Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Kimmydon Week 5 Entry: Atonement


Kimmydon's Choice: Both


This was the worst lapse in judgment I've ever had. What did I think would happen? I'd gone with a strange man to a random, cheap motel. I wasn't a hooker; I wasn't a slut; I wasn't even easy. I'd only had sex once in my life, and that had been an awkward painful experience in the back of Jesse's Echo. At least Daniel had a full-size car.

It had been a pretty average day for me. Kicking myself down the beach, letting the surf roll over my toes, wishing my guilt were so easily washed away. My family continued to tell me not to blame myself, but how could I not? She had been my responsibility, she was in my care. The warm water on my toes tickled and the spray masked the tears that wouldn't stop.

So what had I been thinking? I hadn't thought, obviously. I was completely infatuated with those warm brown eyes and his boyish smile. He'd found me on the beach and swept me up in happy thoughts, gentle touches, whispers of endearment. He'd found me when all I wanted was someone to make me feel special, loved. He'd succeeded where my family and friends had failed. He'd made me forget. My mind went back to the pinnacle of that afternoon, sitting on the sand, his arms around me, watching the surf rise to touch our feet. His legs wrapped around mine, both our toes being tickled by the lapping water.

"Come with me?" he had asked. He hadn't been specific and I hadn't been curious. I'd let him take me to a tiny diner, a hole in the wall, with great grits and pork chops. His eyes had never left mine and it'd made me warm and tingly everytime I'd noticed.

After paying for my meal - despite my insistence that I could cover it myself - he'd driven me here. I'd been reluctant to leave the car. I wasn't a complete idiot. Well, no, obviously I am a complete idiot, that's why I'm dead. You can't really get dumber than getting yourself killed, right?

Still, I'd had sense enough to know something was wrong when he pulled in outside the scungy nameless motel, and I'd hesitated. He'd kissed my cheek again, the way he'd kissed my lips, my shoulders and my neck on the beach. I had closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling.

"No pressure. This is just where I'm staying. I don't live here. We can watch a movie or something."

I nodded and let my breath go in a huff. Then I unfastened my seatbelt. He opened my door for me and offered his hand, like in a movie. I giggled and took it. He kissed my hand and then my lips, pulling me with him to the door of Room 104. He tugged a key with a large plastic tag on the chain from his pocket, slipping it into the lock.

He wasn't kidding about not living here. He had one bag with a few days of clothes and three sets of water shorts tossed around the spare furniture. He blushed quickly and started throwing them back in his bag. "I wasn't expecting to meet anyone today," he apologized.

I knew what he meant. I never dreamed I would be going home with someone when I went to the beach alone, looking for atonement, wanting the rise and fall of the tide to wash away my pain, my sin.

"There, now it doesn't look like a slob is staying here." He flopped on top of the bedspread, stretching his legs out over the mattress and spreading an arm over the second pillow.
I blushed a little and clambered into his side while he flipped on the TV.

"What do you want to watch?" he asked, bringing up the pay per view menu.

I shrugged. "I'm not picky. Nothing gory."

"Nothing gory... You have to be kidding me!" He stopped briefly on the horror screen he was flipping past to yell at it. "You don't put 'Hostel' or '1408' on your pay per view!"

I laughed with him. "No kidding. Good way to make your guests run away."

His arm tightened on me, and he kissed my ear. "No running away."

I blushed again.

"How about, 'I Now Pronounce you Chuck and Larry'?"

"Sure." I let him call it up and flipped the pillows behind us so we could lean on the headboard.

He walked to the tiny bar fridge and pulled out a beer. "Want one?" he asked.

I nodded and he grabbed a second.

We laughed, talked, drank, kissed, touched. It was an easy night. It was getting later and I didn't want to go home. He didn't want me to go home. The movie credits ran while he kissed me, his hand pulling up my skirt.

As soon as the TV dimmed, he changed. I don't know what caused it, why he did it, but suddenly his hands were on my throat.

I coughed. I scratched at his wrists. I squirmed and tried to kick him off, but it was no use. I fainted from lack of oxygen, but didn't die. No, death was to be a long way off. He used me first. Then he left me, laying on top of the comforter, in a pool of blood and other fluid while he threw his bag in the back of his car. I stood, seeing but unseen, as he pulled away.

No one knew where I was. No one was looking for me. I would be a number, not a name. I had been looking for atonement. I supposed, in one way, I had found it.