lose my mind. I can’t deal with this anymore—the hurting, the punishment, and the debasement. My soul has been crushed, and I’ve lost everything I once deemed good about myself.
My fist tightens around the brush, the pressure from the hairs beginning to puncture my skin. I clench my teeth. The blood that spills from my hand is a meager relief. There is nothing that can temper this anger, this rage, that boils inside me. Nothing that can change the way things have become.
Except her. That woman who bends the rules and refuses to listen. The woman who keeps coming back, no matter what. I admire her tenacity and her willingness, even though I warned her. She has changed me, and I don’t know why or how, but I can feel it. I risked everything for her just by talking to her. In this moment, against all odds, I think of her. I think about her words and her undying interest and adoration for a man who she thinks she wants. For a moment, I picture myself being just that—a man a woman like her could need and desire.
Once the pain and anger have subsided, I let go of the brush and drop it onto the tiled floor. I rake both my hands through my hair, leaning on my elbows. The razorblade lying on the sink catches my attention. Sharp blades that could cut through anything. There is one single thought that crosses my mind, and it scares me so much I can’t hold on to the sink anymore. I walk backward, away from the reflection that confronts me with horror. All I can think of is putting an end to it all. An end to me.
Instead, I step into the shower and rinse away the impurities.
This process repeats itself over and over again.
Lust. Desire. Execution. Pain. Hurt. Confusion. Death.
Regret.
Cleansing.
Rinse and repeat.
There is but one thing keeping me from exempting myself from the equation; I stopped it once.
I spared someone. I could do it again.
Meeting Room, Genesis. Providence, Rhode Island – April 27 th , 2013, afternoon
“I’m going through these books like they’re cake,” Hubert says, sifting through the stack of books lying on the table.
“Be careful. You might sprain your ego,” Arthur says, laughing.
“Oh, fuck off. I’m having fun.”
“Takes a lot more for you to have some fun these days,” I note.
Hubert turns to face me, frowning, but doesn’t respond. He grabs a book and casually saunters back to his chair, sitting down like he’s the king of this room. “Well, at least I’m having fun. What have you
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