Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit: That Which Destroys Me with The Alternate Ending (18 page)

After a while the words in the file start dancing as I try to reread them and pinpoint what I’m missing. It’s right in front of me. But I can’t see it. Dammit!

I turn the TV on for background noise, hoping it will keep me up. When I realize that it’s making shit worse, I stalk towards the kitchen to make a strong cup of coffee.

As I wait for it to brew, I go over the files in my mind again.

There is something I’m missing. And last night somewhere between Stell’s nightmare and me slipping from the bed, something inside me clicked.

When it clicked, the double helix of my DNA took a twist and it altered the very foundation of the man I always believed myself to be.

If I can’t protect Stella, every day for the rest of my life, I’ll go completely fucking insane. And I can’t make one hundred percent sure she’s protected if I’m not the only man in her life, forever.

‘The talk’ has just become null and void. What happens next? Hell if I know.

The only thing I do know is Ms. Stella Jolie Reese will forever be mine and mine alone. I just need her to answer one question correctly.

Rust

When I wake up in Wes’ bed, the same smile I smile every morning curls the corners of my mouth. I reach my arms above my head before sticking my ass out and moaning through a wonderful full body, still in bed, ‘damn that feels good’ stretch.

I brace myself for the every morning pains that accompany the nights I spend under Wes’ demand, held at the precipice by nothing more than a thread causing my every muscle group to constrict, clenching determinedly to assure that thread remains intact until Wesley designates that it’s time to clip, snip, and break.

However, when my bottom is at the edge of the bed and I don’t feel the familiar dull sting from the previous night’s spanking or paddling, my smile slips from my face.

It’s when I stand and felt absolutely no pain or muscle aches that alarm bells resound through my blissfully ignorant mind… Right before the nightmare ricochets into my consciousness.

After I close and lock the bathroom door, I turn and look at myself in the mirror. “Fuuuuuuck! WHY?!?!” I ask my reflection.

All I see is my father’s eyes staring back at me. And that thought alone sends me on a collision course with the toilet, where the top of my head dunks. I’m thankfully able to rip the wet hair from my face before my gags and upchucking commence.

I brush my teeth prior to dragging myself into the hot spraying water of Wesley’s shower that deserves a spot in Forbes. The entire time I’m under the pounding jets, all I can do is relive the events of last night in slow motion. 

Why am I such a bitch? Every time someone is there when I wake from my ninth circle of hell, my defenses fly up and I’m a wretched bitch to
whomever is there. Unless it’s Trina. With her, I just follow like a weak lamb.

Once I’ve finished my shower, I pull one of Wes’ LSU
t-shirts on. Since it hits mid-thigh, I forgo a pair of his boxers. Besides, it’s Sunday, Myrta isn’t here.

I step from his room, but on my way to the kitchen, I hear a television at the other end of the hall and change direction heading towards the sound of Fox News Updates.

I’m thrown off guard when I find myself outside an open door leading to what looks like an office. I always assumed it was nothing but a locked closet. I step across the threshold glancing at the desk stacked with open files before my eyes move to the TV. “Wes? Baby?” I ask walking into the office. Once I’m a foot away from the desk, I resolve that he isn’t here. My eyes sweep across the files open on his desk, but my instinct not to pry and do what pleases Wesley wins out.

I quickly leave his office and make my way back towards the kitchen. When I walk in to find Wesley standing there with two cups of coffee in his hands and completely lost in thoughts that mar
his  handsome young features, it cuts off the flippant joyful ‘Good morning’ resting on the tip of my tongue.

I freeze at the kitchen entrance and watch as a myriad emotions play across his features. Uncertain if I should high tail it back to his room and fake asleep or proceed into the kitchen and act as if the tension surrounding him isn’t thick enough to choke me, I remain still and silent at the edge of the room.

I stand at the threshold indecisively for less than five seconds when his forest green eyes slam into mine, the intensity of his gaze steals my breath away.

He’s so goddamn beautiful, his facial features soften and instantly his eyes are smiling, as if my presence alone extinguished the agony that was wreaking havoc upon his mind. I smile back at him, whispering, “Hey,” before tiptoeing my way slowly to him.

Wes hands me a coffee mug, “Good morning, angel.”

I duck my head before gulping a mouthful of no Splenda added coffee. After I choke it down and cough, I look up at him in question. “What? We run out of Splenda, baby?” He shakes his head before he nods towards the Splenda canister on the opposite counter.

“You sure are acting odd this morning.” I pluck the spoon from his cup and before I can open the Splenda canister, much less add Splenda, Wes has me shoved over the black marble countertop so swiftly that I don’t have time to throw my hands in front of me to cushion the blow my cheek and hipbones absorb. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth and suddenly, I’m wrenched back as Wesley’s fingers capture my hair and closes into a fist. My face hovers above the countertop as he swipes appliances and canisters, clearing the entire surface with his forearm.

Canisters full off salt, baking soda, Splenda, and sugar crash to the floor sending grains and powder in every direction, settling in, on, and around the expensive appliances that crashed to the floor. 

I feel his rough hands between my legs before a growl emerges. A split second later, he jerks his t-shirt over my head then uses his overwhelming weight to shove me back over the counter. When my breasts hit the cold marble, I gasp. His warm calloused palms brutally knead the skin of my ass. Suddenly  the rough abrading stops leaving me begging for a touch, any sensation he will offer.

Instinctively, I bow my back seeking the harsh, warm caress of his hand. My reward is as masochistic as it is fulfilling when finally his open hand connects, striking each globe of my ass in a manic and crazed rhythm, alternating from one side to the other, yet somehow never striking the same spot twice.

I somehow manage to remain silent throughout the barrage Wesley rains down upon my bottom.

After twenty unexplained blows, he releases my hands and cages my body beneath his.

I should probably point out that before this moment, words like ‘caged’ and ‘beneath’ catapulted me into a downward spiral of panic.

For the first time when these scary words flit through my mind, panic isn’t left in their wake.

It dawns on me, resonating its way through every molecular structure that these old fears are no longer fixations; they no longer yield the power they once used to keep me held prisoner.

Wesley’s desires leave me
second guessing everything I have always believed about myself and my life. The limitations and boundaries of my ability to withstand, where I always thought my breaking point was, the line drawn in the sand of my sanity - Wes smashes through all of it, dragging me past my comfort zones.

These ties that bind me, he breaks and replaces with restraints of his own; but Wesley’s ties are not ones that bind, they’re what sets me free.

Wesley’s bare chest is flush with my back as he rests his scruffy cheek against mine. Both of his hands slide down my sides over my rib cage, my hips and then around the tops of my thighs, to stop between my legs, each hand cupping an inner thigh. “Angel, I’m going to ask you a question. And without thought, without hesitation, you’re going to answer as honestly as you can using only one word, yes or no. Is that understood?”

I don’t even think about my answer…there is no need to. “Yes.”

“Do you think your nightmare occurred last night because I tucked you in bed without fucking you straight?”

Wait—No, I mean yeah, maybe, but no that’s not why I have nightmares. Wesley doesn’t cause my nightmares he just usually makes them go away.

“Wes—“ His palm claps down over my mouth.

Against my ear he growls through his teeth, “I said YES or NO!” He removes the hand between my legs. A split second later, it slaps the already reddened skin of my ass.

I bite down on the hand covering my mouth causing him to jerk it away. “Wes, stop. Listen to me. I’m trying to explain...” Whack. His palm cracks across my flesh. The pain causes lights to flicker behind my eyes. Whack.

“Wes, please!” Whack. “I-
I, Let me…“ Whack. “F-fucking.” Whack. “TALK!” Whack. I fill my lungs with as much air as I can struggle in and use it to shout, “RUST!” Closing my eyes as I feel tears flood them, I whimper against the cold black marble, “Rust.”.

Instantly, not an
inch of his skin is touching mine. Before I can turn around he has his t-shirt back over my head and I’m slipping my arms through the armholes. He walks to the other side of the kitchen and starts the coffee maker.

“I’m sorry. I just needed to explain, Wesley, and you kept pushing. Your question isn’t a question that can be answered with just yes or no. It’s much more, so much more than just yes or no, baby.”

When his shoulders tense and he doesn’t respond, guilt floods me. Its intensity feels like a physical blow to my chest. It hurts so bad, I can barely breathe around it. Tears continue stinging my eyes. “Wesley, please. I’m so sorry. I-I…”

“You broke.” His words are hardly audible.

The weight of those words are so dreadfully powerful it causes crippling dread to invade my body. Agony and despair shred through my heart like shrapnel, so sharp and quick I gasp as tears  stream down my face.

Something is
happening, something profound and I can’t stop it. It’s flying at me like a freight train and there is nothing for me to hold on to, to brace for its impact. Nothing. It’s going to hit and when it does, it will destroy me.

Nausea churns in my stomach causing my mouth to water. I swallow as quickly as I can to keep the bile down.

My back slides down the counter and I wrap my arms around my knees as my bare ass settles on the grit and powder covered floor. A cry escapes my lips, “Wesley. Please don’t do this.”

He doesn’t answer, and if he tenses his back muscles any more, they’ll snap. “Okay. I let you down.” I nod at his back, “The least I can do is explain myself, answer your goddamn question the only way it can be answered. No. You are not the reason I had a nightmare. You are not why I have nightmares. My nightmares are caused by sick perverted men and usually star the sickest and most perverted man to ever live. Only he isn’t alive in my nightmares. My father is dead and I am covered in his blood, trying to silence whoever keeps screaming, but I can’t. Because they’re my screams and in my nightmare, I can’t make them stop.”

I stand from the messy floor and dust my ass off before finishing. “But yes. Every time I fall asleep after you’ve whipped and wrung my mind, body, and soul out, I wake up happy and rested and so much farther away from my nightmares and past than I’ve ever been before you came into my life.” I turn and make my way back to his room tracking sugar across the hardwood floor and plush area rugs on my way.

I shower and dress before leaving. On my way out, I see Wes still standing in the kitchen, completely unmoved from where he was when I turned around after screaming ‘Rust.’

The Desecration of Beauty

I conditioned myself at a very young age to function on as little sleep as possible. Even at four, I recall thinking that sleep was an unnecessary excuse to be lazy. At first, I attempted to go completely without it. After the seventh day, lucidness evaded me and simple conscious decisions blurred. It was the eighth day that I physically lost all control. Control of my bowels, my stomach contents, my mind—Everything. The last thing I lost control of was my eyelids. I fought those to the very end. And then I fell asleep.

Through trial and error over a period of several months, I mastered sleep. From that moment on, I only allowed myself two hours of sleep in a twenty four hour period.

This long practiced sleep pattern is what blessed me every night as I lay beneath Beauty’s bed and listened to her terror.

She and I are so much alike. Except she is so much more destroyed than I ever have or ever will be. I liked to think her destruction was caused by her fighting the demons within, instead of welcoming them with open arms as I did.

My eyes literally starve when I am unable to watch her. Even after no more than thirty minutes, the physical effects begin crippling me. The longest stretch of time I’ve had to endure consisted of twenty-one
hours, she’d gone several towns over to meet with a specialist and spent the night before returning.

By the time my eyes finally soaked in the sight of her, my vision was blurred from tears of agony and torment.

The last six hours of physical torture I was forced to endure because of her, all because she hadn’t had the ability to cope with the demons; all because she had to fight rather than simply give in. I lay those last hours upon her bed and constructed her death at my hands in over a thousand different and beautiful ways.

But when I see her walking up the walkway through my swollen, teary eyes, all I feel is home and love in its purest, simple form.

The powerful emotion is so incredible that a giggle bubbles from my mouth before I can stifle it with my hands covering my lips. Her eyes of every color clash with my red swollen ones, halting her in place. Her brow furrows and she frowns. When she steps towards my direction, I run the other away and hide; but not for long, just long enough to be forgotten, then I’m back in the shadows watching my Beauty once again.

Later that night, I
lay beneath her bed and listen to her breath as she sleeps ever so peacefully. After six hours of listening to her sleep, I allow myself to be lulled into REM sleep.

I’m jarred awake before the sun has risen, confused by sleep. My hand grips the frame under her bed and I move to slide out from beneath it, only to be stopped by her whimpering. Excitement surges through me. This is a wonderful turn of events. Beauty’s nightmares usually happen an hour after she falls asleep.
Never more than an hour. I’m euphoric and giddy with joy. A smile spreads across my face from ear to ear as I settle in and patiently wait for the orchestrated melody of Beauty’s horror.

Her whimper causes my ears to perk up. The grunt that follows causes my smile to fade.

“Shh…If you be good, and keep quiet, I’ll make sure to not hurt you too bad. I love you. Did you know that? Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you, baby girl?” The mattress above me groans, bowing from excessive weight. Movement in my periphery causes my eyes to dart to the other side of the bed where I see a pair of ugly feet, men’s feet, with his gnarled, yellowed toenails curling around the tip of each toe, peeking out of the toe of his navy house slippers.

A grunt cuts through the room followed by Beauty’s yelp before the mattress begins squeaking. The sounds, him grunting, her yelps and cries, and the mattress squeaking all interlace and sync into a morbid rhythm punctuated by a male’s grunted words of love and praise. As I lay there listening to him praise her for her tight cunt, madness consumes me. Fierce hate for Beauty swells and unfolds, blanketing and snuffing out any love I ever possessed for her. Choking and killing any goodness I ever associated with my Beauty.

She is nothing more than a weak desecration.

And Beauty will pay for her abhorrent actions, she’ll pay in the only currency I accept; blood - her blood.