Hello, my name is HB Kay. At least that’s what they call me. Here’s what a lot of people have been questioning about. They all want to know what really happened to me, what caused me to become what I am now. You can stay and listen if you want to hear about everything that has occurred in my life ever since I was born, to this very moment. All doubts will be cleared, and there will be no more secrets between you and me.
There’s a hella long way from the very beginning to now. You still can leave now while you still have the chance. Remember I am putting my entire life in your hands once I have started narrating my story.
Here it goes. Hold on tight because a storm’s coming your way.
We’d have to go a good twenty three years ago. Actually no, maybe we should rewind a couple of years more. Four to be exact. New Orleans, Louisiana. My parents, Maverick Vince Anderson and Phyllis Audrey Norling, were having their first child: Haylee. A gorgeous smart little girl who grew to be eager and yearning to learn about every single thing that surrounded her. This was the child of my parents’ dreams; she was what they could have ever hoped for. They knew she was going to be everything they expected her to in the future. A promising prospective could be seen ahead of the three of them. A family anyone wished for.
But when life didn’t look like anything else but a repertoire of flawless prosperity, a little surprise had to turn up to pop the bubble. Four years from Haylee’s birth, Phyllis got pregnant once more, which was not into their plans. The two parents were absolutely disconcerted. They believed a second child would be just a burden to bewail, considering what a blissful future they could see ahead of themselves. They highly doubted they’d have another strike of luck and be blessed with a new clever lively kid. But they did not have any other choice but to give life and raise the unwanted baby.
Little Haylee, however, was extremely excited to have a new little sister. She knew they would develop a great bond between them, and the more she waited for the day I’d be born, the more thrilled she’d be when my birth was to come. Haylee had no clue how jaundiced her parents felt towards their unwanted forthcoming baby.
And so, the day arrived. August 17th, 1991. Haylee’s little sister was finally born. That was me. Kaylee Anderson. And just as expected, I was bound to cause nothing but trouble.
I was born with a severe hearing impairment, which would affect more than eighty five percent of my ability to hear. I wasn’t completely deaf, and I could detect sound, but in a quite diminished quantity. The doctors could not determine exactly why, but they suggested it could be due to a congenital condition. My hearing impairment would obstruct my speech perception and learning. Luckily, it was corrigible.
My parents refused to resort to a cochlear implant that would allow me to acquire oral language with a potential success; they believed that a mere unwanted kid did not deserve it, for it wasn’t worth it.
During the postpartum recovery, as the doctors prompted more options to carry on with my condition, it filled up my parents’ heads with uneasy worries that my existence would come with an awful lot of threatening downfalls to the family.
The day my mother was allowed to leave the hospital, due to medical stability, they were going forsake me in the nursery room. They preferred not to opt for the choice of giving me out for adoption, because of any possible anticipation issues, so they figured they would leave me in the hospital’s custody. But before my parents could step into the elevator and exit the birth floor, little Haylee was concerned about her newborn sister’s absence and questioned. It was hard for Maverick and Phyllis to make Haylee understand they were going home without her sister, which they actually didn’t do. They were simply telling her they were leaving. And still, little Haylee was persistent, and ran to the nursery room to ask for me. This is how my parents saw themselves force to take me home with them.
From that day forward, my life didn’t get any better.
I’d manage to acquire knowledge by sign language, which my sister would master just to be able to communicate with me. The people who’d interact with me in a regular basis would naturally learn at least the primary ports of sign language. One rule they would all have to follow was moving their lips accordingly to the word to each respective sign, so I could read them and grow familiar with proper speech.
To my folks’ surprise, I did not have any significant difficulties when I started going to preschool, which I engaged in when I turned three years of age. Preschool to be honest was quite fine. My teachers had some experience with children with mild impairments and disabilities, and so they could adapt to my condition and help me interact with other kids my age.
When elementary school started was when problems began to introduce. You would’ve thought they were learning and comprehension difficulties, but they certainly were not. In fact, I recall my sister telling me that when I was little I used to get home from school and ask her why the teacher repeated everything, and she’d explain to me that they did that because there were kids who were not as smart as I was and needed the teachers to repeat stuff for them to comprehend. “That’s a shame,” I used to reply.
The issues I faced most part of my elementary school years was social interplay. My classmates did not quite seem to accept my inclusion in the group, as if I didn’t fit there. The hearing impairment I suffered wasn’t a problem for me when it came to understanding oral speech; however, it was apparently deranging my social contact. I didn’t quite understand why, but kids my age used to keep away from me due to my condition. They seemed to think I was a handicap, or maybe just because I was slightly different to them, they couldn’t get near me.
I didn’t need anybody to utilize sign language to communicate with me, for I had mastered the reading of lips. And as for when it came down to myself speaking to someone, I had gone through courses to use the vibration technique, which consisted of measuring the frequency and volume of my voice by placing two fingers in my throat to feel the vibration of my vocal cords as I spoke out.
It appeared as if the mere fact of knowing I had a hearing impairment seemed like a significant difference to the rest – significant enough to set me aside and make me believe I had always been the lesser.
All of them, except for one. This one kid; Tyler. Out of all the children my age, he was the only one who ever approached me, disregarding my condition. Tyler didn’t seem to care about my impairment, and rarely even asked about it. What he would always do, which really was what I’d appreciate most about him as a friend, was that he’d try to defend me every time a classmate or any older student from the school would come to bully me or pick on me because of my disability, and all in all make them leave me alone.
Tyler understood me and appreciated me for what I really was: an innocent friendly little girl, full of love to give. We’d always hang out together during break times, usually around the library and hallways, since being out in the playground would cause damage to my ears due to the loud noises of the children playing around.
My sister was so glad I had made a good friend; someone who accepted me and did not think of me as different, like she’d always tell me I deserved to be treated. However, every time I told my parents about the enjoyable things I did with my friend Tyler during the day, they didn’t really show the interest I would’ve expected. As a little innocent oblivious kid, I simply told myself they were perhaps busy to listen to my silly stories, and just shrugged it off.
I remember Tyler used to be really enthusiastic about aircraft and piloting. When a plane flew by, he’d get all hyped up and keep track of it until it was out of sight. I could see the sparkle fading in his eyes when the airplane was no longer in his field of vision, and his widespread smile shrinking back to normal.
Something else I recall quite clearly was how other children would also tease him for being my friend, but he simply ignored their comments and never paid mind to any of them. Once, in our last year of elementary school, he got beaten up just to protect me from a small bundle of punk-ass bullies. That was hella courageous for him to do, and it was dead proof that he really wanted nothing else but my well-being.
Quite sadly though, when Middle School time arrived, Tyler was moving out to live in Memphis, Tennessee. I was certainly going to miss him a whole lot, and hoped to be able to meet up with him someday again. And one thing was for sure, I was never going to forget that young boy. He had changed my childhood for the better and nobody was going to ever cause the same impact he did in me.
On the bright side, after Tyler left, and I would’ve been starting middle school, my parents switched me to another school. It would be a much greater beginning for me, since you could say Tyler had been my only true friend back in my former school due to my impairment, maybe in this new institution I’d be able to attempt making more friends.
Courtesy of the tiny assistance device I had attached to my ears ever since I started Elementary –which would amplify the income of sound in a fair degree, although not supporting absolutely proper hearing –by the time secondary school begun, my hearing impairment had been reduced to around five percent, which meant I could hear in an almost average degree. Yet I’d be sensitive to intensely loud noises, and I had to take some minimal precautions, which I’d get used to as I carried on the improvement without the attachment of the device.
I guess, leaving my parents’ attention negligence and constant reminder of my impairment thanks to my uninviting classmates, I’d say life wasn’t treating me that bad. Dr. Ellsworth would come visit me once a week to make sure my assistance device was working fine and nothing was out of order, and he was so kind to me. Plus my sister’s support and unconditional love was what I truly cherished above anything, and I will never ever forget everything she gave and did for me. She was the only person I would ever take a bullet for, without a single second of hesitation.
Besides, I remember we’d go to our holiday residence in the outsides of Mapleton, Utah with other members of the family during winter festivities to enjoy of the snow and family gathering. Christmas was nice, I liked going with my sister and uncle to do Christmas errands. The house was huge; it really made me wonder why we didn’t live there. It was bigger than our residence back in New Orleans.
The homestead was surrounded by a pine forest, which would be mantled in bright white snow when we arrived from the road trip all the way to Utah. I loved that.
During Middle School, I met my long-term best friend, Brandon. At first, when he first started approaching me, I honestly believed he was just some other average half-witted prep moron, but I really didn’t know from then on he was going to become my closest friend. I never really told him about my impairment, based on the prejudgment everyone had made in past years, I decided to keep it a secret.
And as faster than I thought – just like when we leave the time in the microwave ticking down as we go take a quick leak – I had entered High School. That’s right, folks, the big leagues. Those wretched years where if you weren’t hot or popular enough, you were only a tiny pebble under the generation’s shoe. In all seriousness. If you didn’t date a member of the football or basketball team, you were most likely just another loser wandering around the hallways. That settled criteria was what made me despise those particular years of my education. Even if I’d manage to stay within the standards of an intermediately common high school girl, having a fair range of friends, and keeping a balanced attitude, I still wasn’t comfortable with having to feel pressured so no one would bully me or take advantage of me. Of course at certain points, and due to particular situations I had involved myself in, I had to deal with unpleasant hassles. For example once this sassy ratchet-ass hoe hurled boiling coffee all over me because I was going out with a guy who had rejected her around six months before that for being “way too trashy”.
But again, I wasn’t that low in the incorporation ranking, really. I’m never going to forget how I forced myself to take several pain killers for the intense headaches I’d suffer after returning from loud ravishing parties I simply had to go to, just to stay included in the standard range of high school. My sensitive ears sometimes couldn’t take the insanely rowdy music, so my head would start gradually hurting from an insignificant bug to an agonic migraine. And it’s not like I was the soul of the party, or my friends forced me to tag along; I simply felt like I needed to stay updated at the bare minimum. This would cause me a load of trouble when it came down to my parents’ consent, and even if I wasn’t at all what you would can a ‘rebel without a cause’ sort of teenager. Besides considering how harshly demanding my parents had become by then, imagine the pace at which my innocent naïve brain had to roll.
However, if I were to reminisce in a good retrospect, I must say it was an enjoyable term of my life. Adolescence may be, and is, a bittersweet, quite distraught edgy stage of our lives… But I must confess I went through some of the most cherished moments of my life. I made great friendships, fell in love more than once, and weaved bonds I will remove from the back of my mind, where I keep all of my bygone foretimes.
Something about my high school years I will never forget is my dear high school sweetheart. Yes, as you probably expect, I did get my heart broken that time. But leaving that aside, you should know I was so unbelievably in love. We both were. From the outside, it looked like the typical dorky crush sort of love, but it wasn’t for me. I was quite sure about my feelings for the guy.
If you ask me, I don’t think I could tell you exactly what made me fall in love with him, and stay so attached, because a long time after the relationship ended and I got over it, I frankly couldn’t exactly tell what it was I saw in him that made him so special (unlike other relationships I’ve been in). Still I never denied being deeply in love with him, and that he always treated me with utmost respect and care. I felt like a princess in his company. Zach was his name.
Truth be told, I would’ve never seen myself with somebody like him before. Considering he was quite popular in his own school and among a group of people from my institute, Zach would’ve been the last guy I’d approach. But it seems I prejudged him, since I simply fell in love with him the first time we talked when my friend Brandon and his friend Malcolm left us waiting in the same place for a long while. And from there on after, we began to spend more time together, and subsequently started dating.
I’m never going to forget that warm starry night, where I sneaked back inside my house at around four late at night. I knew if my parents caught me I’d be undoubtedly dead, so of course cautiousness was of utmost priority. Instead of heading towards my room, I entered my sister’s. I woke her up and told her all about that night, where I had lost my virginity. I was sixteen and a half by then.
Yes, I know. It may sound slutty. But it really wasn’t. Zach and I really loved each other, and he never forced me to do anything I didn’t want to. It was an enchanting moment that loomed up when we went to his place after returning from a small gathering with comrades in a friendly soccer match during the evening. It didn’t feel at all impure or hoggish as I thought it’d be, considering how out of character anyone would say it was for somebody correct and responsible as me. However, I stand confident when I say it was one of the most memorable nights of my life until now.
Before I could realize it, my relationship with Zachary ended, my sister was working as an intern the laboratory of a university as a neurobiologist, and I had started working with my father in his travel agency. During the summer break before I’d start going to law school, I decided I wanted to adapt myself to more responsibilities that I would have to learn to be able to subdue in a not-so-distant future.
Indeed, I eventually did tell Brandon about my past issues with my hearing impairments. I could say he was the closest friend I ever had. He knew everything about me, and I did about him. He knew my family, all my friends, my secrets, and the entirety of my whole being. We were like twin siblings.
Back to my career; I managed to earn my keep at the travel agency, and be promoted multiple times. By the time I was coursing my third year in law school, I had been obtained the position as the head travel agent of the ministration. I was quite proud of myself.
In a lapse of two years and a half years (starting from the age of 18), every liaison I had involved myself in had ended in deceit. Yes, a total of three relationships more which concluded their closure because my partner chose to cheat on me instead of informing me they were expecting to involve themselves with somebody else. Why did men have to be such wimps when it came to simple honesty? I’m not even asking them not to fall in love with someone else. That’s alright, it can’t be helped. But they could’ve at least warned me about it. And I’m not even going to speak that third time, where he simply lost everything we had because the lil’ faggot needed a one night stand with his nephew’s babysitter.
Maybe I was in the wrong there. Maybe it’s my fault for letting three-four-month relationships get to me and grow attached to them, so then when they supposedly at that instance of the transition they still have the right to be unfaithful without it being of significance. Maybe joke’s on me for letting it get to me, or believing they were special, and not like other hard-dick half-witted college douchebags.
Or maybe, I… was never good enough.
What if I was a neglecting uncaring lover? In retrospective, I don’t think I ever was. Maybe I actually was in their eyes. I know I wasn’t exactly a fireball in bed, so maybe I wasn’t able to satisfy them enough to keep their dicks low for at least a while.
I knew I had to wait until college was done, and I could meet more mature males who wouldn’t hide every time they heard the work ‘commitment’, which is utterly pathetic. Men who didn’t need to drink alcohol or consume drugs in order to have fun at a party or gathering. Men who didn’t get hot under the collar every single time a curvy woman with high heels walked by. I didn’t want a guy… I wanted a gentleman.
However, after fooling myself three times, and still being completely certain that I wouldn’t seek for any progress in my love life until I had received my title as a lawyer, I fucked up yet again.
This is what sucks about love. You get terribly hurt, so bad you think you’re not gonna make it to the next day without having only your tears kiss you to sleep, and you set your mind to the idea that you’re not going to fall in love again in a long time… Augh, fuck, here we go again. You blink and when you open your eyes again there’s Prince Charming kissing your hand. It’s just unfair. One only just doesn’t want to fool oneself and get hurt, but it’s like the screenplay writer of your life script’s all like, "lol nope."
By the age of twenty, only a few months away from turning twenty-one, I met a young man who would be a new incoming client in the agency; I decided to attend him myself. His name was Nigel Reeves, his age assimilated mine (or so it seemed), and he was just one more client in the register. He was looking for an enjoyable holiday resort where he and his friend could spend spring break in. I gave him a personal recommendation, rather than going down the resource bookmark, since I had once visited a lovely establishment in Whitefish, Montana. It was almost rush hour when Nigel stopped by, so the meeting was rather short, and I didn’t give it as much importance as the impact it caused himself.
Yes, I can’t deny he was quite good-looking in his own particular way, and remarkably polite. He seemed like a mature man who knew exactly where he was standing. This gave out the assumption that he was older than I would’ve thought, but I was most likely wrong. His facial features and fashion style was a dead giveaway of his youth. Nigel showed a slight hint of being a somewhat withdrawn man in a way, if I remember correctly.
That’s all he was, for all I knew so far. Two weeks or so after the two traveled to the Lakeside resort in Montana, Nigel visited the agency once more on the sakes of thanking me for granting a satisfactory helpful assistance.
I, until this very day, do not have a clue of what charm the man casted on me, but this second visit he paid, where he stayed for much longer than before since our meeting prolonged after we engaged in deflected dialogue, it was like a lightning of adoration struck me right in the head.
The closure of our parley was concluded by a future meeting, but outside of a working context. Nigel suggested we enjoyed of a cup of coffee anytime soon. We didn’t need to exchange digits, since we had already done it in his first visit where I availed my disposition for any questions or problems he were to have regarding the trip. And so with that, he left the premises.
After that second encounter, I simply could not get the man out of my head. Of course, it has happened to me before with former crushes, but not like it did this time with him. A small voice inside me was insulting me for my aggravation of agreeing to meet once more, on the grounds that for all I knew, this guy could only be seeking to get me laid and end it pretty much there. But for some reason, somehow, I had a strong feeling that it wouldn’t be like that this time. The mere essence of this man was the basis of my theory.
I felt he was different from the others.
The more I learned about Nigel, I could feel how bigger my crush for him became. Yet again, I saw myself spaced out of everything else, and my mind would only center on him. Even if Nigel trusted me his deepest secrets, every single fiber of his being intrigued me without comparison. He had nothing to hide, still I had never met anyone with such mystery.
Something I really admired about him was his insane skills for poetry. He was so passionate about it, and although he was somewhat shy about it, he’d gradually open himself to me regarding the subject and showed me some of his pieces. They were masterpieces. If I wasn’t aware of the fact they were part of Nigel’s work, I would’ve believed they were written by a professional modern poet.
I never got tired of reminding him how talented he was.
Nigel had recently dropped out of college, where he had been studying to get a degree in English Literature and Linguistics. He thought his courses weren’t teaching him anything new, and felt they were measuring the complexities of literature, when he believed real art came out by itself, not by some presumptuous formula. He said he’d continue his poetry as a hobby and seek for future promotions in his workplace. By then, Nigel specialized in Human Resources, working for the Harahan FedEx Ship Center of New Orleans.
My studies began demanding more space into my schedule, and taking in account my job, I’d barely get time for my social life. However, I’d dedicate all of my free time to spend time with Nigel. It even reached a point where my sister would complain that we didn’t get any time for each other.
And by the way, now I mention Haylee, I shall point out she loved Nigel. I mean, for me. We weren’t even dating yet, and every day she’d remind me how perfect he was for me. Even if I argued, deep inside I knew she was right. She’d always try encouraging me onto confessing my feelings for him, which I felt was incapable of doing.
Mhm, indeed, Nigel and I eventually started dating. We were sitting in his car, parked on the lot in the front of the house I shared with my sister. I was about to step out of the car, when he grabbed my arm abruptly, stopping me from leaving and heading inside my home. I remember clearly how he stared at me for some long seconds, a haggard expression on his face, yet with a mesmerizingly longing gleam in his eyes. It was like nothing I have seen before. And something I am never going to forget.
Moments after that, he kissed me. When his lips met mine I felt my chest tighten, and a blazing yet icy fire bolted through me. Nobody had ever made me feel such way. I don’t know what it was, or how he did it, but it got to me. It had really gripped me hard, and I knew it wasn’t going to let me go.
Nigel confessed all of his feelings for me after that liberating long kiss, and so did I, although I had some difficulties. I mean, don’t forget I was quite shy when it came down to this sort of situations back then.
From then on, I felt myself getting even more attached to him. I needed him beside me every day feel complete. However, this had an appalling downside. The closer I grew to him, the more it’d hurt when he was absent, and moreover, the bigger the fear was that if he was unfaithful to me – or he was to get tired of me once and for all –my world was going to straight-up wreck.
It was a risk I was, for some reason, willing to take. I never expressed that fear of mine to him, and I lived with that constant trepidation. But I managed to bear with it; Nigel was worth that much, and way more.
I could not believe how time went by so fast, and how we’d manage to stay together. After a certain amount of time of keeping our relationship steady, and considering we were both ready for the next step, we bought a house and moved in together. Before I could even conceive it, we had prolonged our relationship for two years now. We were going to celebrate this on a trip to Whitefish, Montana, where he had traveled under my advising after we met for the first time in the agency. Nigel suggested this would be the perfect place, and of course I agreed.
It was a winter night, the first weeks of January. We were having dinner at a very elegant restaurant, located at the very top of a five-star hotel on the nearest town from the resort we were currently staying in. The premises were truly breathtaking, especially the view. My, that view. The lurid lights of the city reflected in Nigel’s jet black eyes, also revealing a hint of wishful thoughts.
I recall Nigel taking my hand warmly as we were seated in opposite sides of the table, which was right beside the large windows revealing the illuminated city. My cheeks boiled as he recited the lines of the latest poem he had written, smiling with such tenderness as he stared directly and deeply into my eyes. It was entrancing. Everything around me stopped, as I realized the finishing lines of his captivating poem were concluding its ending as one final question, or shall I say proposal, and he kneeled down before me.
His voice as he intonated those words still resonates echoing throughout the back of my mind until this day.
A winter night where I had it we were merely having our two-year anniversary dinner, turned into the night where I’d accept to taking the honor of becoming Nigel Reeves’ wife.
For a moment, I pondered where I had enough time to think it through, but I was sure I would have said yes regardless. We were young, and most likely naïve in other people’s eyes, but we were both sure of what we wanted. And that was, spend the rest of our lives seeking happiness beside each other. However, I wasn’t at all aware that it’d be what would weave the last threads of the gossamer that’d lead me to my rebirth. My transcendence.
The big day – we decided – would be on May 30th. The event would take place on The House of Broel, a place we both loved after visiting various options we had listed. The establishment was perfect. It had everything we could ever wish for. Logan – one of Nigel’s best friends –had a cousin, who was the owner of The House of Broel, and due to that close contact, we were able to get a much lower price for renting the place.
Our wedding was around a month away, probably a couple of days more than that; Nigel and I were picking out the outfits for our bridesmaids and best men, as well as the design and interface of the invitations. I find needless to say, we were both equally eager for this day to come.
A knock on the door. Neither of us was expecting anybody in particular. It was a while past nine in the evening.
I went to open the door, promptly followed by Nigel. Before our doorstep stood a blonde young female, wearing an olive tank top –exposing a tad of her protruding belly –and gray yoga bottom wear. I could instantly presume she was pregnant. I did not know her, which brought me to the assumption that she might be visiting my husband. In fact, by the way she exclaimed my fiancée’s name so happily and hugged him so warmly that I would’ve thought they were long-life friends. Nigel’s look of disfavor and rejection as she did so confused me though.
Considering I was indeed Kaylee Anderson, the very reincarnation of Jesus Christ, I gladly greeted her in and was more than pleased to hear about her whereabouts. Nigel looked like he would’ve kicked her out from the moment he saw her standing in our doorstep, but knowing his beloved soon-to-be wife insisted that she stayed, he played along.
After a short while of talking I couldn’t help but to notice she was easily the most blithering idiot I could’ve ever come across. I don’t even think you can possibly understand just how idiotic this woman was. She could be catalogued in the same criteria of brainlessness as a fucking door. I need you to get the idea of how much of an airhead this girl was. You could sit her down and have her watch a movie about Christopher Columbus and she’s likely to ask if he’s the actual actor. I have the theory that she’d get fired working in McDonald’s. In a way I had to feel really bad for her baby, may God have mercy on his poor soul.
It didn’t matter where our conversation went, she never mentioned the reason why she had arrived and how she related to any of us, although I was sure Nigel and her knew each other by the way she referred to him and his look of disapproval in his face. He didn’t seem to be in favor of her presence in our house.
Welcoming as I was, and as much as I didn’t really mind her there, at some point I made a casual question, the answer to which was something that would be an alteration to my very existence. It was the final boost leading to my transcendence.
“I’m sure such a gorgeous lady like you wouldn’t neglect her perfect figure, so I’m assuming you’re newly pregnant?”
“Oh, yes. I’m actually pregnant. But like, I… really didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but… This is actually what I came all the way here for. So, Nigel’s the father of my baby.”
I have a vague memory of any rational thinking that crossed my mind at that moment of sheer disquietude. My mind was in a complete whirl, while simultaneously draining from any last drips of hope that were once oceans of promise and prosperity, now leaving my entire being void of the most remote mendacious feeling.
I was reborn. I felt my new raw self blooming out, as if the purely real me had sprouted out the depths of my corrupted soul to thrive at its most potent vigor.
I’ve transcended. This is my rebirth.
My moment of liberation.
But I couldn’t let it out just yet. It’s show time.
I heard the door cautiously creak open, followed by silent slow steps I could sense were approaching as I sobbed a drowned cry. The surface of the mattress beside me soon sank as Nigel’s weight rested upon it, and I could feel his hand glide up and down my back attempting a gesture of consolation; as soon as I felt his touch, I scooted away from him to the opposite edge of the bed, then wiping away my tears with my palms, staining my delicate cheeks with the black mascara that had been washed off by my crying.
“Why would you do this to me? Couldn’t you just tell me right when it happened and avoid all of this?” I managed to spatter between choking sobs and sniffs of dejection, “I gave you everything, Nigel. I really didn’t know you were willing to lose what we had that took so long to build.”
“No, baby, you don’t understand. None of this is true, she’s lying. I should’ve told you… I know, I really should have…” I could hear a knot weaving in his throat as he spoke, soon followed by sobs as he cracked to tears of despair, pulling at his hair and grunting at himself.
It took me a few minutes to regain composure enough to encourage myself – I took a deep clean breath – and asked “... And… How long has it been…? I mean, that you’ve been with her.” My eyes slithered up from his feet at the other edge of the bed and up to his red teary face. He answered almost immediately after sniffing up some grieves.
“No. Absolutely not. That’s not it. I’ve never had anything to do with her, really. I’m being completely honest with you now, sweetheart.” Nigel was nearly pleading for my forgiveness; I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had gotten down to his knees and begged like an unworthy peasant just for me to grant him a new chance.
“Don’t call me that.” I snarled peremptorily, “A-and… how am I supposed to believe you now? You didn’t have the balls to at least tell me that you met her. This is the last time I’m letting something like this happen; I trusted you, Nigel. You know how many times I’ve been done this, and I thought… you were the right one.” It was practically ironic, considered the countless times he had promised not to even think of doing such indecency. I wouldn’t have even thought he would; he wasn’t nearly as depraved.
“Kaylee, why won’t you listen to me? You’re the only one I love, you’ve always been and you’re well aware of that. This is a misunderstanding. Yes, I was a complete shithead for not having told you what happened in Atlanta when I went to attend that meeting, that’s when I met her. But please believe me when I say this: we never had anything to do with each other, I swear. You know me better than this.” For a moment he sounded convincing; he sounded confident enough to be saying that without a single stutter or pause.
“Yeah, I thought I did. Seems I didn’t really know the real Nigel, huh…?” Looking back on it now, I’m pondering whether I could’ve said something smarter, but given the case, I was in the right one. I began choking in caught up tears again, struggling to remain appeased, “I don’t know what happened there, Nigel, but that pregnant chick looked pretty real to me.” I did a bumpy gesture over her stomach to represent Regina’s pregnancy. “Whatever shit went on that you weren’t brave enough to tell me wouldn’t have had to end like this if you only had thought twice before pulling any stunts. Yes, I thought I knew you better.”
I raised from the bed as I concluded the closure of our quarrel and rushed out of the room. “N-no, Kaylee dear, please don’t go! No! Kayl-” His words were sliced like thin constrained threads in a dense air, vanishing into the void of silence, as I slammed the door shut behind me taking my leave.
I rushed down the stairs and out of the house, fastening my pace to come across the sidewalk and slowed down as I reached the middle of the street. The neighborhood was as quiet as ever. The only sound present was the sizzling crickets in the neatly mowed green mantles before the residences, and the reverberating ticking of my shoes against the concrete. I ran so fast I felt my feet almost launching off the ground. The wind that jettisoned by, colliding against mine, was a deceit from the high speed I had worked up as I headed the corner to turn the block–the air wasn’t swung by roughly any breeze at all.
When I reached the corner, as a mere reflex, I plunged my hand onto the street sign and used it to veer and engage onwards across the block. It was then when I felt a unique sort of sensation first in my face, and then invading the rest of my body. I was forced to slow down and stop running; by at which time I had reached almost half the block. My face burnt, I would’ve sworn it was on fire, and my skin was actually moving. Something was forcibly carving deep into my skin; it felt like knives broadening the corners of my mouth, until they extended up to over the middle of my cheeks. My eyes were incinerating as I felt a profound pain causing an agonic tearing on the inside and the surface. The entirety of my muscles blazed aflame, and I felt as if they were enlarging, but they weren’t even moving. In fact, I toppled down onto a high stonewall confining the sidewalk, most likely setting the bounds of someone’s backyard or lawn. I clung onto it in order not to tumble down onto the floor, and whimpered and winced in abysmal pain. The ache was so great it detracted my attention from anything else going on around me, in exception of that tiny insignificant voice soon to come.
“K-kaylee, sweetheart, I n-” Nigel purported to direct some words after he had somehow found me after my scenic runaway, but I halted him.
“Look at what you did to me!” I screamed at him so unbelievably loud as I turned around, I would’ve never thought it had come out of my throat. My voice was also screechy and belligerent, questioning my beliefs even more.
When he saw my gruesome aspect, his eyes gaped wide like two sausage plates, and he backed away a few steps in sudden consternation. Nigel couldn’t believe his own eyes. The sight was something beyond any sense. He was blatantly horrified.
“This is all your fucking fault, you worthless lying son of a bitch!” I accused, the words simply crept out aggressively out of my mouth. I wasn’t measuring my vociferous indictment, and neither would I have. He was drawn aback as I kept my crooked fingers near my face, as if stopping anything from touching it.
Before I could even think it through, a murderous and truculent impulse gained entire possession of my actions, and in an offensive act, I plunged my fist into his stomach, with what was most certainly an inhumane amount of strength. My body was flaring with blustering power. A squirt of blood shot out of Nigel’s mouth and splashed all over the chest of my hoodie. His body was lashed against the stonewall, and pounded onto it several more times as I stuffed the middle of his chest with repetitive, onerous, relentless punches.
Nigel then tumbled down to the floor numbly after his back slid down the wall. Whilst I stepped over him to depart, I heard him utter a last hopeless voice. ‘… K-k… Kay… lee…’
But I didn’t even grant him the least of glimpses after his desperate call for mercy; he didn’t deserve even the privilege of my attention. Now the little bastard laid lifeless on the floor, I could finally go set out my new life – the one that had been awaiting long to finally kick start. The only thing I could’ve stopped to do, was thank him to give me the last push to start rolling. From then on, I’d roll till the wheels came off.
I committed to my legitimate being like that catchy phrase in The Fault in Our Stars—"slowly and then all at once." I’ll just call it ‘bindweed’.
You could say the roots of my bindweed crept out of the cracks of my heart as it shattered with its daily wear and tear, thriving stronger and stronger each day as it spread and gained domain in me. Until one day, the bindweed managed to take over me – entirely. It created an impenetrable fortress around me that has now made me immune to any pathetic sentimental pain or affliction. Nothing can cause an impact on me now; nothing can take down the bindweed. It has wrapped itself around me, like an armor. It kills anything inside me that jeopardizes my indestructible emotional integrity, like poison.
I wouldn’t say the bindweed has any malignant or negative intentions. Its sole purpose is to put up defensive forces to shield me from any further damage, which now can only make me even stronger.
The bindweed is strength. The bindweed is power.
Now I’ve joined those who are like me. Those who seek to only make justice within the bounds of this wicked world of sin and hatred. We wipe out and smite those who deserve grief and pain, and so they learn – they learn like we did. These beings don’t judge, because they’ve been on the other side, where you’re judged. We know the drill. It’s kill or be killed; live and let die.
For as long as I shall live, my duty is to chastise those who have partaken in the rapture of somebody’s heart, anyhow. Even if they are nudging them a step forward to their potential road towards discovering the bindweed, they merit punishment, of which I am primarily responsible for. For the sake of all broken hearts, I am to make justice, until my breathing stops. I have experienced the transition, but whilst I wasn’t aware of the worthy outcome, it was like walking straight through the flames of hell. Everybody who is willing to break a heart is well aware of the consequences; for solely that, they earn my hatred, and thus, they pay.
You’ve broken a heart… now you pay with your own.