DYING TO SURVIVE (Dark Erotica) (7 page)

“I have…” Dana pulled the bottom of her shirt to her face and wiped her tears.

“I uhhm. I have. Oh God. This is so hard.”

“I have breast cancer,” as the words escaped Dana’s mouth she became less controlled in her breathing and the sobbing slowed to an uncontrolled gasping for breath.

Dana wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and coughed as she tried to speak again. Elena slowly offered her bottle of water to Dana. Dana looked up, accepted the bottle, and took a drink.

“I found out two months ago,” Dana continued, “It doesn’t look good. My mother and my aunt have both…”

Elena took the bottle of water from Dana’s hand and patted Dana’s shoulder, comforting her. “I’m so sorry,” Elena offered in a soft voice.

“I’ve been thinking about dying for two months, and I don’t want to die,” Dana sobbed onto Elena’s shoulder.

“None of us do,” Elena breathed into the back of Dana’s head.

“It really doesn’t look like we have a choice, it’s just a matter of time,” Elena continued.

Dana raised her head from Elena’s shoulders and nodded slowly. “I know, this is all so crazy. I’ve been two months fighting this and now it looks like it really doesn’t matter. I suppose it’s all God’s will.”

“God has nothing to do with this,” Elena shook her head as she spoke.

“Why would you say such a thing?” Dana asked as she wiped her eyes on her forearm.

“It’s true. Look around you. God isn’t here, Dana. If God were here, we’d be on a beach somewhere, or shopping. Or I’d be at my daughter’s graduation. This is
El Diablo.
” Elena said as she looked around the room.

“God is always present,” Dana offered as she fought to catch her breath.

“No. No. No he isn’t. Not
my
God. He isn’t watching this shit and letting it happen. Sorry,
chica
.” Elena said as she released Dana’s head from her shoulder and stood from the bench.

“
Your
God? Are you a Christian?” Dana stood from the bench as she spoke.

“Yes, I’m a Christian,” Elena said over her shoulder as she walked toward the entrance door.

Elena walked toward the door, thinking of her attendance at church as a child. Her family was raised Catholic, and as a child she attended church regularly. Her parents
required
that she attend church. It was part of her family’s schedule of weekly requirements. Her family grew up close in Texas, close to poverty, and she had become pregnant at seventeen. The religious belief of her family and the church prohibited marrying outside of the religion, premarital sex, or the possibility of abortion.

Feeling trapped and alone, she left her family, moved to the mid-west, and abandoned her religious beliefs. For the last seventeen years, she had lived with her daughter. Although she had boyfriends on and off, she had never been in an actual relationship with a man as a live-in partner or a husband.

Now, standing in the corner by the door, Elena began to wonder about her separation from God and church. She began to wonder if she were closer to God if this situation would potentially be different. She stared at the floor and tried to remember the last time she had attended church.

“And you don’t think God has anything to do with this?” Dana asked as she approached Elena.

“Shut up, Dana. I’m not going to talk about this anymore,” Elena said sharply as she turned away from Dana and faced the opposite wall.

“Maybe it’s what we all need to talk about,” Dana stated as she wiped the remaining tears from her face.

“Bitch, you keep nagging at me, I’ll make sure your dead ass is lying at this door in the morning,” Elena barked as Dana approached.

Dana ran her hands through her hair and scratched her scalp with her fingertips. It was difficult for her to process someone claiming to be a Christian yet demanding God had no involvement or knowledge of events or happenings in their life. Raised in the mid-west, and a Methodist, Dana believed that God was forever present in her life.

“God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in trouble. Psalm 46:1,” Dana said softly.

Elena turned, raised her right arm, and punched Dana in the mouth. As soon as her fist made impact with Dana’s face, Dana fell to the floor and began crying.

“Holy shit, Elena,” Meghan shouted as she stood from the bench.

“Oh my God,” Dana said as she wiped her mouth and looked at the blood on the back of her hand.

“Yeah. See?
Your
God let you get your ass smacked, bitch. Keep it up. You’ll be waiting by the door in the morning. In a fucking pile,
pendeja
,” Elena shouted.

“What the fuck?” Meghan said as she approached the two women.

“Fucking bitch was God
this
, God
that
,
God, God, God
. I fucking told her. Bitch,” Elena spat on the floor beside Dana and took a step in the other direction.

Meghan walked into the bathroom and returned quickly with a wet washcloth in her hand. Sitting upright and against the wall, Dana held her hand to her mouth. Meghan knelt beside her and handed her the washcloth.

“Thank you,” Dana said as she accepted the washcloth.

Dana wiped her mouth and looked at the bloody washcloth. She shook her head and wiped her mouth again with the wet cloth. Now regretting her having mentioned God, the pressure she placed on Elena, and mentioning her religious faith entirely - she began to question her ability to remain in the room safely and peacefully. With a heart full of regret and sorrow, she attempted to stand. As she stood, her legs wobbled beneath her.

“Here, let me help you,” Meghan said as she reached under Dana’s arms to help her stand.

“Fuck
that
bitch. Leave her ass on the floor,” Elena shouted across the room.

Meghan shook her head slowly as she held Dana upright.

“Thank you,” Dana whispered as she stood.

Meghan blinked her eyes in acknowledgement.

“I was just explaining to Shellie my reasoning in all of this. Trying to make the best sense of it,” Meghan said as she turned toward Elena and Shellie.

“And?” Elena asked.

“Well, without a doubt, someone is going to have to volunteer tomorrow morning to die. If not, we
all
die. I think we have to look at both sides of all available options. Hear me out, okay?” Meghan said as she faced the bench that Shellie and Elena were sitting on.

Shellie nodded her head and continued biting her fingernails.

“Whatever, okay,” Elena sighed.

“Well there are really three scenarios. Correct me if I’m missing something,” Meghan paused as she stood before the two seated women, with Dana standing immediately behind her.

“He kills one person and stops, that’s an option. And if he stops, he may keep the remaining people in here forever. That’s one scenario. The second one is this - he kills us all one at a time. Either of those two options, really, are the same as dying. It just gets down to which one of us has the guts to be the first - but the end result is the same, pretty much.  The last option - he stops after the first person agrees to die, and releases the remaining people.” Meghan paused again and looked at all of the women.

“So, let’s assume death or a life of captivity. None of us will ever see any of our friends, family, or anyone ever again. None of
this
really matters. Who’s first, who’s last, who has the guts or who doesn’t. But, if
one
person dies, and the others live, we should consider this, as a group,” Meghan took a deep breath.

“Whoever agrees to die? Whoever that person is, the rest of us must agree to take care of that person’s daughter or family or whatever. Whoever doesn’t die, whoever lives through this - they must be able, willing, and have the resources to take care of the deceased persons daughter. So, in my opinion, the least capable should consider going first. You know, in hopes of the rest of us, or at least
one
of us living. And that living person or persons will care for the deceased person’s family,” Meghan stopped speaking and rotated her head to the three women, waiting for a comment.

“Sounds reasonable, I’m
very
capable,” Dana said in a muffled tone from behind the washcloth that covered her mouth.

“Bitch, I am tired of that mouth. You’re dying of breast cancer, you should be first,” Elena barked as she shifted her weight on the bench.

Meghan slowly turned and faced Dana. Dana pressed the washcloth tightly to her mouth and nodded her head. The small amount of sorrow Meghan felt for Dana was soon overcome with an intense feeling of relief that Dana was dying of cancer. Her imminent death, if left in the room for any period, would certainly make Dana a prime candidate for the first or potentially second victim. Meghan released a slow inaudible sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry, Dana. I truly am,” Meghan lied as she closed her eyes and attempted to appear to be stricken by grief. She raised her right hand to her face and covered her mouth.

Softly, Dana began to cry. She cried for reasons other than her cancerous breast. She stood knowing that once she begun to speak of God, she felt she had gained the strength to forfeit her life. She didn’t like thinking of it, and naturally she fought the thought of dying altogether. She stood before the other women knowing that when the time came, she would be willing to give up her life to potentially save the lives of the rest of the group.

As Dana held the washcloth tight to her now swollen lip, she looked down at the floor, closed her eyes, and said a prayer for the group of women. She prayed again for the well-being of her family; and lastly, she prayed for Elena. She opened her eyes, raised her head slowly, looked at the group, and softly spoke three words.

“I’ll die first,” Dana said without a tone of emotion in her voice.

CHAPTER SEVEN

STOP. FUCKING. CRYING.

SEVEN.
Ryan picked up his bag and walked toward the stairs at the corner of the weight room. The daily exercise was something that he started as a late teen. The constant reassurance by his father that he would always be overweight, worthless, and unintelligent had driven him to alter his daily routine to include exercise and proper diet in his life.

The result was a six foot frame of one hundred and ninety pounds, all of which, by any account, was muscle. Ryan carried the bag down the steps and recalled his many trips up and down the stairs of the basement at his mother’s home. The thought of his father made his jaw tighten as he hurried down the steps toward the exit of the gym. As he reached for the handle of the door, he drew a slow breath and thought of
the
day.

“You’re a fat little fuck, look at yourself,” his father had told him.

Eleven years old and naked, Ryan stood in front of the mirror that was fixed on the wall in the basement. As he looked into the mirror, he saw an overweight boy looking back at him. His mind filled with fear of what may be next regarding punishment, his legs began to shake.

“Do you have any suggestions, you ridiculous pile of blubber?” his father asked.

“None, sir,” he responded, trembling.

“You realize I do this because I love you, correct?” his father asked as he circled Ryan’s body slowly.

“Yes sir,” Ryan responded.

“If I didn’t care what your fat little ass weighed, I’d let you turn yourself into a human fucking beach ball. You’re disgusting, Ryan. In fact, I can’t even decide what to do with your fat little ass next. Nothing seems to motivate you,” his father bellowed as he now stood in front of Ryan and stared at his slightly overweight frame.

“Well, we have tried giving you enemas. That didn’t work. You remained disgusting. We tried starving you, and somehow you found food - so that’s out. I can’t force you to exercise, I haven’t got time,” his father paused and shook his head at the young boy.

“Lessons. Life is about learning lessons. The earlier in life we learn them the quicker we are able to make corrections to our lives. Does that make sense?” his father asked.

Ryan, now crying, nodded his head slowly.

“And another thing. You’re always crying about something down here. Every damned time we come down here, you cry about something. It makes me damned near as sick to hear you cry as it does to look at your disgusting fat little ass. Stop. Fucking. Crying,” his father demanded as he stood before him with his hands on his hips.

Ryan bit his lower lip with his teeth in an attempt to stop sobbing. The attempt made the crying much worse.

His father held his left hand in the air and pointed up with his index finger. His hand was rock steady as he spoke. “Do you realize why I am as successful as I am?”

“No…”

“No sir,” Ryan blubbered.

His father moved his index finger within inches of Ryan’s face. The tip of the finger was missing, making the finger square at the tip. It had been that way as long as Ryan could recall. Ryan focused on the finger and wondered the significance.

“I can’t stand to even look at you any longer. I think I may need to go upstairs and vomit. You disgust me. Thirty days, Ryan. Thirty days. We’ll mark it on the calendar upstairs. You have thirty days to lose twenty pounds. If not, you’ll be taught a lesson the hard way. I’m going upstairs. I don’t want to see your fat little face again tonight. Sleep in the room down here. I’ll tell your mother you’re sick. Get dressed, you fat little bastard,” his father turned and walked to the stairs.