Victim


Vomit projected all over the bed, and herself, in an awakening and shocking moment of sudden consciousness. She gasped for air after the second round before even getting a chance to breathe between. Trying to roll over, her body was still numb from sleep paralysis and her arm had lifelessly slammed against a nearby wooden dresser piece. She yelped in pain with a groggy voice and groaned as she tried to sit up.
Her head was throbbing, her eyes uneasy to open and she felt like crying. Traces of despair were retained in her thoughts overnight, or however long she had been asleep. When she was finally able, she mobilized her aching and half-naked body to the restroom. She was in some sort of loft with minimal possessions available to her. Her feet slapped on the tiled floor as she made her way to the bathroom--holding on to the wall with still a blurred vision and knocking over a few objects in the dimly, moonlit room.
The bathroom light flickered on and she immediately tried to consume water from the faucet, gasping and fighting for whatever she needed more between water and air. The water splashed on the mirror in front of her and tried to wipe it with a nearby hand towel. She stood looking at herself in the mirror in only her bra and shorts. Her blond hair was crumpled and frayed in many different parts and her eyes had heavy bags beneath them and red lipstick was smeared across her face, no, not lipstick--blood. Her head was still spinning, her lips were blue, cracked and dry and she could not think of what to do until she spotted some of the vomit still on her chest and stomach. She had begun to wipe it off when she felt an immense amount of pain on her abdomen. She looked down and saw a large blue and yellow bruise. The discoloration spread all the way to her right side.
The heart in her chest began to palpitate as she rushed back to the bedroom and her eyes were starting to water. She tried to vocalize words as if she had not spoken in days. She made it to the bed and there was some old blood stains. She looked at the small, wood dresser next to the bed and saw an ashtray with a couple syringes in it. Her face tingled; whether that was more sensation coming back or her nerves tingling, she could not discern, but looked down at her arms. The joint on her left arm, by the elbow, was very discolored with what appeared to be three puncture holes. It seemed as though a vein had been broken. She touched it and it was extremely tender. More tears fell from her eyes and she was able to vocalize more sound as she succumbed to more pain while an ominous and brooding feeling enveloped her.
She started to lose her strength in her legs again as she bent over on the bed, gripping her abdomen from the pain. The pain doubled as she tried to roll on the dirty bed. She cried on the only clean pillow available for a few minutes.
Victoria, what have you done? Her mouth finally got its moisture back and her legs felt strong enough to walk on. She looked around the small room and saw some of her clothes littered on the floor, a hole in the wall as if something or someone had hit it with a large object, a suitcase and an opened, brown paper bag. She went to the paper bag and dumped out a small plastic baggie and another needle--it still had a protective cover on--unused. Her hands quivered and she caught sight to a pink cell phone on the floor. She crawled to it with haste and pressed buttons to wake it up from the black screen, but there was no charge. She looked around for a charger and went to the suitcase. It was already unzipped, supposedly a suitcase she owned, and went through it. There were clothes that looked like they would fit her and to good taste, but no charger. Flustered, Victoria pulled some clean change of clothes that she could put on after a shower. For some reason, she felt so dirty. She felt so desecrated, so burdened.
Victoria rubbed her stomach, feeling hardened knots in her abdomen where she was bruised while the shower was running to get warm. It was painful, tender, but it felt like it was going to bring back something--a memory of some sort. She could feel the fragments of her last conscious thoughts floating around her head. Trying to think of the date, Victoria could not remember. It felt like June, but it could have been July. The thoughts of months came to her in a numerical format and they all cycled through her head, not able to strike which one it could possibly be. She figured after the shower there would be a better chance with a clear memory, maybe even some food.
Hot water poured down her body, like tiny wet fingers patting against her skin and then running down her body from the shower head, relieving her of all the stress and worry as she sobbed. As her sadness left, her anger grew and silhouettes of people she knew slowly carouseled around her mind, trying to recognize their blurry faces as they slowly took shape.
Washing made her feel better, less dirty, but there was that lingering emotion of seclusion and helplessness. She was left in the dark about something. Victoria donned the change of clothes and searched the bedroom again for an idea of where she was. Every time she looked at the door, she knew it was the exit and it frightened her. Something about leaving the room made her feel very uneasy, she didn't belong where she was and she didn't feel safe leaving either.
There was a window on the far well, several feet from the right side of the bed next to a cheap "still life" painting on the wall. Victoria pulled the curtains and peered through the window. The city streets were far to the ground and the night canvas mocked her pain when the stars glimmered like needle punctures in the sky.
Victoria rubbed her arms, looking for a sense of comfort, then her legs. Her hands caressed a protrusion within her pockets. She dug out her pockets and found a receipt and some money.
Thirty dollars, she thought. This receipt must be for this room. Why would I pay to sleep here? She checked the receipt and saw the date; March third. Today must be the fourth. An image of her boyfriend came to mind, an unpleasant one.
Her heart picked up in pace again, racing to to answer as if the brain were not working fast enough already. She walked back and forth from the window to the bed, pacing with agitation. The syringes caught her eye again and she boiled up a scream. The scream could curdle the blood of anyone next to her. It was a savage scream. The kind of scream that let's everyone know that there was no other thought of what to do.
She followed her scream of rage with actions as she tossed the dresser with the syringes and pulled all the sheets off the bed in a violent manner. If the whole room could be tossed, she would make the floor meet the ceiling, but what was there sufficed to reside her anger. Breathing heavily, she sat on the bed contemplating leaving when the door made a clink sound before it slammed open. The hinges squeaked before the doorknob penetrated the wall on the other side. The door's momentum reversed slightly as chunks of drywall crumbled to the ground.
"Hey you need to pay for last night. You want extra night, you have to pay. You were not answering the phone." A tall, dark haired man dressed in casual clothes stood spanning the doorway with his arms up.
Victoria sank back and gasped, not knowing what to say, "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb with me you whore, I know what is going on when I see it in my motel! I'm not stupid," saliva spat from his mouth as he shouted.
"Whore?"
"You come up here with two different men and then another comes after they leave?"
"Men?" She looked away trying to picture it in her head to see if she could remember.
"And what are those," he points at the syringes on the ground.
"It's not what it looks like," her forehead wrinkled with worry.
"Then tell me, tell me why I shouldn't call the police right now!"
"No! Please don't! I-I don't know why I am even here! I don't know those men!"
"Drugged out of your mind, I see."
Victoria shook her head, not knowing what to say. "I can pay later? I can."
The man shook his head, "Now."
Her hands started to shake as she pulled the money out of her pocket.
The man approached her and snatched the money and quickly counted it, "I am giving you two minutes to get out of here, then I am calling the police," the man closed the door behind him.
Victoria scattered to the suitcase and looked through it before she decided to dump everything out. There was nothing in there of use. She grabbed her cell phone and a light, purple sweater that was on the ground across the room.
Men. Men were with me? Three of them? I don't understand. Did I know them? Victoria hurried out the room and into a hallway. The corridor contained many other doors to other rooms. Left or Right? She started right, vomited on the ground and then went left instead. She walked to the end of the open corridor and ended up outside. 'Motel Place Seven', Victoria read the lit sign advertising the horrible room she woke up in.
The air was cold and crisp, but not too cold. The sky was getting a bit brighter, the sun must have been coming up soon. Victoria made her way to a convenience store. She bought some gum to get the taste of vomit out of her mouth with the rest of the money she had left over after the man took it all, but she had pocketed a honeybun and a banana as well as a cell phone charger.
Victoria devoured the food in seconds and popped a piece of gum in her mouth. She began crying again as she felt the pain on her abdomen. She felt cold, chills and still disoriented. She made her way to a fast food restaurant where it would be warmer inside and had an electrical outlet. She plugged her phone in and was relieved to hear the beep as it powered on. The welcome screen showed she had many missed calls, several texts and a few voicemails and the date.
March sixth?! I was in that motel for three days?! Victoria's throat tightened and her head still felt swollen.
She began to see the recent calls list. The last one was an outgoing number she didn't recognize. The rest were to Frank, her boyfriend; the love of her life, the man she never wanted to lose--Frank. He picked up the phone at least once from the calls she made to him, but then ignored the rest.
Victoria checked the texts which predated the motel, the last one of which was post-conversation on the phone with Frank where some vital information was missing:

Frank y are you ignoring me?! We need to talk!

baby please dont do this! I need u.

i love u. dont do ths to us!!!11!

Several other texts went the same way with no response. The voicemail light flashed as she stared off.
His baby... our baby. Her hand rested on her stomach as she caressed the empty cavity that once contained the only thing that would bring them together forever--a family. Victoria refrained from crying again. He wouldn't have done this. Not Frank. Not my Frank. She dialed the voicemail.

"Victoria, Listen. I don't know what to believe. I am tired of you trying to manipulate me. Just leave me alone. I never want to see you again. I mean it."

Absorbing the words as if she heard it for the first time, she clutched the phone as the cheap plastic assembly made a creaking sound. She knew he had said it before; though she couldn't remember, the words seemed too familiar, liked they fit comfortably in place inside her mind... like a puzzle piece giving more picture to her venture for insight.
Still feeling left in the dark and wondering about the men, she dialed the unknown number.
"Flow here," a voice answered.
Victoria didn't know what to say.
"You need a vacation?"
"Vacation?"
"Yeah, some more juice?"
"More?"
"Hey, quit playin' games with me. You need some more or not?"
Victoria hung up the phone and pulled up her sleeve to observe the puncture holes. She counted closely for three. Her head throbbed as she tried to remember, but nothing came to mind. She did not understand, she never used drugs.
She felt like she came to a dead end and wanted to just lie down and die. She couldn't call Frank.
Those scumbag friends of his. They are the ones that did this to me. Victoria left the restaurant and approached a person unlocking their car in the parking lot. She asked them for a ride. The young man returned a resilient silence, but she had lied and said it was an emergency, accompanied with fake tears and biting of her lower lip. The young man agreed and drove her to where she wanted.

Jefferson and Northwest Tenth. Victoria's memory was starting to come back to her as she was entering the neighborhood she was again familiar with. The young man drove off after dropping Victoria off in front of the house. She approached the door and tried to open it. Locked. She went around to the back porch where she knew there was a spare key. The dead plant that covered the key was no longer there. Looking around, she tried to spot where else it could be. A new statue of a small dog was sitting by the door. She moved it and saw a key in its place. The key was different, the locks were probably changed to keep her from using her own set even though she didn't have it on her.
The door unlocked and she went inside from the back. The back entrance led to the kitchen; the dishes were clean and there was a vase of flowers on the table. Her heart started to pound--he never decorated like that, she always did the dishes.
It's been three days, what has he been up to without me? She continued into the house and saw a couple of small boxes in the living room of some old stuff she was familiar with. Her heart sank and started to feel dizzy again. A broken frame of a picture with her and Frank was on top of one of the boxes. She went into hallway where there was the one bedroom and a door to the bathroom.
Victoria opened the bedroom door slowly, scared of what she might see. Maybe Frank would not even be here. He might have left for work, but she wasn't even sure what day of the week it was.
The sunlight of the new morning barely lit the room and there she saw, in the bed, Frank and another woman. It felt cold and then hot and she felt like she was going to vomit again. She felt the pain in her abdomen. That pain was even worse.
Murdering bastard. She went to the kitchen, blind rage. She grabbed one of the cutlery in a wooden holster and went back to the bedroom, breathing heavy.
"How could you do this," Victoria screamed. The second person, that was not Frank, was startled and fell out of the bed. Frank sat up in shock as if he woke into a nightmare.
"What are you doing here! You are supposed to be--"
"Dead?"
"No! What?! Put the knife down, babe."
"Tell me, Frank. What were you thinking? Trying to overdose me on heroin! You tried to kill me!"
The mystery girl with Frank that was getting off the floor looked at Frank in disbelief. "I didn't tell you to kill her! I said make it look like she was using and the cops would do the rest!"
Victoria lashed at the girl, "Shut up, whore!" She looked back at Frank, "She put you up to this?
"Victoria, you did this to yourself. You left me no choice. You won't leave me alone!"
Victoria lowered her guard. She couldn't understand. "But you love me. We love each other."
"Babe, I did love you. But we have been broken up for months!" Frank got out of the bed slowly. "Give me the knife, okay?"
"You won't leave us alone! You are crazy," The mystery girl yelled in a hostile tone.
"Alexis, stay out of it, please. She's got a knife in her hand."
"Oh, the whore has a name? Alexis, is it?"
"Victoria, stop. She's my girlfriend."
Victoria's lips were quivering and Frank approached her slowly.
"You killed it," she mumbled.
"What?"
"You... killed it. The baby."
Frank's eyes lit up and stepped back. "I didn't do anything! That was my boys. They were supposed to do it clean. Please, understand I never wanted any of this to happen this way. I told them to make sure you weren't pregnant. Not... not like that."
"This baby was supposed to be our family," Victoria lifted her shirt to show Frank the battered stomach. "But you want to be with this whore!"
"Babe."
"Stop calling me that! Do you know what this pain feels like? Do you know how much pain is inside me?"
Frank couldn't speak. His lips were agape and he looked at Alexis who was crouched on the floor like she was anticipating an attack. Frank subtly shook his head at her and she forced herself to relax.
"This pain... I am going to carry the rest of my life. Because of you," her tone changed to a frightening sternness.
Frank's eyes began to water, "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say, but it wasn't my fault!"
"I used to think of this moment over, so many times. I just never imagined it would play out like this. I loved you, Frank."
"Please, Victoria, let's talk this--"
Victoria thrust the knife into Frank's stomach. She watched his eyes bulge and his jaw drop. Alexis screamed and cowered in the corner some more. She pulled out the knife and watched Frank fall to the ground, coughing. Blood pooled out of his wound profusely. Alexis was sobbing hysterically in the corner while Victoria looked at the blood on the knife. She dropped it and then threw up before she blacked out.

Beep. Beep. Beep.
Beep.
Victoria heard the sound of machines. She opened her eyes and saw an IV in her arm, a doctor standing next to her and an officer on the opposite side. Her right hand was in handcuffs, attached to the bed's railing.
"She's awake," the doctor said.
"Victoria Fenton. I've had my fair share of run-ins with you, but I didn't think it would come to this. You've been placed under arrest and are in official custody of the police department. As soon as you are discharged, you are coming with us," the officer nodded to the doctor and walked out of the room. He was someone Victoria had seen before several times. Her memory was almost fully back now. She remembered almost everything and what happened at Frank's seemed like only a dream. She remembered the first time Frank called the cops on her. Then, Frank had a restraining order put out on her. Victoria remembered times that would appear to be "stalkerish" and "harassing", but she only loved him.
"Victoria. My name is Doctor Johansson. You were severely dehydrated and you have a significant amount of liver and kidney damage. Heroin was found in your system. You are lucky to be alive."
Victoria started to cry and managed to ask, "What about my baby?"
"What baby?"
"Is the baby okay?"
"I am sorry, but also fortunate to say, that you were never pregnant. With the amount of heroin in your system, a baby would not have survived anyway."
"I was never pregnant? Don't lie to me," she yelled at the doctor.
"I'm sorry. There was no baby."
Victoria wanted to thrash in the bed, but began choking on her tears. The doctor continued to speak to her about her medical results and what she needed to do, but Victoria's memory took over.
She remembered being at Frank's, trying to get in the house and convince him to stay with her. She told him she was pregnant with his baby the night she got him drunk and they fooled around. A tactic to manipulate him into staying with her forever. Victoria sank with remorse.
"Where's Frank?"
Doctor Johansson's eyes wavered and he removed his glasses and curled his lip.
"What happened?"
"Victoria, I think you should just rest up and heal for now."
Victoria closed her eyes and tried to think about the good memories she had with Frank; the carnival, the concerts, the dinners, the cruise, the car show.
Frank. Victoria rubbed her stomach, no more pain, but because it moved from her stomach to her heart. The thoughts of them together turned to scarring words from their past. "You bitch!", "whore!", "You're crazy!", "We will never be together!", "Why can't you get it through your head that we will never be together!"
Victoria murmured, "I'm sorry."

Impressum

Texte: 2012
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 01.12.2012

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