Of Mice and Monsters II

It smelled of mold and mildew down there.  The air always had a cold damp quality to it.  Because of my asthma, I had never liked going there.  All the walls were entirely lined with neat rows of shelf-stable food.  Enough for a small family to survive an Armageddon.  I always thought it strange.  Then there was the safe.   The massive safe hidden behind the stairs.  Standing at well over 6 feet high, it was large enough with which to store a body.

All throughout our relationship, I was never permitted there while he opened the safe.  It was always one of those unspoken rules.   The mystery that shrouded the safe added to my wonderment of its contents.  The only light was from the lone 60-watt bulb dangling from the ceiling.  There were two dirty tiny windows meant only to allow light and ventilation.  They were both sealed tightly shut.

He was cooking spaghetti and meatballs that night and asked me to run down to grab a can of diced tomatoes.  I headed downstairs and began searching the shelves for the requested item.

Suddenly I heard him shut the basement door and then slide the metal chain latch  over.  Then I heard his footsteps on the floorboards above me trail away.

I bolted up the stairs heart racing and called out his name all the while feverishly trying the door handle in hopes it would open.  It did not.

He did not answer.

It hit me then.  The sheer and absolute terror.  The blood in my veins ran cold as I realized I have become entombed in this cellar.

I yelled at the top of my lungs and began pounding my fists on the door, “PLEASE!!! PLEASE!!! I’m begging you!!Let me out!!!

Still no answer.

More screaming, more begging, more pounding on the door,” I’m BEGGING you to please come back, I don’t have my inhaler, please let me out!!”

Silence.

My tears turned to full on sobs realizing I would might never get out of this basement.  My mind began to race:   Would I die from an asthma attack and suffocate or would I die from thirst/dehydration since there was only food down here but no water.    That I would never get to say goodbye to my family….

Seemed like seconds turned to minutes and each minute felt like an eternity.

When suddenly I heard his footsteps again and then the metal chain sliding to unlock the door.

“Why are you crying?” he laughed, “You didn’t think I was going to leave you down there forever did you?” He chuckled,” I was just fooling around with you.”  He pulled me in close and hugged me.   I felt relief, repulsion, anger….   The Stockholm Syndrome with which I was quite familiar, was unfolding right in front of me.  I simply couldn’t see it.

I don’t know how long I was actually locked down there.    It was long enough to know that I was not dealing with a garden variety “Daddy-Dom” into some weekend kink.

In retrospect, I think that’s why I stayed.  He intrigued me.  I thought with all my psychological acumen, I’d find out what made him tick.  But by then it was nearly too late for that.  For what I’ve failed to mention….was that by then I was in love with the monster.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

x – y = fuck you

Too bad some techno-savvy guy like Steve Jobs (God rest his soul) or Bill Gates couldn’t have devised a return-to-sender button for e-mail that would be the snail mail equivalent, to when you want to send a clear message, to a sender of a piece of cyber mail that you don’t want their fucking mail AND you never read it.

The best we have today in cyberspace is  filter to trash, or a filter to spam.  All that does is just chuck it.  But that still lets the sender have the fantasy that you might have read it and then chucked it.  Doesn’t send the clear message “Piss off, I didn’t read your shit”

Yeah, you guessed right.  Even though I changed my phone numbers because of the filthy message he left on my answering machine.   He sent me an email.    I’m guessing he must have called, got the message that goes “doo doo doo, we’re sorry, the number you’ve reached is no longer in service.”  All he has left is my email as a means of contact.  But because of all his hate and venom who’d a thunk he’d want to contact me? HE DUMPED ME FOR FUCKS SAKE.

And you know what’s fucked up?

In contrast to the nasty venomous voice message, of the couple he had just fucked in some seedy motel, he also told me that he wouldn’t talk to me even if it I was dying on my deathbed;  THIS email titled,

“I’m sorry”

it went on….

Dear Lexi,

I’m sorry that things have been so harsh over the past few days my best friend.

 (his first name)
*
Talk about a MIND FUCK.
*
One minute he is an absolute asshole.   Then the next minute he is reminding me I am his best friend.  So I dial up a recovery partner, the person I feel most comfortable talking with b/c her background closely resembles my own and she says, “A best friend wouldn’t treat you like that would they.”   She intuitively knew that my brain started thinking things like ‘what if…….what if he really does miss me……or what if he really has feelings of caring.”   So I know to get my ass Straight  so I don’t lose the one day of no-contact  I have pieced together one painstaking hour at time.
*
It feels fucked up.  It’s this push-pull.   I hate you, don’t leave!  Or get the fuck out! where do you think you’re going?  I don’t want you anymore you disgust me, you’re my best friend.
*
It makes me question my sanity.  Which do I believe? Gaslighting bullshit!!!
*
This kind of dynamic I have lived for three and a half years.  At first it was much more subtle and infrequent.  Not nearly as flagrant.  Not so obvious.  Smaller insults that could barely be perceived as insults.  Then it became more and more pronounced but by that time, I was hooked in.  Desperate because of my need for love and my lack of self-esteem to seek out his validation, I clung to him harder.  Then he instinctively upped the ante.  He became more brazen, took more liberties.   Gave less and less affection, treating me worse and worse and til finally he knew the exact formula.   The exact amount of sadism I could tolerate without “breaking” (suiciding) and keep me bound to him.
*
But there’s one thing he never anticipated in his neat little fucking equation.   The unknown variable.
*
x= I wanted to get well.
*
Fuck you mother fucker.  Sit and spin,  I never responded to his email.  Best friends DON’T treat each other than way.   I didn’t respond to his email.