Girl Desecrated 1984: Vampires, Asylums and Highlanders, page 6
Even though Lene had claimed to love her sorry excuse for a boyfriend, it didn’t mean she was always true to him. Generally, she wanted every man to pay attention to her, and if any man showed an interest in me, she wanted him too. I was more willing than usual to play third wheel, because it would help me keep my legs closed and stay on track with my healing plans, not to mention my fifty-dollar reward.
Lene stared at the bathroom door with the concentration of a cat stalking a bird.
She didn’t notice the waitress approaching our table. I was taken by the woman’s hair that was styled like a lion’s mane, blown back from her face until there was no part showing. Her pocket apron jingled with coins as she leaned over and placed two beers on the table.
She pulled the copy of The Mercury I had been reading earlier out from under her arm. I leaned back when she placed it on the table in front of me.
“Bartender said this was your paper?” The waitress asked, barely glancing at me.
Donald’s hand had pressed down onto the paper when he had leaned over my table to berate me. Now, his red plaid jacket filled my vision like a target. My nostrils flared hungrily for a whiff of the American.
I gripped the arms of my chair tightly, refusing to let myself touch that spore. I didn’t want to go through another round of fanatical thinking. So, I thought of rainbows and candy floss, and the fact I’d have to drink Blue all night, because Lene was buying.
“Who’s the hunk?” Lene asked the waitress about Mr. Sheepskin coat, as she passed a handful of coins to her.
“Never seen him before.”
An unhealed cold sore, slathered with greasy medication, adorned the waitress’s bottom lip. It made me think of Donald’s oils.
“He’s been sitting by the pool table with a bunch of buds,” she offered, tipping her head towards the other side of the bar.
Mustering my courage, I slowly reached out and with two fingers gingerly folded up the paper, corner by corner. I kept my mind occupied with mathematical calculations, and was very careful not to touch any part Donald had pawed. When I was sure I had buried his spore as deep as I could in newsprint, I held The Mercury up at arms length.
“Hey,” I called out to the waitress, causing her to frown and come back.
Holding it gingerly, I passed it to her, “Take this out and burn it. Smells like puppy piss.”
She carefully lifted it from my fingers, but then she fumbled and dropped the newspaper. Without thinking, I caught it right in front of my face.
The rough tumble released the scent of burnt meat into the air where it was drawn into my eager nostrils. At the first trace of aroma, my brain kicked into overdrive. Synapses fired like fireworks, classifying the American’s DNA, computing his connections, calculating his demise, and encouraging me to go find him.
“Sorry about that.” The waitress took the paper from my shaking hand.
“Puppy piss?” Lene asked.
“Not quite,” I released a low growl, trying to supress the growing desire to hunt American.
Grabbing the cold beer, I toasted Lene’s confused look and took a swig.
The washroom door swung open. Mr. Sheepskin Coat was headed our way. Lene put on a sexy smile and stood up to block his path. He was a good four inches taller than her, but when she slipped her shapely body into the aisle, he stopped in mid stride, just as she’d planned.
“You’re not going to walk by a couple of women drinking alone, are you?” She gifted him with a sexy pout.
An “I might get laid” realization spread across his face, softening his mouth.
“Och, I meant no offense, lassie.”
He stared with interest at her bare midriff.
“Lassie!” His Scottish accent shocked the echo out of me.
Lene shot me an annoyed look and weaseled herself back into the man’s mono-vision. He forgot me in seconds, surrendering his attention to the vibrant beauty in front of him.
“Well, I won’t take offense if you just fix the situation,” she winked, and reached out her hand to stroke his coat lapel.
He stared open-mouthed at Lene’s hand on his chest.
Just then, a shorter man came from the other side of the bar and strode across the floor toward us. He ogled Lene from the waist down with a smart grin on his face.
“Did ye get yerself lost, Duncan?” he asked.
Lene turned to greet him, her white teeth flashing. While Lene was putting on a show, I drank her beer. No sense in letting it get warm. And besides, she had just made sure we’d be in booze for the rest of the night.
The two men were giving Lene their complete attention and though I had agreed to play back-up, I was starting to feel a little miffed. Thinking I should go do something about Man-boy’s virginity, I pushed back my chair.
“Well, then…” I said it like my grandfather trying to prematurely end a Thanksgiving dinner, and rose slowly from the chair, stretching my spine to its full length. The men’s eyes moved to the top of my wild blonde hair, then trailed to the two-inch heels on my biker boots. The shorter one winked at Duncan, and excitedly chirped, “Now, here’s a Skinny Malinky Longlegs!”
I gave him the ice-queen-look, and made to leave. Lene hooked her arm in mine, and with a smile over her shoulder at the two men, and a promise to return, she spun me around and half-dragged me into the washroom.
“For Judas’ sakes!” I yanked my arm from hers before the door closed. “What are you doing?”
“You’re not leaving.”
A hot flame of rage boiled through me at her attempt to control my choices. As I was about to give her what-for, a shocking vision of her head tilted at a gross angle assaulted my mind. Lene’s broken spine pushed the skin of her neck out to the side like a tent pole. The horrifying image was so clear, it competed with reality. I retched and covered my eyes with my hands.
Seconds ticked by before Lene spit out, “Uhh… Rachel?”
I peeped out between my spread fingers to make sure all of Lene’s body parts were still connected. Her hands were on her hips, elbows jutting out defiantly, as she narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you on something?”
I slowly lowered my shaking hands. “Maybe … yeah…” I swallowed, trying to wet my tongue enough to talk. “Maybe I popped a bean or two.”
This false confession was met with silence.
“I was just trippin’.” I chuckled. “I thought there was a bat flying around the bathroom.”
She immediately ducked and twisted her head to check for bats.
“No, I thought there was a bat…” I tried to explain but Lene didn’t hear me over her screeches. She leaned over, flipped her hair down over her face and rapidly rubbed her hands through her hair to dislodge any flying rodents, while stamping her feet on the floor.
I laughed for real, this time.
“Cool your jets!” I grabbed at her wrist. “There’s no bat, man. I just kirked out, okay?”
She flipped her hair back up, and as I watched her long black hair flying out in front of her, time slowed down. Her hair divided, strand by strand, splitting apart like shattered wood and coming together like baby spider webs joining in the wind. I was mesmerized by the detail, drawn into the patterns of those midnight black hairs crossing and uncrossing, floating in the air, following the pull of her scalp.
“Rachel!”
She was in front of me again and time had caught up to its normal pace. I tried to cover my eyes with my hand, but it missed my face and brushed along my ear.
“You’re seriously messed up,” she declared, with a disapproving shake of her head.
She turned away and set her turquoise purse on the wet counter. Digging out a fuchsia lipstick, she examined her reflection in the mirror.
“Yeah, I am messed up.”
I leaned against the washroom stall and tested my arms by crossing them. They worked. Pushing out my hips and crossing my ankles I tried to appear calm and collected.
“Uh…Lene, tonight… might not be a good idea to grab my arm, okay?”
She rolled her eyes and continued to touch up her make-up.
I cursed and gave up trying to convince her it was dangerous to piss me off. What would I say anyways? I didn’t know what was going on myself.
After the weirdness, I was still afraid to go home and be alone, but it was clear now, after that image of Lene’s broken neck, my staying put her at risk. I felt safer with the promised all-nighter, but I needed to distance myself from Lene for her own protection. The question was how to get out of hanging with her and avoid going home alone.
If I picked up a man to go home with, I’d break my resolution. Patrick had sworn I’d only push myself further into madness if I didn’t stick to my resolve. The idea of tonight’s weirdness being my future was too much to even consider.
It was past eight on a Friday night, so calling the Homeward to speak to Dr. Casbus was out of the question. The head nurse would never bother him this late. A sly idea struck me. Just because I couldn’t call the doctor, didn’t mean I couldn’t go see him in person. I’d gone to the Homeward at night, before. On those nights when I was afraid for my mother, afraid she’d be scared, or missing me, or they would be hurting her with their treatments.
The head nurse, Mrs. Huds didn’t like it, but Casbus always showed up to save me from her lecture on rules. He didn’t let me have a room to stay in—it wasn’t the Holiday Inn, but he’d let me stay long enough to dial down my fears a notch or two.
During my last after-hours session, Casbus had explained why I had holes in my memories.
“You are under extreme stress when you visit your mother,” he had said. “You have developed a special skill, an ability to disappear within yourself to avoid unpleasant encounters.”
I had frowned at him, trying to catch his point. “What do you mean ‘disappear’?”
“During times of life-threatening duress, your conscious mind has gone inward, and allowed your subconscious to take control.”
I stood up from his leather couch and paced the floor. “Can everybody do that?”
He watched me wear a path in the carpet from behind his thick, reflective glasses.
“You are not the only one, Rachel. Many children who struggle to survive do so through dissociation.”
“But you said before I had multiple personality issues!”
“Yes, you suffer from the merciful adjustment a mind undertakes when it cannot deal with what must be endured.”
I fiddled with my earring.
His squirrely eyebrows popped up above the rim of his glasses.
“Sometimes, over time, a young child who is dissociating will develop an ‘alter’, an alternate personality to deal with what is causing them pain.”
I took my earring off and cleaned the post. Then put it back in, keeping my eyes on the ceiling.
His explanation sounded had sounded so “right”. I had another personality who spoke with a Southern accent, who spoke her mind at the most awkward moments. Worse yet, she had opinions and urges different from mine, and her demands had brought on trouble more than once.
After Casbus explained my lost memories, so many confusing things fell into place. It didn’t make it easier—understanding and accepting are two different things. It was still frightening to admit the Southern voice was my alternate personality, but now, at least, I had a treatment goal.
Casbus was going to work with me to merge my personalities and help me become one.
That was the long-term treatment goal. Right now, I needed Dr. Casbus to calmly explain away the weird things that had happened in the bar. I needed him to use scientific words and logical reasoning to explain why my arm stopped obeying my brain, why I heard voices on the phone, why the rooms squeezed and changed shape, and why I was seeing Lene’s body twist and break like a pretzel. I needed professional reassurance that I was not going to track down Donald, the American, and gut him with my Rambo knife.
But more than anything, I needed Dr. Casbus to convince me my mother’s letter was bullshit, and I was not fighting off Satan and his hordes of demons.
I clawed my fingers through my hair, giving the roots a good tug. Lene snapped the lid on her lipstick and checked her teeth in the mirror.
“Listen,” I started, “I probably should head out.”
Lene gave me a dirty look through the mirror, but then she turned around with a fake chummy smile plastered on her face.
“C’mon, I’ll buy you another drink. All you have to do is sit at the table with us,” she urged.
Her mention of the drink was tempting, but the doctor had better stuff to numb me.
“Don’t you have a shift tomorrow? Shouldn’t you go home?” I coaxed.
“I’m not going home. He’s at home.”
She faced the mirror to look at herself once more. Her eyes glittered like aluminum in the silver glass.
“Besides, I want to hang with you to help celebrate your birthday.”
“How do you know it’s my birthday?”
“Bartender told me.”
“Traitor.” I whispered.
“Com’on!” She came at me as if she were going to grab my arm. I backed up into the washroom stall. “We’ve got two good reasons to party! Let’s do it!”
I chewed my lip.
“I’ll pay for your cab home, afterwards,” she added, sweetening the deal.
My brain put two and two together and came up with a paid-for ride to the Homeward and Dr. Casbus. That was good enough for me.
“Warning,” I held up my finger, making sure she understood the danger. “If Reg shows up and tries to hurt you, I’m not responsible for what I might do to him.”
The concern in her eyes for Reg’s well-being told me this break-up wasn’t going to last. Just like the other times.
Her voice was a breathless whisper. “I’ll need you here to stop me from leaving with him.”
“Fine. I’ll stay.” I pushed the stall door shut between us. “But I’ll need something stronger to drink than beer.”
“I’ll meet you out there,” she chimed, patience not being one of her virtues.
I struggled to pull down my tight jeans. With my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands, I tried to relax my mind and my bladder.
Toilet-poetry was scribbled on the inside walls of the stall. I had read most of the comments and had even penned a few myself, so I noticed the new line of precise printing, right away.
Welcome your fate with recognition, for your fate is your well-known life.
I had to read it a few times to figure out what the hell it meant, but once I did, I quickly disagreed.
“Bullshit,” I announced and gave the toilet paper roll a good spin, taking off more than I needed.
If fate was life, then Lene should just stay with the “wife-beater”, because every man she hooked up with would beat her. I couldn’t believe that was true, for her or for me. I had to believe my shitty life wasn’t some prearranged hell I could never escape. I wasn’t doing the best with decisions, or money, or finding someone to love me, but I hoped I was finally on the road to controlling my ‘crazy’.
“I’m goin’ to par-tay!” I shouted, kicking open the stall door and getting ready for my next drink.
Party, but not get laid, I reminded myself.
CHAPTER 5: HIGHLANDER INVASION
~
WHILE I HAD BEEN CONTEMPLATING my life in the washroom, Lene had succeeded in attracting a herd of men. I found her surrounded by six beefed-up, Scottish hunks in their sexual prime.
“Might as well make it a party, Lene,” I muttered, sarcastically.
The men dwarfed the two small wooden tables they had pushed together. I stood awkwardly on the outside of the ring of taken chairs. I might as well have been invisible, for all eyes were glued on Lene and her coy grin.
“So, what’s there to dae in this town fur fun?” One of the Scot’s asked.
“You’re lookin’ at it.” Lene posed as if someone had pulled out a Polaroid.
Astonished laughter erupted, and I got sick of standing.
“Seriously, did you guys escape from the Fergus Highland Games, or what?”
The outburst of laughter trickled into silence and several strong jaws turned my way. A few of them leered and someone said something raunchy about a caber. A flutter of excitement erupted in the pit of my stomach, encouraging me to work at being friendly. But I held my neutral expression and raised a judgmental eyebrow at the caber jester.
The Scot who had christened me a ‘Skinny Malinky’ jumped up and grabbed a chair from an empty table. He muscled apart two men.
“Move aside and make room fur the tall lassie.”
The tall lassie, who just wants to go home, I thought. A giggle almost escaped my disapproving lips.
He set down the chair. “I’m Colin, by the way.”
His eager expression reminded me of those small dogs that like to hump legs.
“Huh.” I avoided eye contact.
After some shifting, I finally squeezed in between the two big men. The guy on my left checked me out, while I took in his short, fair-hair, blue eyes and muscular build.
“Fits yer name and far yi fae?” he asked.
I had no idea what he meant, but chuckled at the silliness of it.
He tried again, “Naeme’s Lennox.”
He was yummy, and definitely off limits, tonight and for six more nights.
“Hi.”
I turned away to focus on my best friend who was seated directly across the table. Her voice was dripping out of her hot lips like nectar, and the men were caught by the promises in it.
“I know all the best places,” she was saying in response to a suggested bar hop. “But this is the best place to be.”
“Why’s that?” Sheepskin coat asked.
“Cause I’m here, of course.” She winked at him, and he grinned in appreciation of her boldness.
I was watching Lene, but I was focussed on the body heat coming off the two men sitting on either side of me. It was probably the worst place to be seated when I was trying to be celibate and control my crazy. Lene’s voice drone into white noise as I closed my eyes and concentrated on squashing the sensual pulsing along my hot spots. After a few moments of trying to cool down, I gave up.
