Oh god, its what I tell

There is a death that we can speak of, it happened because like all things it was inevitable. I had her face in my hands and she was sweet and beautiful but she is not the one who dies, and it wasn’t me because I get to type on my laptop and maybe have another glass of cheap white wine I bought from the closest bottle shop which is attached to a crappy pub and they charge you about five dollars more than you normally would pay. The death of an old man, it kind of makes sense and it is also terrible because his family loved him and he had some friends who he saw three times a week, they used to go and sit at the RSL (Returned Serviceman’s League) club which is basically just a crappy pub with poker machines under the proviso that they serve $5 meals at lunch and have fluorescent lights and generally don’t want young people there and you have to take your hat of if you go in there (or those who still wear hats, these days its baseball caps worm all day and night by idiot kind of tradesman types who just keep wearing those ugly things night and day). We needed the money and that was how we thought we could get it, because those old people keep their money in their house (you know that) in cupboards or under mattresses or in old-people tins that it takes you about one hour or less to find, its obvious and they come from the great depression so they like to hold onto things, food, clothes, bedding stuff and most importantly money, they don’t keep it in ‘those banks I don’t trust them’ kind of people, so you can just go in there and get it (usually), and this time it wasn’t any different so we went in there and got it. Because my girl was raped by some fucking arsehole and she cried and cried to me and I just felt sick and she had bruises and the works and we needed to get the fuck out of the city, the fucking city, I had an ok job and she was packing kilo bags of ground coffee into boxes, worked with some old Asian women who just talked about her kids over and over, every day for like eight months, can you imagine? And then some fucking cunt grabs her when she’s walking to the train station and fucking rapes her, like, what the fuck has happened to the world, so we decided (together) that we need to do something, get the fuck away right, because we talked about it and she had a shower and we thought we just need some money so what’s the best way to get it, and I knew this guy on our street and I thought we could just, see, like, see what the hell he’s got and he’s a nice old guy and I saw him at the shops every now and again and he reminds me of my grandad who died of cancer about eight years ago, ear (I think) cancer, too much time in the sun for his Irish type skin, too much time working on the garden, chemotherapy didn’t work so he dies by god for sure I rub sunscreen behind my ears almost every day now. Well fuck it we went there and he opened the door and we sat down and I still had my place, my one bedroom flat with all my IKEA shit and clothes all over the place and her stuff there too but we sat there and he said ‘what do you want to drink?’ and we didn’t know but he gave us all a can of beer and we talked a bit and he wanted to show us photos, god, that’s what they do, fucking photos, but it was ok, there were of his kids who have kids themselves and love in all other sets like that and we looked at each other and he kept getting up to get us snacks and after a while another can of beer and we were in his house and my girl she went to the toilet and he got up again and so did I and I walked into the kitchen with him and he turned around and I hit him in the face and he held his hand onto the sink and I hit him again and I hate it and don’t want to and my hand hurts and he slumps down and I grab what I see and it’s a saucepan, one of the old ones that are rusted and heavy and I hit him one more time and he’s on the ground and I don’t want to hit him anymore and I turn around an no one’s there and I go into his bedroom and open his cupboard and its old clothes, ties hanging on a tie rack and about ten leather belts hanging there too, and I pull down all the old jumpers and things on the top shelf and there’s nothing there, so I pull up his mattress and there’s the cash, like fifty dollar notes mainly all spread out so I go back to the living room and get my backpack and take it into his room and start filling it up and my girl comes back and she says he’s bleeding so I get her to fill it up and go and check on him. Its not good to see him just lying there, his face turned away, snuggled into the kitchen cupboard like a cockroach or a dead dog or something, its easy ’cause his face is turned away but still his humped back and his old clothes. I turn him onto his front and its not so bad, some blood and he looks ok, asleep really and just, alive and asleep. I take the tea towel off the oven and wipe a bit of the blood away, his lip and eyes are cut and there’s blood in his hair and I shake him a little, I don’t know why but just do it, trying to wake him up but he doesn’t and I can see his old face, worn in, wrinkles, blood in wrinkles is disgusting, makes me sick, the poor man. She comes back in and says ‘ok, I got it all’ and I feel like an arsehole but we did it and I fell so sorry for this guy, sick, fucking guy he doesn’t deserve this, we got to go so I say ‘let’s get the fuck out of here’ and she’s crying or nearly and we just leave, close the door and the street is bright, his grass is well kept, flowers, a nice fence but we just walk out of there, even close the fence door behind us, looking back its all peaceful, as it was, normal.

Later we find out he was dead but by then we were living in another state with his eight thousand dollars, that was all we got, all he had but she was happy and I got to see her forget about all that shit, about those three guys just fucking taking her and holding her down, but it took me a long time to not see her pussy all fucked by those fucking arseholes or whatever they were and it was hard to kiss her because she had those bruises even though they went away. There were times when I thought only of my mother and my sister and how they are alive and happy and never had to get fucking raped and they never helped me through, they just, well, we all left each other didn’t we, around the globe or country and we don’t talk enough, I realised, we don’t even really talk and I can’t tell anyone about this, I don’t want them to know that my girlfriend was raped and I have to stay with, her, wait, want to help her and stay with her or about how we killed that old man, for the money, for the fucking money that we thought we needed and even though now, living here about three hours south where no one knows us and we can walk on the beach everyday and she is smiling and I have to fucking think about all that shit because it doesn’t happen to me, she is the one who had to escape and I was just there with her, am there with her and she’s working at the supermarket and I work every now and again at factories or whatever, farms, and we’re ok, we just needed that money and we got it and she doesn’t even talk about it because that’s really nothing in comparison and its kind of like love really, and I never thought I’d be that kind of guy but I am and it makes this living that we do so much better and worse.

It was probably one month or maybe about six weeks when she told me that she didn’t get her period and we thought ‘what the fuck…what the fuck…is it us or those fucking guys and what the fuck did they do! What the fuck is inside me?!’ and I held her while she cried and inside me it was hate and hope and disgust and what the fuck baby is this? She woke up the next day and I didn’t sleep that well, didn’t eat dinner and she had some bread with peanut butter at about ten o’clock and we watched TV so we didn’t have to think or talk and this time it was daytime and she had to go to work at 1 o’clock so we just sat together and I made us tea and she said mostly ‘what am I going to do’ and it was obvious to me (abortion) but I realised I didn’t know her that well, I mean, why didn’t she just think abortion and when do I say that or do we need to go to some medical centre and check to see whose baby it is and does she even care about that, you know, started doubting myself and what she wants, I mean, she couldn’t possibly want to keep some rapist’s baby, right? She went to the doctor and I waited outside reading magazines and a local paper that just talked about shit I don’t care about like the council is cleaning up the water or there’s a fair on this Saturday and a local vandal group has been caught, like its four kids with spray cans and its funny because its so simple and isolated and after maybe forty five minutes she comes out, doctor had his hands around her shoulders and I get up and go to her and the doctor hates me, thinks I’m a fucking arsehole I think and he kind of hands her to me and I take her under my arm and he looks away and goes away and I shake her gently and she looks at me and cries says ‘I’m pregnant’ and I knew she was so its not so hard and she says then ‘we need to take some tests’ and yeah I knew that and my first thoughts are how much money I have in my account (three thousand) and then children, what the fuck, our place has a kitchen in the lounge room and she can’t work and those fucking pricks who did this to her or maybe its me, my heartless cock getting in there like everybody else and she’s beautiful and pure and alone but I’m with her and I just lead her out of there and the things we need to do will happen later, not now.

Ok so, she was pregnant and it isn’t mine and its one of those guys’ so we make an appointment to get rid of it of course and we go together and it is like two weeks or less before legally we can’t get rid of it and its like, fuck that’s too close but we don’t want to be reminded of how she got fucked by those guys and we killed that old guy and his face, his face was so soft and kind and he gave us drinks and we, our fucking selfish evil selves did the thing like we are any better than those cunts, we tell ourselves we had to but sometimes at night when we’ve had some drinks or maybe had sex or something we look at each other and its different because of what we’ve done but we made this choice and we killed that baby she had and we killed that old man whether we wanted to or not and we used that money for good after all and we got away and now we’re here, safe and together and we had that abortion together and its gone now and we didn’t want those fucking guys to keep being in our life and its kind of like that’s the last thing we have to deal with, you know, that is the last little thing that remains of all that shit and even though we wait for the phone to ring or to hear some cop come bang at our door we can still sleep together for now and know what we did and breathe at last and tomorrow I’ll get up and go to work and so will she and the next day and the next day and the next.

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