Fifty

Daniel Addas






I've told so many lies this week. So many of that they're now my second skin.
Though the weather forecast reported storm rain the rest of the country, the sky sits clear blue and stifles at sixty degrees. Margate weather can be spiteful. After a lazy shower, I don on skin-hugging pants and a sleeveless tee — the purple thing that made my father's moustache twitch. He hated it. The passion was startling. It fits me awkwardly. Goes to my mid thigh, making me impersonate those American struggling wannabe rappers.
I know what I must do to get rid of this mess. A decision I took by myself, no help from the crazy, money hungry Aunt. Doesn't make it any easier. When I walk into the kitchen my sister is making breakfast. She's trying to be brave but she's not quite healed from Thallium poisoning. She leans on the counter for support as she paves her way over the egg shells on the floor. So no school?
"Good Morning, lil bro, can I interest you in breakfast?"
Something about her calm voice, her smile, her kind gaze sets me off. With narrowed eyes I take her face in my hands, squeezing it hard. Her eyes water.
"Daniel, stop," she says. Her voice still calm. Hate it when she talks to me like I'm some special needs child. "You won't hurt me Daniel."
"Fucking Bitch. Wish you would just die," I say and then push her with too much force. "Daniel is not here."
She loses her balance, falls hard on her tiny ass, then she cries.
I just there, looking at her. She's annoying. She makes me want to puke.
She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand while she stands.
I laugh. She's in pain. Good.
"I'm sorry." She steps warily towards me. Giving me enough time and space to escape her touch before closing the distance between us. "You won't hurt me Daniel. Fight this."
"Dont. Call. Me. That." I cover my ears. Her words are like fire to my ears. "Shut the fuck up."
Her hand trembles as she touches my shoulder. I slap her once across the face. So hard in fact that spit flies from her mouth. She drops to her knees and I kick her stomach, once, twice, three times. Dammit it feels so good. Seven, eight, nine. She coughs up blood. I stop.
When she whimpers, she makes sounds similar to a distressed animal.
I look at her now and see all the things that have made our parents love her more. She looks so much like Mama, though she looks exactly like Papa. Does that make sense at all?
Her forehead sticks noticeably out and her lips full, but not like Mama's, however she has Papa's cute nose and those black soulless eyes.
When Aunt Dahab walks in she's petrified. I could go to jail for this. If Clara decides to press charges. I'd be locked away. It'd prove what the police have always known. I murdered my father. Which is not true, by the way.
"Daniel, what have you done?" Aunt Dahab asks. She rushes to Clara's side and helps her up. "Can you walk?"
Gosh...Clara can be so weak sometimes. Clara can walk. She's used to this. I roll my eyes and walk out the door. My driver, Miles awaits by my car. A month after Papa died Clara bought us each a car and hired drivers.
"Just drive," I tell him once I'm settled in the backseat.
The car maneuvers the streets, the grass scented air filters through the windows, I sigh. What am I? Why am I like this?
The car pulls up at the red light, I can't get Clara out of my mind. I really shouldn't have laid my hands on her. I'll have to apologise. But it's so easy for me to pretend. To fake it. The doctors believed me too easily. Act out of character and they diagnose DID. With a mental instability like DID attached to my name, I can get away with everything. After today's performance, I need an award and a good lay.
After bringing the phone to life I pace through my contacts. Need to find a submissive who might be keen to a one round, fast lay. Need some tight ass to sift my mind off Clara. My cruelty towards her.
As, Bs, Cs, Ds, F. I pause and linger on Felicity, a bleach-blonde babe who appreciates a little bit of 50 shades, who also happens to be very flexible. She lets me tie her to the bed sometimes, spit in her mouth, fist her. She's up for everything. Very adventurous. Never gives me hustle but I'll have to shred her soon before she thinks our get-togethers can amount to anything that can be classified as permanent.
I'm just way too young to be in a serious relationship. I mean love is just an illness for adults who can't deal. I'd never be happy boning just one girl. What's the point of being young if I can't experience different flavours. Most men try to suppress their animal edges. We're animals and we aren't meant to stick with one person. After the hectic morning, I've more than earned the right to blow off steam, even if it means using someone else to help me forget.
Of course being between her thighs will take my mind off things just for a few minutes but that's way better than being at home, Clara whining in the room directly under mine downstairs.
When I walk into the bedroom apartment Felicity shares with her sister, Stephanie, the girls are packing pounds on doritos, coke and hamburgers. I join them.
We've had a threesome before. Felicity, Skylar and I. Greek style.
I wonder if we can't interest Stephanie into joining us. But then I have ethanol and Clara's eye drops. A couple of drops in each can of coke then I can get the girls to do my bidding.
In some part of my brain, probably the logical part that is dangerously running on limited supply, I know I shouldn't do this, that I should go home, masturbate, sleep it off. Instead, I wait for Stephanie to go take a piss and ask her sister for a bottle of vodka. While they're gone I pour half a bottle of ethanol in each can and five drops of eye drops in each.
With logic tossed out of the window, dick rules. Thinking with my dick has always created problems for me but Clara is resourceful. She always covers up for me. She's smart enough to know that she needs me on the outside. And even though I know I'll create more problems for Clara, I can’t help myself.
We all sit next to the fireplace, from the speakers Drake tells he only loves his bed and Mama, almost like me. I only love myself and Clara, and yes, in exactly that order.
I convince them to drink with me. Of course they curve. No one says no to me. After much persuasion, Felicity shrugs and nods to her sister. “Fine but just one drink."
I nod. It's not going to be one drink. It never ends with the first drink. Part of their decision to join me isn't conscious. The spike in their drinks has taken effect.
"I should go home. Its getting late."
"Are you kidding? Stay, please," Stephanie says. She graces me with her flirty? playful smile. "I'm still enjoying your company."
Can't they just let me go and lock the door or something? The last thing I need is them begging me to stay, giggling at my lame jokes(believe me, I know I'm not funny, by any stretch of the imagination). They're so sweet and the thought of what I initially planned to do to them eats at my brain. I'm not a horrible person. I'm not a horrible person: my new mantra.
Felicity struggles to her footing. "I feel funny." She smiles regardless. "Come with me. Let's go to my bedroom. I've been away from you for so long. I missed you a whole lot."
Why did that sound so convincing? I gulp. If she's missing me then she's catching feelings. My forced smile slips off my face and knots twist around my stomach.
Stephanie is dead weight on the couch. Good. All I need is for Felicity is succumb as well. A minute or two is all I have patience for.
She excuses herself. Bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, I follow. She's bowing into the toilet. What is Felicity doing throat deep in the toilet seat? She slurs words. More mumbles. Oh fuck me! She's praying? What the fuck? Sitting in the toilet and praying? What the hell is wrong with her? She's asking god to help her, that she'll never be this drunk again, asking for a way out. She's too drunk.
When she's finally unconscious, I carry her to the bed. Undress her. Put her in pyjamas and pile the blankets on top of her. I assess her for a moment. I'm not a horrible person. I'm going to walk away. I'm not a horrible person.
With the door to her bedroom closed. I stumble to Stephanie, lay the pink quilt over her. See, I'm not a horrible person. I'm going home to masturbate. If I had slept with them I'd have been arrested. Added a rape charge to my criminal résumé.
Miles awaits. Settled in the backseat, I tell him: "Drive me to the police station. I have a confession to make."