Guilty

Guilty

A Story by J A Lauder
"

Um, just a story that sort of emerged in a half-alseep blur.

"

I never truly knew what a ‘crime of passion’ meant. To me, cynical, sceptical, messed up old me, I always saw it as an excuse that stopped people from getting their just desserts. I did not care to ponder circumstances or motivation, as far as I knew everything was plain old black and white. Some things you should do and some things you should not, simple as that. If you did something evil you should be punished. Whatever the reason for it.

How naive I was. I grew up in a very tight-lipped family, we did not show emotions and I did not learn how to relate to people very well. All I could do was watch and try and imitate, eternally a small child still trying to work things out. I was clever, very clever but I was socially inept. I had no idea how to react to situations and I never connected with people. They annoyed me because they never understood me and I had little patience for idiots.

Until Myles. I met him at work; I was always in the back because although I was efficient and got the job done I had ‘issues with public relations’. They would rather I refrained from scaring off the customers. The first thing Myles did was laugh at me. Some poor unfortunate had gotten lost and asked me where she could find the soup of all things. The soup that was clearly in my peripheral vision. I was in a hurry to finish my shift so I rather irritably told her that is she cared to stop being a complete and utter head case thinking about unimportant things that distracted her, she would find it about three feet to her right. I walked off without a word.

I heard something behind me. It was a quiet tittering that turned in to muffled snickers to all out laughter that was impossible to repress. I turned around and saw him standing there, leaning on a stepladder, presumably after changing a bulb. He had shoulder length sandy blonde hair, I can remember exactly how each gravity-defying clump sat and I can remember his green-flecked blue eyes and the two little moles on his left cheek.

“Do you always say what everyone is thinking?” he questioned me.

“I don’t know what everyone is thinking. You would have to ask them.”

I went back to the storage cupboard to finish up.

It was a strange pattern after that. Of course I got an earful from my boss for my treatment of the customer, but he could scarce afford to fire such a hard worker. Everywhere I went Myles was there. More often than not he would find something amusing in what I did or said. After a month he asked me out for a drink at the place where his friend was playing that night. My family was astounded that I suddenly had something social to go to.

I was less than impressed with the atmosphere of the place. It was too hot, too noisy and too crowded. I registered everything from the threadbare carpet to the drink stains and painfully flashing lights. People came here, by choice? Walking through the door I saw one impending break up, a soon to be fight, two people being carried out by their friends and another one throwing up. I had no comprehension of why people would want to do that to themselves or why they seemed to rely on alcohol to be honest and up front.

Stepping as if on egg-shells so my boots stuck to the floor as little as possible, I spotted Myles sitting at a table in the corner, squashed between the stage and the toilets. Not a prime position if you ask me. He was talking animatedly to a tiny girl with long brown hair, a mere slip of a thing dressed completely in blue and purple. She had the darkest eyes I had ever seen and looked barely old enough to play the lottery, let alone be in a place like this.

“Aisling, over here!” called Myles.

He waved madly and the half pint regarded me with a strange interest, not moving from her seat as she looked at me. She offered a nod and I just looked at her, not sure quite how to respond.

“Aisling, this is Lisa. She’s the friend I told you about.”

“The musician?” I clarified.

I sat down in the chair Myles pulled out for me without speaking. I was bored already but the two of them were conversing without a break about various things that I fail to recall. I noticed a few people giving the three of us strange looks and one or two of them were near enough leering. I met the eyes of someone I thought must have been about our age and he immediately looked away when I did nothing else.

I started yawning after about an hour and a few drinks and I was about to just get up and walk out, but Lisa was suddenly called on to the stage and I could see her shaking as she stepped up, despite the thumbs up Myles was giving her. Half way through standing up I stopped, caught off guard by a very pleasing chord. She was fairly talented, I’ll give her that much. As I listened I was not enthused but I was less than distracted.

It was only over time that I went from distracted to interested in her music; a few times we even spoke when we passed in town. I hesitate to call her a friend, but she was fairly close to it I suppose. What sticks in my mind however is one particular instance.

 It was night time and I was coming back from the supermarket. My breath hung in the air it was so cold and I had even resorted to wearing my white woollen gloves and scarf. As I was about to cross the road, a dark figure ran straight across in front of me, almost knocking me over, before tripping over the curb and landing in a heap. Looking around for someone to pass this off on, I saw nobody, so sighed and walked over myself.

As I got nearer the individual picked themselves up, turning around to a sitting position, cross legged in the middle of the road. I have to admit faint surprise when I recognised those near-black eyes. They were shining and swollen. As was her cheek, and her neck. Lisa looked terrified as she realised it was me, scrambling to a standing position.

“Lisa...um, are you ok? What happened?”

“I, uh, sorry, didn’t realise it was you. I’m fine, I should go.”

Go she did, ran off without another word. I merely shrugged and carried on my way. I already mentioned how I was never stupid. Just a little slow to react as it turned out. After that initial incident I noticed different things, little things that I had failed to do before.

Every day at the same time Myles would check his phone, waiting for a message alert tone. If it came he was happy, if it did not, he was furious, but hid it very well. Although as soon as his shift ended he would phone someone and start scolding them.

Once or twice I would arrive at that goddamn bar before he did to support Lisa. I endured the cheerful conversation that she had taken to addressing me with merely because I just let her rant or joke without interrupting or contributing. When Myles finally arrived she kept up the chirpy talk but seemed to edge behind me more, ever so slightly.

When her sets went well she was more relieved than it seemed to merit. When it went badly, if I happened to see her afterwards she had a new bruise or a new scratch. Self-harming? Another curious instance I found pointless and ridiculous. I never did confront her about it. I felt no responsibility and I did not wish to get involved in such difficult situations, I had no obligation to interfere in her personal affairs.

When it came to Christmas I had actually thought for once to write a few cards, the odd person at work who I could stand, relatives I saw very rarely, Myles and Lisa. It was expected I suppose, so I thought I may as well. I knew by now where both Myles and Lisa lived, I had been round to each once or twice. Both of them happened to live on my route back from work, so I thought I would kill two birds with one stone and deliver them the same night.

I came to Myles’ door first. Unusually I noted that no lights were on. Normally there was somebody around, but I thought that perhaps they had gone for a family meal to celebrate his sister’s birthday, which I knew was coming up. I slipped the card through the letter box and carried on my way. Lisa had told me to come through the back door if I ever visited because the doorbell didn’t work, so I opened the squeaky gate automatically, not thinking that even if the bell was broken, the letter box would still be usable.

My boots clicked along the pavement, it was the only sound around in an almost deafening silence which struck me as a little peculiar. I shrugged it off and knocked on the door, I heard nothing once more, so just let myself in. It was unlocked, so why shouldn’t I?

The scene I saw was not one I was expecting. Myles was there, over the kitchen table, with Lisa underneath him. He hadn’t noticed me but I was sure I knew what I was seeing. It struck me rather dumb. He and I had a kind of relationship that included everything, sex was not a taboo, but not even my strictly practical brain could comprehend what was going on.

Until Lisa saw me, and stared at me, pale and wide-eyed. Something was off. He had his hands around her neck and she was struggling in vain, too small to make any impact. Everything clicked in to place. Every scar, every cut that I had seen on the girl had been punishment for not doing the best that she could. Punishment from Myles.

I felt nothing at all as Lisa passed out. With one swift step forward, Myles suddenly noticed me...and the kitchen knife through his chest. I was for once in my life, furious, hurt, defensive, confused, protective. All at the same time.

They didn’t believe me though. The scene decided the outcome without any input from me. My ‘boyfriend’ straddling another woman, resulting in a blade between his ribs. Even when Lisa tried to explain they merely thought she was protecting me through fear. I gave up before I started to defend myself. I was called a “monster” a “sociopath” and told I was ill and needed help.

It was a strange thought that went through my head as they took me away to a ‘secure unit’. If indeed I was a sociopath, how ironic that the one normal, human thing I had ever done was what landed me behind the padded bars. The one thing that could have ‘cured’ me imprisoned me. Most ironic indeed.

© 2009 J A Lauder


Author's Note

J A Lauder
Again, look out for bad grammar and please tell me how to improve.

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Added on July 21, 2009

Author

J A Lauder
J A Lauder

Plymouth, United Kingdom



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