Chapter 13
The days and weeks have passed and things have gotten decidedly worse. Loneliness has taken over in the bleakness of winter. I miss Joe desperately. I want to much to call him up, but each time I pick up the phone, my heart nearly stops. Once, I even managed to dial the number and wait for him to pick up. When I heard his voice on the other end, my voice caught in my throat and I was sobbing as I placed the receiver back on the cradle. I never tried to call again. I just sit and stare at the phone.
Gemma did her best to try and brighten my days, but after a few days, even she sort of abandoned me. I heard she started a relationship with a guy from Metairie, so I guess she can't be bothered with my nonsense.
I was called to visit Jenn a few times for new assignments, but I could tell she has just about reached the end of her rope with me. My work was suffering, and I am being compared more and more to her rising star, Laurie. Words can't begin to describe the animosity I have for her. I have apologized so many times for whatever is was I did in South Dakota, but all I get in return is that smartass little grin and a comment like, “Oh, you will be sorry soon enough for that.”
Laurie has turned herself into an A-1 assassin. She has carried out a couple assignments since the first, and she has become very skilled in a short period of time. She is now getting the assignments I used to get. Tension and animosity fill the room whenever we are together. No matter how much Jenn would demand that we get along, it has become very hard for both of us to hide our despite for each other. Finally, even Jenn seems to realize Laurie and I are on a collision course. This, I guess, is inevitable. She did, after all, come to Louisiana looking for me.
Not too many of Jenn's other employees seem to be very happy with Laurie and my antics. Well, everyone except Marie. Our hatred seems to make her very happy. She finally has a midget bitch ally in her own personal war with me. Her snide little remarks have gotten worse and we have nearly come to blows a few times in Jenn's office. Finally, Jenn called me into her office and sent me home until I can work out what is bothering me. I don't claim to be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I am smart enough to see the writing on the wall. It's just a matter of time before one of my colleagues shows up at my door and plants a .380 slug in my forehead. I know too much to ever leave and go to work at a real job. Therefore is the root of my depression. The knowledge I will never be able to make up with Joe before my time on earth is over.
I drive aimlessly for a couple hours and I feel like driving straight into the sunset and away from south Louisiana forever. There is nothing left for me here. I have messed everything up way beyond repair. I feel like the world would be a better place if I just turned south and drove until my tires hit salt water. No one would miss me. Hell, even I wouldn't miss me. The many options of what I should do flood into my head and one seems to fit the best, and I decide what I should do. I turn around and head back to New Orleans. Before I find a quiet spot in the Atchafalya Basin to sit and contemplate life...and a nice shady spot to park a .380 round in my temple, there is something I need to do.
The drive to Joe's house takes a little over an hour. The late afternoon rush hasn't started, but Joe should be home. I park in front of the house we shared and all I can do is simply stare at it in fascination. What went wrong? Why doesn't he love me? Why Kitten or all people? Why after all these years together? I'm afraid I know the answers but I don't want to admit that any of this is my fault. But I know it is. I messed everything up.
The house is quiet, as is the whole neighborhood. Palm fronds sway in the growing late afternoon breeze. The grass ripples and the banana plants next to the door sway in the breeze. I can't tell if anyone is home because the garage door is closed. Joe took all my keys when we broke up, but hopefully he forgot I know where he hides the spare.
Before I get out of the car, I pull my small .380 out and make sure there is a bullet in the chamber. Putting it back in my purse, I close the door and walk behind the garage. Under a concrete alligator ornament, I find the spare key. Just where it was when I left. The key opens the kitchen door and I let myself in. There are no lights on anywhere in the house, and it occurs to me I came at a very bad time. The dogs aren't yapping. The alarm isn't going off. There is no one home.
With my luck, Joe is away on vacation.
Tears drip off my cheeks as I walk from room to room...intentionally leaving our bedroom for last. I make the decision to go ahead and pull the trigger in there. Let's see if he and Kitten can carry on in that room with that knowledge, I think to myself as an evil grin crosses my lips.
I grab one of his button up shirts from the laundry room and take a deep breath. I really can smell him on this piece of cloth. I carry it with me as I search the house. I traverse each room and it is painfully clear that he and Kitten really do share the master bedroom. That knowledge depresses me even more.
Just before I check the master bedroom, I step into the hallway bath. I have to pee. As I lower the toilet seat (poor Joe never did put the lid and seat down), I see Kitten's bathrobe hanging on the same peg I hung my bathrobe. “Fucking cxnt,” I say venomously and yank it down then toss it in the tub. I squat down over the tub and give Kitten yet another reason to hate me. When I am finished, I grab the robe in a dry spot and hang it back on the hook. I put some soiled tissue in each of the robe's pockets. “There you go, bitch,” I say aloud with a snicker.
Walking out of the bathroom, I finally make my way to the master bedroom. I take a deep breath and sigh as I open the door. I expect to find the room empty except for an unmade bed (poor Joe hasn't made a bed since he was an active duty Marine), but instead I walk nose to nose with very sleepy, very shocked Kitten (well, nose to chin with her).
“Uh, Joe? WHAT THE FUCK?!?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE YOU LITTLE BITCH?!?!” Kitten screams as she starts to come out of her slumber. It's obvious she didn't hear me come in because she was asleep.
I want to lash out at her, but the only thing that comes to mind to ask is, “Where the fuck are my poodles?!?! What have you done with my babies?”
“Your POODLES?!?!” You break into my house and all you can ask is 'where are the poodles? You are fucking psycho!!!”
She never sees the blow coming, and I really don't care. As a matter of fact, I don't care if my purse decapitates her. I swing it hard from the floor. It has a rather heavy pistol inside, as well as my iPhone, makeup kit, a small first aid lit (I tend to hurt myself a lot) my hand purse, and assorted other items. My purse is almost as big as I am.
She takes the blow hard on the side of the head and she drops like a rock. Kitten moans once and collapses to the floor with a limp thud. I know I probably shouldn't, but I rare back and deliver one hard kick to her ribs with the point of my Sperry Topsiders. Fuck Kitten, I tell myself. I hope I broke a couple of her fucking ribs.
The little slut never answered where my poodles are. Where are my babies? I check the house once again and rush back to the bedroom. “Where are my babies?!?!” I yell, yanking Kitten's head off the floor roughly with one hand tangled in her hair. “Where the fuck are my BABIES?!?!?!” I thump her head off the floor then start searching frantically again. Only this time I am dragging Kitten behind me by her hair. I am small, and not really very strong, but these are my babies we are talking about.
I nearly make it into the hallway, still screaming about my poodles when Kitten starts to come to.
“Hey......ow......shit.......Hey......ouch....fuck.....bitch.....they........Hey.....ow.......damn......slut.......are.........fuck......the.......Hey.....let.........ow..........Hey...........the............fucking.......ow..........GROOMER........!!!!!!”
“WHERE ARE MY BABIES....wait! What?” I say letting go of Kitten's hair. “At the groomers?”
“YES YOU CRAZY BITCH!!!” Kitten yells with such venom I am nearly shoved against the wall. “YOUR FUCKING BABIES GO THE THIRD MONDAY OF EACH MONTH, REMEMBER? That's the one thing I hate about Joe. If it was something YOU did, he can't stop doing it.”
I sit back against the wall. Great! Now you can add burglary and aggravated assault to my list of stupid things done. “I hate you.” I whisper at Kitten in a steady voice.
Kitten starts to get to her feet. “Why are you even here? Joe hates you. He's told me that.” An evil glint in her eye, “He says he wishes you would just go away and die. That way we would be rid of your sorry ass.”
If she had pulled out a knife and drove it into my heart, it wouldn't have hurt as badly as her words. “Joe said that?” I ask as tears start streaming down my face.
“Yeah. He also said he should have kicked you out long ago.” Deep down I knew she was lying. Every other word out of her mouth were lies. But he did kick me out, and Kitten's words still cut to the bone. “He chose to after he met me. He said he has never met anyone quite like me.”
Tears drip off my cheeks onto my chest as I stand up. I don't want to open my eyes but I eventually do. Kitten sleeps in as little as possible. Today she chose a long black “NOPD” t-shirt and a white thong. How the hell she sleeps in a thong, I will never know, but welcome to Kitten's fucked up little world. She still has a wicked smile on her face looking up at me. She even has it when I brace myself and kick at her head with the point of my Sperry, hoping to take it clean off her shoulders. I either telegraphed it or she was expecting it, because she raised both her arms into my leg and pushed me backwards. Off balance, I fall against the wall behind me with a crash. Kitten quickly scrambles to her feet.
We stand facing each other from three feet. The hatred in the room so thick you could cut it with a knife. Kitten, all 5'6” 120lbs, of 25 year old long dark hair sexuality staring at me with a sickly sweet grin on her face. Her large, round deep green eyes taunting me. Sizing her up, I don't look like much of a match. So far, I haven't been. Even when she is in her submissive phase (which she often is) she has easily handled me. I am four inches shorter and at least fifteen pounds lighter. I am also older. But I have determination and hatred on my side.
I kick off my Sperry's and glare at Kitten. I want her out of my house....out of my life...out of Joe's life....out of this fucking world. Lunging at her with my fingers aimed at her eyes, but she effortlessly brushes my fingers away and slaps me hard with her right palm across the face.
“Bad move Joni, but I am gonna enjoy humiliating you. Think I might tie you up and leave you foe Joe to see when he comes home.”
The mention of Joe's name infuriates me farther. I grab at her hair and try to yank her head down while driving upward with my fist with a vicious uppercut. Kitten simple steps to the side and hits me in the face with a forearm. I drop like a rock to the floor in a crumpled heap. I can even feel blood drip from my nose as I lie there gasping.
Kitten's barefoot touches the side of my head and she shoves hard, pushing me off my knees and onto my side. “Poor sweet Joni,” she taunts, “I guess you always have to prove yourself. It sucks when you can't handle your betters.”
I grab Kitten's foot with both hands and pull it off my forehead and to my lips. Leaning forward I bite her toes as hard as I can and clamp down.
“OWWWWWWFFFFFUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGBBBBBBIIIIIITTTTCCCCCCCCHHHHHH!!!!!”
A fist slams into the top of my head but I refuse to let go of her foot. Another hammers my temple and then my jaw. These combined make me let go and I slump against the wall. Kitten hobbles backwards and looks at her toes. A bloody teeth mark encircle her bare toes. She wiggles them the glares at me, “You little fucking bitch. You must have a death wish. I'll gladly take your worthless ass out,” she says with a hiss.
If only she knew how close she was to being right about the death wish. Nothing in this world seems to go my way, but killing her sorry ass would be a nice final act before stepping out myself. I try to get to my knees but a heel kick to the ribs stops that. To make matters worse, her kick drives me into the wall on the other side. I grunt once and slump to the carpet.
Kitten's fingers tighten in my hair and she begins dragging me toward the living room like I did her earlier. The only difference is that she is strong enough to actually pull me along with her. My hair feels like it is being ripped out by the roots, and my scalp is literally on fire. I grasp at Kitten's wrist and try to sink my nails in but she has dragged me about as far as she wants, I guess. She drops me to the floor in the middle of the living room I used to share with Joe. I guess this is about the best place for me to get the worst, and most humiliating, ass-whipping of my life. Judging by the look on Kitten's face, that is exactly what I am about to get.
“Get to your feet, bitch. I've wanted to this for a long, long time.”
I know exactly what Kitten wants, but I lie still on the floor. I'm definitely not going to make this easy for her. Why would I? I never understood those who walked calmly to their own execution. I would be kicking and screaming the entire way. I lie still until her foot slams into my side again and she growls, “I said get off the fucking floor.”
Moaning as I get to my knees, I lower my head as if trying to recover from a head rush. Kitten's hand entangles in my hair and she begins trying to pull me to my feet, “I said get the fuck up!!!” She yells, but that yell turns to a howl as I suddenly lunge off my knees and hit her with my rising elbow with as much strength as my tiny body can muster from this position.
Kitten sinks to her knees as I scramble to my feet. I grab each side of her head with both hands and pull her head into my rising knee. Kitten's head snaps backwards and she is unconscious before her back hits the floor. Standing over her with so much hatred in my heart I swear I don't remember grabbing my purse and pulling my pistol out. I can't recall pointing it at her and snapping off the safety. I don't know how muhc pressure I put on the trigger. The only thing I do remember is a soft voice behind me saying, “Joni? Don't do it.”
I turn my head and see Gemma standing in the front door. “Please, don't do it.” She says again. “I knew I would find you here. Don't ask me why.”
I lower the pistol and she gently takes it out of my hand.
“Jenn sent me to find you. Kayla and Marie are looking for Laurie. Jenn wants you two brought to her.”
I know this is the end. I have been dreading it for the last few weeks. Now that it's here, I am oddly at peace. Gemma puts her arm around my shoulder as she leads me toward the door.
