Chapter 3 can be found here
As I recollect on the lust and seductive stench that permeated that bedroom, I cannot help but to become angered once again. It really did not have to be this way. I’ve suspected for quite some time that my husband struggled to keep his penis in his pants. The same pants, be they attached to the assortment of suspenders that kept them elevated or the occasional belt piece that clasped snuggly around his waistline. A thing that made me have such great disdain for Pearl, was that fact that outside of her being a filthy whore, she felt that her lightened-skin completely entitled her to privileges that Negroes of darker shade were not fortunate to have. She was way overdue for a reality check. But, this is New Orleans, the city for which we are all intertwined its the social fabric, as well as its mystique. I am all alone in my home. Unfortunately, being home alone I have become too accustomed to. I seriously feel that I should have never been forced to become so comfortable with such a state of solitude. A state very similar to a convict in prison who has broken one too many rules and thus is forced to endure the consequences of their bad decision making, on their own quiet time. It is such a dark and lonely place to be in.
As the fresh aroma of French coffee tickles my nose and its robust taste warms my lips when we unite, I’m still having a myriad of thoughts of what my eyes and ears should never have had to bear witness to, nor partaken in. Something told me to never go there. However, my instincts could not allow me to just sit back without reaction to such recklessness and disrespect by the man whoclaimed to love me. But, the more I contemplated my feelings, I struggled with the realization that he probably never loved me to begin with. Why intentionally manipulate my emotions? Why string me along like some sort of marionette who was completely powerless to just walk away on my own accord? I was such a fool. I knew this, but I was afraid to accept it and ultimately do something about it. That is…until the present time.
Through months of careful studying of Mr. Charlie’s ins and outs, his moves, and his behaviors, I was able to pinpoint the times that he frequented that wretchedly-disgusting whorehouse in order to have his desires pleasured. I should’ve known it was her, specifically. The way she would subtly flirt with him, having the audacity to think that I was so naive and couldn’t see right through her foolishness. I didn’t have time to think about all the God-awful things that Pearl had done to my husband or she in turn allowed my husband to do to her. All I knew was that I was enraged and I did not deserve such treatment. Never in life should I have been subjected to that. I will forever feel this way. Not even death could change it. Apparently, it didn’t.
Through my own calculated and meticulous process, I was able to successfully gain access to her bedroom, the place where that filthy concubine sexually ravaged all of her suitors. An unfortunate brood for which my husband was also a part of. As I slowly closed the door, I wasn’t sure at that point of what my exact plan would be. One thing I did know what that I needed to act fast, because at any point in time, she could return. If I was detected, there could’ve been serious problems, thus any plans that I had to exact my revenge, when determined, would be quickly thwarted. This room smelled wretched and I was repulsed beyond belief. One could only imagine how many manly seeds had been strewn across that bed that that stood before me. It was an intense struggle not to vomit the beignet that I had earlier that day. I swear that I hate Pearl so much.
Quickly there was a notice of a pitcher of water on the nightstand. I was almost certain that she and her suitors have been privy to sip from it when in dire need of hydration or replenishing after their lust liquids had been spent. I refuse to call it love. Love didn’t live in that there room. Pearl knows that for sure. That was when it came to me. The cold pitcher was the first piece of the puzzle in order to carry out my plan of total retribution. Congestion was also swirled in the mixture in order to provide a little extra flavor for them to savor. Suddenly her voice was heard from behind the door and I was forced to quickly conceal myself underneath her bed. It appeared that nobody ever attempted to clean down there, because there is so much dirt and dust that it’s totally ruining my glamorous dress. Dirty, filthy, disgusting whore! The door closed.
The sound of her footsteps as they walked about the room, followed by the annoyance of her voice, made my skin crawl beyond belief. I was so tempted to reach from under that bed to grab her ankles, forcing her to impale herself on the sharpened edge of her nightstand and bleed to death. My disdain for her is just that strong. But, I couldn’t. That was not the time for my darkened fantasies to be unveiled. No. Not then. I just happened to look towards my feet and noticed that a small portion of my dress was protruding from underneath her bed. Things suddenly became quiet and I was sweating beyond all belief, because I was not certain whether or not I had been discovered. Making a move was not in my best interest, thus I remained as frozen as a snow ball with the widest, terrified eyes protruding from the sockets in my face. Shortly thereafter, I felt the bed frame slightly drop as she sat down on it. After taking a muffled sigh and slowly pulling my exposure underneath with the rest of myself, my nerves began to calm just a little bit. I remained patient.
The door to her room opened for a second time and to my non-surprise, that cheating bastard Mr. Charlie entered and the door closed immediately behind him. I knew that I wasn’t delirious with my suspicions no matter many times he tried to convince me that I was the one and only love of his life. This son-of-a-bitch was talking to her in the same manner that he used to talk to me so many years ago. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to worry about where things went wrong in our marriage. My goal was to see exactly where this was going to go. Who was I kidding? I was in a damn whorehouse! There was only one outcome in my eyes.
In a matter of ten minutes, my eardrums became inundated with repeated moans and grunts courtesy of their lust-filled romp in these sheets. Sheets that likely sat above a mattress littered with dried up semen splashes from all the men that this whore has allowed to penetrate her vaginal walls. The ups and downs on the bed came within an inch or two of completely compressing my head against that damn wooden floor that sat beneath me. That was actually quite an embarrassing, degrading situation for me. There was nothing remotely sexy or intriguing about that adulterous interlude. My level of anger was at the point of bubbling completely over. I really wished that I had a machete so I could stab right through the underside of that bed and kill the both of them with a single, yet very strong upward motion. Am I crazy? Well, actually…I just might be.
Mutually exasperated and dehydrated, the sound of water cascading into a glass courtesy of Pearl’s pouring hand could be heard not far away. It was intended for one glass to serve a dual purpose. I guess it could be easily assumed that since they had already exchanged bodily fluids, a shared glass of water wouldn’t hurt. Disgusting, but it was exactly what I desired, no matter how it came. It appeared that Mr. Charlie had plenty of questionable things to say about me in the presence of this cuntbag. I wasn’t sure if it was in order to make her flair appear more superior or simply to degrade me as if I was more miniscule than the smallest ant that trekked the soil on the below sea level ground that is New Orleans, Louisiana. I quickly covered my mouth in order to mute any attempt to make noise in response to such displeasure with the disrespect that has been unknowingly placed upon me. Within fifteen minutes of them enjoying my refreshment, movements in the bed above came to a standstill. Talking was also a distant reality. I knew that I did not have much more time at my disposal. I had to move immediately, because an opportunity would’ve been missed, otherwise. Such thing I simply could not allow.
Pearl and Mr. Charlie in a comatose state was confirmed as soon as my eyes gazed upon the both of their naked frames, once I freed myself from the wretched underbelly of her bed. I briskly brushed my clothes in order to eliminate the dust and dirt particles that had me looking very unladylike. Suddenly, a pearl-handled pocket knife was noticed on the nightstand directly behind the pitcher of water that I had previously contaminated. I never noticed it before. That whore must’ve sat it there after she came in. Unbeknownst to her, this move would be something that she would soon regret. I quickly retrieved my handkerchief and used it to grab a hold and unsheathe the blade from the pocket knife. It was very smooth, even through the layer of protection that shielded my fingerprints from becoming one with it. The sharpened edge was placed to Pearl’s jugular vein, eagerly anxious to slice it and watch her blood squirt across the room, but a shift was experienced. I was more infuriated with Mr. Charlie for all the bad things that he said about me and ultimately him being revealed as the nasty adulterer that he truly was. For all I knew, Pearl may very well had not been the only one that he had slept with other than me. It was that additional suspicion that I found most disheartening. Still, Pearl would not be spared my wrath. It just wouldn’t be in a direct sense.
As I stood before Mr. Charlie, who was lying on his side, tears started to stream from both of my eyes, as I reminisced on all the good times that we had ever shared. It should have never needed to come to this. But, unfortunately, we had come too far to turn back at that point. My grip on that blade had become even tighter as my sadness was quickly transitioned into rage. There was an intense struggle to not make a sound as the knife was plunged deep into this chest. He didn’t move. Pearl didn’t move either. Mr. Charlie’s blood began to slowly secrete through the open wound that I had administered. This was what it did come to. It had to be this way. This was the only answer. I loved him that much. I mouthed to Mr. Charlie that I would forever love him as I blew him such a sweet departing kiss from my puckering lips. It was only a matter of time before he would ultimately be finished. I just had to bide my time, that’s all. I crawled back underneath the bed and did just that. Simply…wait.
After what seemed like an eternity, I remained alert with my nerves on edge awaiting the reaction of that whore to what her eyes would be blessed with when she finally came to. It would most definitely be a shock of all shockers, indeed. I just didn’t care. She was destined to fall for everything that she had ever done. She took Mr. Charlie from me, just like she has most likely taken various other husbands from their wives in a very similar fashion. Revenge would be so sweet that I could taste it. As I laid on my side, positioned just as my deceased husband who rested one tier above me, I admired the slow trickle of his blood drops courtesy of my immaculate stabbing. For some odd and uncharacteristic reason, it fascinated me as my eyes viewed the crimson as it saturated the floor on which I resided, temporarily.
I extended the open palm on my left hand, capturing one splash directly in the center of it, then returning it underneath the bed. My wet tongue protruded from my mouth as its tip was allowed to spiral it slowly. This blood thirst was to serve as the closure to our union. ‘Til Death Do Us Part. But, maybe Mr. Charlie totally forgot about those vows. Suddenly, I heard movements in the bed. Pearl had come to and it appeared from all the heavy breathing and nervous whimpering I was hearing, she’s finally came face-to-face with the results of my work. The little whore sounded quite perplexed. That kind of reaction introduced joy and such a sickened smile upon my face. Total vindication for a woman scorned. After Pearl collected herself, she made her way to her bedroom door. From beneath the bed, I noticed Pearl’s legs as they exited the room and the door closed immediately behind her. Awaiting her return was not something that I could afford to do. I acted fast and once again freed myself from the decrepitness in which I laid. When a very large trunk was observed that was situated at the foot of her bed, the deadly game that I had already been an active player in, was to be taken to another level, indeed.
The trunk was opened and much to my delight, it was completely empty. There was a struggle with all the strength that I had in my body in order to drag Mr. Charlie to the foot of the bed in order to stash his dead behind inside of it. A large thud sounded as his limp and cold body was successfully deposited. It had me shaken. The desire to make that whore sweat was at the top of my priority list, but I also knew that I was running out of time. I could not get caught in the midst of such a heinous crime. The need for me to get out of this place was imminent. The trunk was quickly lowered and the gold latches tightly clasped into place with each downward motion of my pinched dress. The bedroom door was approached and I put my ear to the door in order to hear if Pearl may be on her way back. She could not be heard. Still with my pinched dress, the doorknob was grabbed in order for me to get one more step closer to freedom. I still did not see her. I closed the door shut behind me after my exit and proceeded towards a back stairwell. As the desperate descent was made on my behalf down these stairs, Pearl’s voice could be heard a little louder in the distance behind me. She was not alone. She is such a stupid whore. I made my grand escape from this lair of lust, deception and now murder. Keeping my head down underneath my large hat, I moved onward to home. There was plenty to think about. There was so much to ponder as my mind wanders, as well as wonder, on what could have been. With that being said, I truly believe that I am crazy. There is no doubt about it.
–Written by CHAMSIL (M. Phillips)
All rights reserved.
CHAMSIL is a 5 Star-Rated author/poet/spoken word artist based in Atlanta, Georgia. He has published four novels, Unbeknownst (A Novel), the LOAD memoirs (An Erotiq Anthology), Breaux (An Urban Nightmare) and Womantheon (A Saga). For more information, readers can visit his website at www.iamchamsil.com.