Summery: I married a money chasing looser who poisoned my father
and then dropped a car on me to get all the money for himself. I have
yet to decide what to do about my husband. I have a hang up about being
called Babe and/or Baby. I have been bound only for a less then a year
now and have spend the beginning of that time in a Hospice for my
inpatient physical therapy rehabilitation and up until a few weeks ago
with my mentor, father.
My husband murdered me. Not a
late husband. Not an x-husband. Not a husband who is finishing a
sentence of 25 years to life. My husband that lives in my home. You're
probably still thinking about the murder. I know I am.
He
was an big up-and-coming hot-shot race car driver. Daddy was old money
that was invested with one of the companies that sponsored Dublin. HIS name
is Dublin by the way. Don't let the name fool you. He was named by one
of those woman who loves them the boxed wine you get from that there
corner store. Anyway, we met at a business party. One of those parties
where you get to put names on paychecks to faces. Not that I have ever
had to do anything with a paycheck but I think you get the idea. I was
so naive and he was a practiced ladies man. He easily could have had me
run away with him that night if he wanted, but he had bigger plans. He
was more courting Daddy then me; in a way, and didn't want himself
written out of a will for stealing a way the favorite daughter. Only
daughter is an unimportant detail.
After that evening I went
everywhere with him. The track. The garage. Pick-nicks. Movies. Roller
rinks. Always more then happy to get me home before sunset and keep
Daddy happy. Always the gentlemen. Always so clean. I would be literally
bouncing on the other side of the door in my little sun dress as I
heard the elevator coming up the shaft. This carried on until Daddy took
him into a room and told him to propose to me for the sake of an old
man's sanity. It was a lavish white wedding in spring. It would have
been perfect if Daddy's wake had not been the week before.
Dublin insisted on keeping me in with the car business as much as
possible to keep my mind off of things. Literally the car itself. I
became assistant / apprentice to his race team mechanics. "Baby, every
day my life is in the hands of this machine. I'd like them to be your
hands one day." That doesn't even make since now that I think about it.
He says things like that all the time. The way he would hold me and look
into my eyes as he said it made it so convincing. He could have been
drooling on my forehead for all I was concerned.
Turns out I was fairly good at the theory of mechanics. They said it was because my head
has so much room in it from only learning silly rich-girl things. The
physical part took more time. That was to be expected as before the
heaviest thing I ever lifted before was a hand mirror.
Prince Charming lasted for about six months. I tried to complain about how he
started to ignore me and pass me off on other people. "That was puppy
love babe. This is the real love now." I notice he never ignored or
pawned off the weekly allowance checks. This managed to last for over
two years. Then one night after a win ("Couldn't have done it without
you in my corner, Babe") he was walking me though the garage. He was
chatting me up and holding me like old times. I was the one who noticed
the extra strong motor oil smell. Dublin all to quickly found the leek
coming out from under the car he had won in just hours before. Without a
second though I was rolling out the jack to get under it and seal the
leak. Turned out to just be a loose cap on the oil pan. Should have
blown the engine first lap if this was missed.
I have yet to
figure out a good way to describe a ton and a half of car falling on my
chest. It sucks. Very much does it suck. Even more suck is listening to
that eFer's gloating. Luckily he gloated quickly. I learned lots of
things about our relationship in the moments before I blacked out.
Highlights include the complete lack of abstinence to me at any point
and poisoning Daddy. He started this as soon as the engagement was
settled and screwed it up. He wanted Daddy to give me away and bless our
wedding to make it easier to continue controlling me. Instead he turned
our wedding into a wake. I'm sure he kept going but I had more
important things to worry about.
The pain in my chest
changed from pressure to a crushing despair. I was no longer under a
car but driving one. Eyes blurry. A new pain in my chest. A stabbing
pain. Blood following down my chest and I can't make a sound.
I awoke alone in the hospital. A few of the crew tried to visit me but
according to a nurse Dublin requested that I have no visitors to
distract me from my healing. I saw him for a few moments as he signed
the release papers and gave instructions to have me put on a plane
headed for the continental divide. Sometimes I wonder if he understood
what happened because he sent me to a hospice for my live in physical
therapy.
That may not seem so bad, but try to imagine it. Prince
Ken tries to kill Princess Barbie. Princess Barbie lives on to be able to
see when sick people will die from their ailments. Prince Ken sends her
to live in the Dream House of Dieing People. The vague timer I was
seeing above the residents confused me at first; all the way up to the
point where I saw a timer run out and their person dropped dead of a
stroke.
I wanted out of the place. I wanted away from the things
I saw there. I signed myself out of the hospice once the therapist was
convinced following her instructions for the next few weeks would be
good enough. No one should have been there for me, but there was
someone.
Father. He taught me what I was and clarified what
happened to me. Taught me how to deal and tried to get a purpose into
me. If he hadn't suddenly left me the purpose may have stuck. I don't
know what happens next but its not likely to be good.
His name is The Screaming Romeo.He makes no noise but the Silent Romeo doesn't capture how intrusive he is.
He
only manifests as a man and has two bodies, kinda. The first body is
always the same. Not quite a silhouette but a darkened body and no
distinct features. As I try to focus my mind's eye on him, his body
seems to always be stretching and twisting even though he never changes.
There's a horrible wound in his chest that pores out blood that
seemingly vanishes past his knees. He is constantly clawing at the wound
and his neck in a manic manner. I associate this wound with how he died
and why he makes no noise. Over the months I've learned that this is
likely more symbolic then actual.
The second body changes based on who Romeo is focusing his rage on. He tends to target people who
debase
and corrupt the ideals trust and in turn love. Took me a bit to figure
this out, but that's why he has the name Romeo. This second body is
always mortally wounded as well but it is quite vibrant in comparison to
the first. From what I can tell its what Romeo would want done to the
target person. Without anyone new to keep his interest Romeo's second
body will be Dublin in the most recent and interesting way Romeo has
imagined him dead.
When someone is upsetting Romeo he make me
relive my death to get my attention. Most people mistake it as a panic attack because my breathing gets labored and I get obviously stressed out
and, well for lack of a better word, panicky. If I move away from
whoever it is or deal with them he lets up a bit so I can function. Like
I said, Silent doesn't capture how intrusive he is.