Lost Souls - 8. Victoria-Ann Cantrell- Sixth Commandment

In the kitchen, Rufus sat at the table reading his morning newspaper. His bald head reflected sunlight entering the glass window above the sink. Standing behind Rufus, she stared at the “man.” In the bright light the girl could see him clearly, examining him anew: his forearms extended from his red, plaid shirt bushed with black hair; it was tucked into his khaki trousers that hung over his steel-tipped boots. Next to him was a silver ash tray from which dying smoke of a recently discarded cigarette butt fumed.

She took a step closer, glass in hand. A loose floor-board revealed her presence with a sudden squeak.

“You ready for school girl?” he said in a raspy baritone.

She paused. Victoria looked at the broken glass in her hands, wondering what to do. “Do you give a damn?”

Immediately the man sprung from the kitchen table, “You better show some respect!”

“Animals like you don't deserve respect!”

His gray eyes narrowed under his furrowed brows. “I look out for you and this is the thanks I get?”

“You fucked me!” Victoria shrieked.

Silence spoke...water drops falling from the leaking tap into an empty bowl were the only sounds to be heard. TAP...TAP...TAP...TAP...TAP...TAP...TAP....

“It’s the least I could get for putting up with your crap!” he protested.

Victoria squeezed the glass; her hand trembling. “I... I hate you!”

Rufus took out a cigarette from a box laid on the kitchen counter. Next to it was a red lighter which he used to start his smoke. “You fuckin' wanted it....” he puffed out a stream of smoke.

“I want you dead!” Victoria pointed the glass at her uncle, aimed at his head.

“And then what?” he asked. “Who's gonna support your scrawny ass?”

“Me!” she snapped.

“With what?” he retorted. “You got no job, no education and you're an orphan! A useless… orphan!” Rufus sat back down at the kitchen table. “Maybe you can be a fuckin' prostitute eh?” he laughed.

She dropped the glass.

“What's this, eh?” Rufus reached for the glass; he examined the knife-like object.

“No!” she scrambled for it; he shoved her aside.

“What? You were gonna off me with this, were you?”

“Fuck yes!” she glared.

“And what would your mother think eh?” Rufus stood up. “What would she think if she knew you were trying to kill the only person left to love you, eh?”

“She'd help!” Victoria snapped.

As quickly as Victoria spat those words, Rufus' hand swung against her cheek, snapping her head sideways as it made contact like a cricket bat connecting with a ball. Almost in unison, his words and slaps barraged the girl. “SHUT... THE FUCK...UP...!”

Victoria fell to the ground, her long, brown hair covering her face. Rufus dragged Victoria by her hair, pulling its roots as if he wanted to tear her skull open. He threw her in her room and locked the wooden door with a key. Her hands got sore from her constant pounding as she tried to break free but the old, wooden door showed no mercy.

“Let me out! Let me the fuck out!” she yelled. She stopped banging on the door and soon realized the lifeless silence that engulfed the apartment. She ran to the barred window, looking outside she could see him crossing the street headed toward the nearby bus shelter. He had left her. No food, locked away... just gone.

For 12 hours Victoria waited and waited. Hunger was taking over and her consciousness wavered. By evening the strong smell of iron had dissipated and the small pool of blood had dried. Victoria sat by the window, clung to the bars as she dozed in and out of trance. As severe hunger ripped through her stomach like a juggernaut, she felt the urge to write. As if someone or something guided her, she reached into her school bag for pen and paper.

From her bag she took out her black notebook and a blue and silver pen and began to write:

Let not the sins

Of man prevail

Let not he cast it down

To sons and daughters

Unrighteous ones

Lest he be struck down

Let not the sins of six prevail

Let not they cast it down

To all mankind

Their sinners' traits

Lest they be struck down

“This is a nice poem Vee,” Christopher admired. In his hand was a laminated notebook page with a poem written on it. “Do you write often?” Christopher stood in the middle of the living room, wearing only his Haynes boxer-briefs.

“Oh heavens no!” she scoffed. “Haven't got the time. It was just something I wrote when I was bored.”

“I see....”

Sitting up in the couch she faced Christopher, “I wrote that a couple years back...don't even know what it means, really.”

“You wrote something you don't understand?” he laughed.

“It felt like I didn't even write it to be honest.” They both shared a hearty laugh. Victoria folded her arms on the back of the couch, resting her head on her forearms. “What about you?” she asked curiously.

“What about me?”

“C'mon! Tell me a little about you,” she insisted.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked. Christopher walked over to the front of the couch; his manhood greeting Victoria in the face, scantily hidden beneath his briefs.

She ran her fingers down his chiseled abs, down his crotch, letting her hand taper off at the tip of his penis. She smiled as it made a slight jerk. “Well you're standing in the middle of my apartment...naked...I think I should be entitled to a little more than just your name.”

Christopher grinned, his dimples appearing at the side of his face. “Why do I get the impression that a name is more than what you're used to getting?” he said, stroking her face.

“I regret that!” she pouted. I always get a name, “Victoria grinned.

Christopher sat beside Victoria, “Well....” he began. “I'm not really from around here.”

Victoria laughed, “What do you mean? You're an alien or something?”

“I know you're just wishing you had alien sex,” he laughed. “But I'm all human.”

“Fiddle sticks!” she jeered.

“What I meant was that I've been moving around Britain for a while now.”

“Oh, okay.”

Christopher held the laminated poem, glancing over it. “I'm a writer so I like to travel and see things.”

“Wow, that's lovely.” Victoria nodded, pretending to be impressed.

“I can tell what you are just by looking at you,” Christopher said, lightly pinching her chin with his thumb and index finger. “You're a heart breaker.”

“Little ole me?”

“Yep,” Christopher chuckled. “I'm sure you've devoured many a man with those green eyes.”

Victoria stood up, “Wouldn't that mean I've stolen their hearts and left them for dead?” she smiled.

As she tried to walk away Christopher grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “It's in your nature,” he grinned. Christopher pulled Victoria onto his lap.

“But thou shall not kill,” Victoria recited. She ran her fingers through his thick, wavy, black hair; she kissed his lips. “Isn't that what the bible says mister writer?”

“So I've heard.”
“Heard?”

Christopher nodded. “It’s not my genre of reading to be honest.”

“I understand,” Victoria replied, walking toward the kitchen. She placed the kettle on the stove to heat.

“You do?” Christopher said surprised. “Judging by your poem I'd guess you were at least spiritual if not religious.”

“Really!” she chuckled. “And you…here on my living room couch butt naked?”

“Then you aren't ashamed of who you are?” he asked. Christopher examined her face for any slight expression but her face remained stoic.

“Ashamed? No. I've done lots worse than bringing a man back at my apartment,” Victoria laughed. “Would you like some tea?”