Before the Cult

  Macxermillio gazed at him, his countenance dubious. "Pure shit," his tone slightly fazed. "Tell him we are sticking to the plan."

  Macfearson shifted his gaze to the screen, a pang of some unknown emotion surging in his chest. “What do we do? He is with the person. This is coded message S.O.S!”

  Macxermillio was eerily unresponsive and cold. Underneath his skin, he was afflicted. His lack of expression was there once more. Seconds were burning through the moment as thoughts twirled and tittered. "Tell him if he tries anything he should kiss himself goodbye," he spoke with a low grunt.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, he will have to believe. He won’t cause shit,” He paused.

  Macfearson typed away, then he looked up before pressing send. “He better not fuck this up! Why are you so sure he will listen?”

  Macxermillio smiled. “Because he listens to me.”

  ***

  “You don’t find me weird, Krissy?” I asked as the seduction continued, unbelieving that something of that awesomeness was occurring to me. A stupefying experience. Some would pinch themselves to test if it were real, I would slit my wrists.

  She giggled. “No. You are just unique in your own way.”

  She tilted her head and pushed her hair back to expose her neck.

  You don’t know who you are about to fuck.

  If I were like other men a storm would have stirred between by legs. My heart would have raced and I would not have been able to contain myself. The amount of saliva in my mouth would have surely increased and my breathing a bit heavier. Shuddering with extinguishing and delicious lust. I knew the tease was to be the best part, it always was the best part. Sustained arousal is much like suppressed anger that one cannot wait to release and ravage the object of its obsession. All men are beasts at heart and the women tame these beasts.

  “Krissy, I have tried so many things to be happy… to find peace or whatever it is that is missing in my life. Everything.” I paused. Then gazed at her throat. “You are much like a piece of art, mei lady. Distraction from all this horror.”

  Silence.

  “Would it surprise you if I told you that I never really made any friends in my life?”

  “Including your childhood?”

  “I never really liked people when I was young. Did not know how to talk to them or understand them really. I enjoyed my own company the most. I played alone and did all things alone. It is tough being here with you and talking to you or opening up to you the way I have. Always been aloof.”

  “Maybe that is why you feel so lonely and miserable.”

  “I thought so myself. So I went out and tried making friends. I socialized, as people put it. I faced constant rejection and ostracism. Truth is, I felt more miserable with people than I did alone. This is a cliché isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “My story. Lonely boy meets an angel who attends to his needs and accepts him when the world has been nothing but terrible and uneventful for him. Sounds like something you would watch in a movie.”

  “And you don’t like this. Is it too pretentious for you?”

  “Much of the world is. I would hate my life to resemble something I strongly despise.” I smiled.

  She looked down and withdrew, her posture serene and decent. I could sense disappointment on her side. Although I may never truly know what was causing it, I had always known that I had an adverse impact on others. Never understood what I did wrong or what was wrong with me. For this reason I dreaded human conversation, I had therefore told myself the only way it could work is if I am fully honest at each turn. Clarity made things fall neatly into place, but not in this world. I had to learn, not nicely, the world does not work that way so I was confronted by an even stranger reaction from my peers as a result of my frankness. I hated the anxiety that came with my history of my poor social interactions and the way, despite my efforts, I was clueless and, without fail, screwed things up. With Krissy, I cared less, I felt unrestrained

  “All I am trying to say is that I have never met anyone as gracious as you or who makes me feel the things I feel here. You are very desirable and I would love to fuck you.” I paused to study her. She lifted her head to confront me, her cheeks flushing. Her eyes fraught with shock. “I don’t give a damn if that offends you. It shouldn’t. It’s a compliment and a clear indication of my intentions… which you have guided.”

  She gasped. “What?”

  “Please, have sex with me? Maybe that will help,” I coldly demanded.

  She scrutinized me, still dismayed. “Wow,” she could only manage to say.

  “Say something.”

  “Is this how you speak to girls?”

  “This is how I talk to everybody,” I blandly said, not getting even the point of asking that question.

  Is there a customary way of addressing girls and boys?

  “Very blunt. It actually works for me. I like that,” she grinned. Then added with enthusiasm, “Turns me on for some reason.”

  I mirrored the excitement.

  Phew…

  “You have wine?” I enquired.

  “Yeah. Turnin’ things up, huh?” she lightly cackled, a free spirit resounding.

  “Read foreplay is the most important part.” I stupidly answered, as an afterthought I realized I didn’t have to.

  She got up and fetched two mugs and placed them on the desk. Students never really owned wine glasses. She fetched a box of cheap wine and filled the mugs to the rim. All of a sudden there was wind in her movements. She hummed gracefully, in a way that evokes peace and comfort. Fun wore her.

  She opened her laptop. “Music?”

  “Yeah. What do you listen to?”

  “Are you music sensitive? One of those guys?”

  “I like metal and hard rock. They basically the same but you know what I mean.”

  She nodded with a mixture of approval and surprise. “O-kay. How ’bout some Linkin Park?”

  “The old school shit only, not this recent crap.”

  She laughed and shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

  “I would rather not discuss this. Do you have Hurt?”

  “What?”

  “Hurt, it’s a band. Not Hurts I mean Hurt. You know of ‘em?”

  “Never heard of them.”

  I felt disappointed, I needed their music for the moment. Any song by Hurt would have done.

  My phone beeped and it was Macfearson, telling what I had concluded soon after I sent my message: If you do it, kiss your ass goodbye - Macxermillio

  Something began brewing. Something malevolent. Something cunning.

  And suddenly something rendered me anxious.

  Don’t you ever leave me you fucking lifeling bitch!

  Suddenly there was an unpredictable presence about her. It was too perfect. Unreal as a flawless play.

  I am being dined before I get fucked.

  Although I gnawed against the growing sense of premonition, rationality drove me under. My arms were feeble and fluid-like against the cold coarse surface of the premonition. Common sense would have it that it was fitting. She seemed to like me although she had more reasons not to. It did not make sense. An agenda was being carried out at the cost of sex and pretense. She was advantageous in her lair.

  Wait…

  4

  “I don’t wanna bore you with the rest of the whole story because I don’t think this is what this session is about.” I glanced at the clock, 01:15. The damn thing always slipped to 01:50 far quicker than I thought it was fair. When the time came it always felt too soon. On the way out my mind would be shrouded with the “what-ifs” and “shouldn’t-haves”. Then my unresolved enigma would fester. Much like a hangover deep in an existential crisis.

  “The point is… I got to see her that day - I mean on the date we had set together. It was an eerie cold night. A bit windy. I wondered why she would want to see me at night. It was just odd that
she trusted me to be with her alone in her room. Is she naïve? Was she just friendly? Am I gonna get there and find her with a group of friends? I wondered. I mean I wouldn’t feel safe inviting myself if I were her.” I paused.

  “You think others shouldn’t trust you?” she asked.

  "Maybe," I answered, incredulous. "People just assume I am a good person, I am not saying I am a bad person, but I really hate that. What is it that I do that gives people this picture? I still wonder. So I went over. It was very pleasant. We chilled. I taught her the method and we studied. We didn't get to know each other enough to be comfortable, therefore the silence in the room was just thorny. It's at this point where I started talking to her, asking her trivial questions about herself in hopes that I will understand her better. She was intrigued by me, she asked me a couple of questions. The same kind of questions. Everything I said just sounded like a lie to me. So I told her the truth about myself and my problem. I cracked. She held me and told me that if I ever need someone to talk to she will always be there to listen. I felt like she got it, that finally I found that shoulder I could cry on. It was too good to believe, but she was believable. Before I had only seen stuff like that in movies. It meant a lot to me that it was happening to me.

  "As shit happened during the week I called her. I needed to talk and stuff. She didn't answer my calls nor reply to any of my messages. On Facebook, she would be active but never flippen' replied to my inboxes. My emails were never returned. So it's clear she was avoiding me or ignoring me or just plain doing both. It is not like she did not have time from the looks it, her status updates were posted plenty of times. What is confusing is that whenever she sees me in class she is all friendly and jolly like nothing happened. Come the end of class she just goes on about her business like I had just vanished from her world, like I never came into it at some point. Even those chats are not really chats but only small talks. This freakin' confuses me, it makes me feel stupid. As Macfearson would say, it smokes me up! I'm puked-up! Why is it when people don't like you or they don't care about you they don't just tell you? Not in a harsh insulting way but in some civil or appropriate to the situation manner. Save all of us the heartache." I sighed. Submerging into the ghost of those harrowing, pulverizing moments.

  My heart sagged, malfunctioning. I felt ashamed, angry, rejected, tormented, patronized and jizzed on. It stunk as much as it sucked like rotten flesh, my face did a good job not hiding it. This was grief for myself, or perhaps the lifelings themselves. Not that I cared. There is no greater beast than that of human making.

  Cheryl leaned forward, making me nervous.

  Don’t poke at me lady, I bawled inside, much aggressive than I would be once I set my eyes on her. My defiled self cowered as it felt exposed.

  “So how would you phrase something of that nature without being rude?” she said.

  I fidgeted. "Well, I would say something like ‘Sandy, I can't promise to be your friend or be close to you, not that I don't like you. I think you are of value to some other people but not me and not now. But we can always be acquaintances'.But if the person does not mean any of that they shouldn't bother saying it. If the person hates me and they don't like me they should just say it. If they think I'm a freak and a punk they should just say it. If they think I'm a going-nowhere-John they should say it. That is so much better."

  She slightly turned her face to one side, eyes still on me. “You won’t find it rude or upsetting?”

  I looked up, formulating my answer. For a moment, I got caught in the idea that I was searching for an object to demonstrate with. "Well, to be honest, it would be hurtful and concerning. Still better though. It is easier to get over. No mystery, no trouble. It's like getting your school results only to discover you failed Math. If that is important to you, you will be sad or stressed out for a couple of days but eventually you will have some perspective on what to do next. It saves a lot of time, energy and a trunk of heartache...shock and confusion. You see? What music do you listen to?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you listen to commercial rock?”

  She shook her head smiling. “Sometimes.” ‘some’ and ‘times’ sounded miles away from each other in her utterance.

  “Have you heard ‘Broken Strings’ by James Morrison?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  "Not that it is my kinda shit. I'm usually into more underground alternative stuff, but I like that song. It says something about the truth hurting but the lies being even worse than that. I agree with that. I believe more in the truth being the ultimate cure, no matter how sour. Lies are nothing more but sweet poison. Much like ciggies, lies can destroy you. The truth is a hard medicine to take, but it works. Don't mind people being honest, I love it. What I hate are posers. Superficiality. I don't get that. I hate that. What is the fucking point?"

  She nodded tentatively. “I see. I understand. I am just wondering if you ever considered that some people may find it hard to be honest with you.”

  "Yeah," I said. "In fact, I think they do. Anyway, I was telling you this whole story for a reason. Not because of my issues with trust and stuff like that. What I was trying to say is that… being unique and different puts me up for rejection, misunderstanding and ostracism. It's like I am a piece that does not fit here in this puzzle. But a puzzle that belongs to another alien one. And I feel the out-of-place-ness. I feel my edges bent and ruffled with so I may fit. Even when I am finally forced in or somehow altered to, I remain an oddity. A stain on the canvas. I am nonsense. Without real ultimate use. The fact that I'm camouflaged into the painting is so undeniably visible. I boil with the disprovable fact that I don't belong here. It's not my place to take. If I find the rightful piece I will gladly give it the spot it deserves. And I hear, smell, and feel my family calling me on the other side. Longing for me as much as my heart does. There is wind blowing through the hole, insects crawling in and out, and dust filling in. It's every creature's nature to forget and grow accustomed to something. One thing that remembers even in the mist of forgetfulness is the heart. The urges and emotions will soon grow out of explanations and rationalizations. Soon the mind declares it just a mood. From that point, we are forever lost, hopeless and helpless without even knowing it.

  ‘It’s just the blues,’ we say, but the heart knows different.

  ‘It’s just senseless thoughts,’ we say, but the spirit knows different.

  ‘Oh, it’s just a dream,” we say, but the forgotten mind remembers.

  ‘It’s just a compulsion’ we think, but our instincts know better.

  It’s the calling, it’s the call. Only you can’t comprehend it. Some drug themselves senseless because of it. It nags and nags until some search for answers is initiated. It’s so unbearable that some end their lives. Then I wonder if it is out of choice, or if they hear, believed and done what had to be done. Like taking the right bus, knocking on the right door. Laying your life to sweet fate.

  Do you know what my cousins say?” I paused, suddenly aware of how discreetly solemn my tone is. I had zoned out.

  “No, you haven’t told me,” she said, intrigue blatant - something was also present there too.

  I stalled, licking my lips, clearing my throat and resettling in the chair. “They say to me ‘Blood waters the crops!’”

  “You know what it means?”

  “No. I don’t”

  Silence.

  “Then I see the red fields. And some kind of a Gregorian chanting rising behind the hills ‘This is Deathiculture. This is Deathiculture. This is truth. The is It. The It. The it that is. The is that is!’” I talked without my lips moving, I had a sensation that I was frozen in place. It wasn’t anything disconcerting or aggressive. It was a sweet release, an orgasmic caress of goose bumps. Shimmering and rippling like a head rush.

  Fuck me now, Macfearson’s voice whispered into my mind. That’s what he always said as he had his first cigarette of the day – never in the morni
ng but in the afternoon.

  “What do you do then?” she asked.

  “I… I just sit there and become so… so… so something else,” my voice cracked and trailed off.

  5

  It struck 01:40 pm. Macxermillio and Macfearson waited patiently and silently. Each romping in their own internal landscapes until Macfearson spoke, "Mac, think you can play the game?"

  It wasn’t much of a game with clear objectives, rules and ultimately a winner and a loser. It was an exercise. Macfearson’s remedy for his cravings when he was removed from his lighter. It only consisted of imagining the most grotesque and gut wrenching possible ways to kill a person and dispose of the body.

  “Hit me, Fearson. What do you have?” Macxermillio grinned, delighted.

  “Imagine if there was a way to strip a person of all their flesh and bone and all you have are his insides laying there. His head is still intact and okay and somehow he is alive and you have his heart pumping there on the table and all the juicy action,” Macfearson initiated.

  "Wow, that would be sweet. It would be like some kind of a squid with guts as tentacles." Macxermillio laughed, already visualizing it.

  Macfearson giggled, he was very fond of that laugh. It rarely came. “Then what we would do is put his guts in a mixer and shred it like we making juice for vampires.”

  “With the head stuck on top as the lid?”

  “Yeah-yeah. We gotta see that motherfucker’s eyes when we rip him apart!”

  “I like that.” A pause and a nod. “Fuck! That would be awesome!”

  "There won't be any screams, though."

  “Still cool. Silent horror style.”

  “Would be nice to see anguish without all the noise getting in the way. High definition fuck-up there.”

  “See fear but not hear it.” Macfearson nodded, excited.

  Macxermillio rubbed his palms together. “That would be fucking amazing to do.”

  Macfearson squinted. "Oh, my fuck! You are drooling in public."

  “An empty waiting room.”

  “Still a public area!”

  They both laughed taken by their shared mischief.

  “If the receptionist hears this we’re going to a psychiatric hospital,” Macxermillio teased.