ANONYMOUS


    MINDEN, LA


    JUNE 1981


    There are too many people here. It is like I’m squashed between two rocks that grow bigger with every second. The heat does not help.


    My baggy, faded plaid shirt is drenched with sweat. The chatter around me is starting to give me a headache, and I wonder why I have come here. I see people come and out the door, holding hands as they disappear into the warm night air. The ice floating in my glass melts, causing a puddle to gather on top of the wooden table. I am taking a sip when a shadow appears in front of me.


    “What’cha doin?”


    I look up. The person is smiling from ear to ear. They chuckle as they slip next to me. I cannot pry my eyes away from their toned arms and legs. They raise a hand at the bartender, who is busy wiping a glass clean with a rag. He grunts as he comes over to us.


    ”Can I help you?” he mutters.


    ”Two peach margaritas, please,” the person says. They have very long, straight teeth, and they give me a wink as they clear a strand of hair from behind their ear and cross their legs. A flip flop loosely dangles from their foot.


    Heat rushes to my face as I glance down.


    “You from around here?” they ask.


    A bead of sweat runs down my face.


    “You ain’t gotta be so shy with me, now. Fine looking as you are—you ain’t got no date?” The person shakes their head in disbelief. “I’m surprised nobody in the room has approached you.” They jut a manicured thumb at the table across from us, where a group of people are laughing at us. My cheeks flush as I stand up to leave, causing the chair to squeak loudly across the floor.


    I’m heading to the parking lot, the wind in my hair, when I hear a voice behind me.


    “Hey, wait, where you going?” The door slams behind the person step in front of the building. “I ain’t mean to cause a fuss. Come on back.”


    “I best be going on home now,” I say, staring at my shoes. I don’t actually want to return to the empty house. “It’s getting kind of late.”


    They snort. “It’s only eleven thirty.”


    I shrug, even though I try my best to keep my eyes off them. They give me a lopsided smile, before stepping forward and placing a hand on my shoulder, then twirling with the ends of my hair. Their eyes are sparkling like the moon above us, and they say in my ear,


    ”Why don’t we go to my apartment? You look like you could use a little fun. It ain’t no use sitting at a table and staring at people. You ought to know what you’re missing out on.”


    They take a couple steps forward, before glancing at me, gesturing with their finger.


    * * * * * * * *


    It’s a nice place.


    Colorful paintings adore the walls, and the carpet is soft and fuzzy beneath my feet as I enter the living room. The person smiles as they open a champagne bottle and brings out two glasses. I watch the purple liquid slosh, before the person hands one to me.


    “Here.”


    I glance at it, and then them.


    “You are so funny,” they guffawed. “Ain’t you never drink in your life?”


    Carefully, I take a sip, before a slight smile crosses my lips. It tastes rather sweet. The person grins and leans against the counter. I settle on the couch, observing their television.


    The person drops down next to me after finishing their glass. “You’re kind of strange. But I like you.” They lean a bit closer, the golden chain on their wrists dangling. “A lot.”


    My lips touch theirs. Their hand is on my waist, and I love the way their fingers are in my skin. They work to unbutton my plaid shirt, every single one. As our clothing melts off, the person sighs with relief as I kiss their neck. Their body is beautiful, so beautiful, even more than the models I see in the magazines. Their hand travels down my jeans, then my underwear. There is a strong pulsing in between my legs as I kick them off and suddenly find myself on top of them.


    The person grins at me. Their arms are wrapped around my bare buttocks.


    Breathing heavily, I slowly adjust my hips. A soft gasp escapes from me. My mouth is slightly parted, hair over my face. The cushion creaks beneath us, and as my hand grips the pillow below their head, they move their waist. My face is flushing as they settle upon my lap. We rise up and down. I dig my fingers into the arm of the couch, trying my best to hold back, but I can barely manage.


    The person laughs, throwing their hair across their shoulder. A moan explodes from my lips, and I feel their hands press against my back. We are going faster, arms and legs tangled. It is so wet and slippery, but I try to steady myself. I am lost. I am completely lost.


    We switch, now I am on my back beneath them. They rotate their hips—my hands settle on their buttocks. I arch my back, before pulling them down with me. They begin to laugh, but I hook my thighs around theirs, collapsing further around them. My bare foot accidentally knocks over a lamp, setting them in a fit of laughter, and I can’t help but laugh too. We are both laughing, breathless, probably a little too drunk, but in paradise.


    “I’m sorry,” I say. “I can pay for that.”


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    ”It was only ten bucks anyway,” they say.


    I plant a kiss on their shoulder. “I’m sorry.”


    “Now,” they say in my ear, “will you tell me your name?”


    ”Yes,” I breathlessly whisper. A wave of intense pleasure washes over me, and I stifle back a noise. “Yes. Yes. Yes…..yes, I…yes.”


    They laugh. ”Well, what is it?”


    “Yes.”


    “Yes, what?”


    I can’t answer. I am hungry for more. Much more. By the time we finish, I am sprawled out on the couch, coated in sweat. They are opening the champagne bottle and refilling a glass of wine, giving me a strange side eye. My eyes are still on their body, and I faintly smile. Has anyone told them how beautiful they were? They don’t have a single blemish.


    ”Want one?”


    “You ain’t gonna tell me your name?”


    “Can we….can please we try again?”


    The person rolls their eyes and places a hand on their hip. “You all are the same, aren’t you? Only thing you’re about interested in.”


    “Please?” I whisper, climbing off the couch. I can’t help but ask. The person smirks as they set down their glass with a thump and beckons me over. Their skin is so soft. Very gently, I press them against the wall, my fingers against their chest. I want to feel their insides. And as I go deeper into them, the more I cry out until there is nothing but me.


    * * * * * * * *


    We spend many nights together.


    It is not always lovemaking, though. Many of the time, we read and talk about books and movies and our favorite albums. Theirs is the Beetles, mine is Earth, Wind and Fire. I want to invite them over to my house, but I’m afraid to. I like their apartment. It is warm and cozy.


    For the first time in my life, I have a friend.


    I want to live with them forever. I want to ask them to marry me, and we can both leave this place behind. I want to share everything with them. But I am too afraid to tell them these things, because they might find out who I am.


    As we lay in bed naked together, holding onto each other, I notice bruises up and down their arms and back. I ask them what is wrong, but they brush it off, say they fell down the stairs. They don’t seem to like me asking that much, so I stop. But it still sits at the corner of my mind, even when I try to forget. Each time I leave; there an emptiness that fall over me.


    A week later, I hear a crashing sound as I come up to the apartment. There’s a cry, and I quickly move behind a corner. After a while, I peek out. A man, probably in his late forties, stumbles drunkenly out in the hallway. He has streaks of gray in his dark hair and stomps down the steps. I rush into the apartment and see the person sprawled out over the kitchen floor. On the table are a few needles, some dollar bills, and a strange white powder.


    There is a lot of blood. I try to get them to stand up, drink a lot of water, but they can hardly take a sip. They look at me for a moment, like they just see me for the first time. They struggle to breathe, and I am about to tell them that I will call for help.


    The person don’t say nothing, I realize they aren’t blinking anymore, just stare at the wall. I see that their neck is at a strange angle.


    * * * * * * *


    “You need a ride?” I ask, slowing my car.


    The man stumbling at the road gives me a strange look. But I know it him. It’s two in the morning, and he is drunk as a skunk. I smile and lower the window after putting the car in park. Hopefully, he don’t see the blood on my shirt, or the water in my eyes. I don’t think he does. It’s too dark. But I like the dark.


    He mumbles something, shielding his eyes against the blinding light. As he stumbles forward, I open the door to the passenger side, and he climbs in. As I drive off, he snores loudly, leaning his head against the glass. I focus on the dirt road ahead of us.


    By the time I pull up to my house, it is around the crack of dawn. He is much bigger than I, but I do my best and drag him backwards across the grass and up the porch stairs. I lock the front door, before glancing at the basement door. My hair falls over my face.


    * * * * * * *


    Softly, I sing to myself as I sharpen my knife.


    It’s been quite dull, as I’ve been using it to chop oranges. These cheap kitchen blades are worthless. I think next time, I’ll got to a butcher’s shop. Their knives have a higher quality. I spit on it, before wiping it with the end of my bloodied plaid shirt. As I approach the basement door, I take my bucket with me.


    I already hear the man’s rustled movement once I go down the stairs. His eyes dart back and forth, and he winces in pain as he struggles to break free from the rope secured around his arms and legs. I made sure to make the knots extra tight. He flinches as my shadow appears in front of him. It’s been a day. I think he’s coming out of it now.


    “What…what are you doing?” A scowl crosses his face. “Let me out of here, will you?”


    ”You stole from me,” I whisper.


    ”Stole from you?” he explodes. “What the hell did I ever do to you?”


    ”You took away—” My voice quiet, a bit hoarse. “You took her away. Why did you take her away?”


    The man tilted his head. “If I wasn’t tied back, you’d have your face smashed against the ground like a pancake.” He scoffs. “Look at you, all skinny and puny. Ain’t nobody will want you. But you take the easy route.”


    ”Ain’t nothin’ easy about this,” I say.


    “Wait…ain’t you what she involved with? It is you.” He smirks. “You got puppy eyes for my daughter, don’t you? You think you doing something, tryin’ to be all intimidating.”


    My hand tightens around the handle of my knife. “You watch what you say.”


    “She was with child,” the man said. “Had gotten the results back from the doctor, was puffin’ her chest. She was a fucking whore, that’s what. I sacrificed everything for her, and she threw it all away for nothing.” He scoffs and adjusts his feet. “I’m not afraid to die.”


    Water beads in my eyes. My hand is shaking. I cannot cry in front of him. I won’t cry. I haven’t cried in nearly two decades.


    ”She tell me she pregnant the other day,” he continues. “After she disrespect me by going all around these streets, sleeping with whoever. I decide to teach her a lesson.” His eyes meet mine. “You’ll never be able to meet either of them again. Not in this life.”


    I don’t exactly recall what happened next. I just remember how my vision got white. I only know that the knife in my hand was suddenly soaking wet. His skin came apart, one by one, in ribbons, meat and flesh and fat, and finally, bone. Dark red soaking the door, the floor, the walls. My hand wouldn’t stop shaking as hunks of his flesh came apart, just to make him stop talking. He curses me, curses the world, curses his daughter with every wretched breath he took. If he wasn’t afraid to die, I would make him afraid to live.


    I want him


    to feel.


    Gradually, I scoop his skin into the bucket. His screams filled the murky air of the basement. Peeling it off was quite easy. You start at the base of the forehead, before coming down at the neck, then finally ending at edge of the foot. I do it slowly, watching the layers turn from white to pink, and then red. When he is nothing but a bright, swollen lump, I take his skin upstairs and bury it in the front yard in a deep hole where the maggots can feast upon it. I am breathing very hard. I know I cannot make him suffer as much as I want him to.


    My child.


    My eyes are very wet. The same day, I promise myself to never fall in love again.


    I wash my bloodied hands in the sink.