Conspiracy

TW: Death, suicide, SA, abuse

“It takes a special kind of person to look the barrel of a gun straight in the eye and keep on plowing through life. As though they can’t see that deep darkness right ahead of them. But that’s me. And that’s why you’re,” she turned and pointed vaguely upwards towards nothing, “they’re studying me; testing me. I’m special. I’m stronger than everyone else. You got me for a while there,” she shook her finger with a half-hearted chuckle. “I really thought life was just a rollercoaster of ups and downs and that my downs were just a little deeper than everyone else’s. I spent every day looking up, waiting to hear the slow click of rising tracks.”

“I started to learn the dips of life young. I was in middle school when I got my first crush— on a girl. My family was old money religious, the kind that had pride attached to it. Being gay was 80% image issue and 20% morality. I’m sure you know, but the bible doesn’t actually say much about being gay. Certainly it mentions love and murder much more often. But my mom didn’t understand how two men or two women could have sex, so it must be ungodly. It’s not done; it’s not God’s design. But I don’t give a rat's ass about God’s design. Was this in your design?”

“I remember once my grandfather lost a close friend of his, named Gaylord. Even heading to the funeral Grandma wouldn’t let him say the name. Modern days are different and whatnot. As though simply hearing the word may inspire one of us to become a queer. Back then, I thought it would’ve been noble, better for the family, if I just killed myself. Never did though.”

“I lived to have my mom walk in on me with my girlfriend. That’s when she kicked me out of the house for the first time. My mother never liked me much, but she did take me back in after my father said he wouldn’t pay child support for a kid not living under her roof. She didn’t talk to me for weeks after that. And of course not much later, she took in the foster boy. My replacement; the son she always wanted. Even after he started touching me at night, I didn’t question reality. I had so much anger, but I pointed it all at myself. ‘Life’s just tough’ I’d say. ‘It’s up to me to make it better.’” She jabbed finger quotes in the air. “Like I had any choice.”

“Mom changed the locks the day of the last child support payment. Haven’t talked to her or anyone else in the family since. Moved in with my first boyfriend to get off the streets. Was that you? Did you send him to scream at me? At the time, I accepted it and moved on so easily. He was a stepping stone towards stability and I needed to appreciate the little he gave me.”

“Even when I got raped I blamed myself.”

She flopped into the chair behind her. “And maybe that one I can’t pin on you. I’d started drinking excessively and walking around alone at night. The endless string of nightmares made me into an alcoholic and insomniac. I’d sleep maybe 90 minutes before I was up again, drenched in sweat, not sure of what reality I was in. Fight or flight was my comfort zone. If I wasn’t in danger, I itched for it.”

“When he held me down, I didn’t even say no. I just asked him to wear a condom. He didn’t. He gave me an STD.”

“But I gotta wonder, how deep does this go? Genuinely, I never wanted to be in another relationship,” she flurried her hands like a magician making a quarter disappear, “but then somehow I was. At the beginning, I told myself, this guy— this guy is it. I can’t do another bad relationship. He works for the community. He has a nice group of friends. He talks all the time about standards and morals. I rationalized and minimized and told myself I must be the problem. I just need to do better supporting his mental health. He was depressed, he was sick, he didn’t mean to hurt me. Nothing changed though. No matter how supportive I was, things didn’t get better. I couldn’t love him enough for him to love me back. I think I’d still be there, if not for the night things got really bad.”

“I guess one of his friends talked to him— confronted him about the way he was treating me. That friend didn’t even see the really bad side. Just the anxious way I made dinner and tried to keep him happy. I’d never seen him madder than when he came home after that conversation.”

“He berated me for stealing his friends. For turning them against him. He screamed about how he was going to cut that friend off— how I can have the friend for myself. Because that’s what I truly want, right? Since that friend cares so much about me. That friend would be such a better boyfriend. No matter that the friend is gay, I’ll just fuck him straight, right?”

“He was so mad and I didn’t even do anything. I’d been the most perfect girlfriend that week, but none of it mattered. Was that you? Them?”

“After I left, I vowed no more relationships. At that point, I only had myself to blame and I knew it. I took full responsibility for making myself a victim again. I truly thought, something in me must bring the monster out of people. Was that what you wanted me to learn?”

“But then what about my pregnancy? What possible reason could there have been for that?” She was standing again now, eyes welling with hot tears. “I really should have known then. How was it not obvious? It never even crossed my mind that the universe was out to get me. Even when the baby died! Was that you? Did you kill my baby?!” For a moment she caught herself and her gaze softened. “My baby. A little baby boy. He was so small. Innocent.” The tears rolled their way down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them, not that she’d care to try. “The doctor had the gall to tell me it was a good thing. He would’ve had severe birth defects anyway. Born without bones. At least he didn’t suffer. For that I’m glad.” For a while a noticeable silence held in the air. But then, suddenly and all at once, the rage returned and her accusatory finger raised itself to the stranger’s face again.

“And maybe if I was naive, I’d say there’s a lesson here. Some bullshit about good that comes from the bad. Learning and growing and acceptance.” Again she waved her hands wildly and her voice grew louder. “But, now, you're here, not a week before I graduate. I’m sure you know, but I’ve been working for my bachelor’s degree since I was 19. Five. Whole. Years. Saving for tuition. Working overtime. I got nerve damage in my hands working for the Navy. Cutting up fucking submarines, just to be here.” She held up her hands, as though the invisible damage would be clear to see.

“The one thing I had going for me. The one thing I could put to my name as a legacy? One achievement. My one chance to make my life mean something; to show I’m worth something? And you’re going to try and take it from me? No, so now I know this is a test, without a doubt.”

“Because that’s what you’re doing, right? Testing me? Double checking my tenacity? Ensuring my commitment to life? Well, I’m sorry, but no. I’m done with tests. I’m not doing it anymore. I’ve fought tooth and nail to keep my faith in humanity. To love life. I take the shit sandwich given to me and I eat every last crumb. With a smile. Because I’m hungry for life. Regardless of anything, I want to be here.”

“You’re not real. You can’t be. This has to be a test. There has to be more.” She looked up as if to meet the eyes of the stranger, but there were no eyes to meet. Just the same empty eye sockets that belonged to the tall black-robed figure in front of her. Just a cracked and yellowed skull that reeked of decay. Skeletal legs and arms poked out of the edges of the robe. Pestilence and fungus clung to the uncovered bones, waiting for the next victim. The skull never changed, never showed any kind of pity or concern. Nothing was said. Nothing more needed to be said. The figure simply waltzed away, leaving with the echoing clack of bone against the tile floor.