But Why Him?

Tarquin Hathorne. Journal Entry: October 15, 2016

            Have you ever loved someone so much that you’re willing to not only engage in hollow activities, but sacrifice your own tastes and enjoyments just so you can please him or her? I can’t even count how many shopping ventures I’ve gone on, errands I’ve run, trite chick flicks I’ve watched for no other reason than to be near to her and thus acknowledge my importance in her life.

            And last night, it seemed as if all my hard work had finally paid off. We were in her apartment, sitting together on her couch, watching a movie and eating popcorn. It was a film I’d never seen before, Mean Girls. It’s apparently gospel for millennial women. I personally had never gotten around to seeing it, but Amelia insisted I watch it with her.

            “Trust me, you’ll love it!” She said with a beautiful, beaming smile.

            How could I possibly resist? It may be a dull and shoddy expression of entertainment, but how often do I get the chance to spend alone time with her?

Interestingly enough, it wasn’t half bad. Sure, it’s full of clichés and obnoxious teenage-girlisms, but the overall message of the film, its deeper meaning, was quite intriguing. A young girl, Cady Heron, innocent, sweet and sheltered, becomes acquainted with the domineering, narcistic, ill-natured Regina George. After being wronged by her, Cady and her friends concoct a plan to destroy her. What starts out for Cady as simple high school drama quickly morphs into an obsession. She hates Regina, wants her decimated, yet is still weirdly infatuated with her to the point where she actually starts to become her.

It’s a strange commentary on human nature, I guess—the notion that we are secretly attracted to what we hate; that the more and more we try to fixate on the object of our aversion, the more we start to become it. Maybe chick flicks have a deeper meaning than I thought. Or perhaps, I’m just reading too much into it.

Whatever the case, it was difficult to focus, because, as I was trying to digest the movie’s more substantive aspects, my mind kept wandering to her. For every fleeting moment I had, my eyes would peer over to her, her knees pulled up to her chest while her toes gently clutching the sofa’s edge. And then there were her thighs, so voluptuous and exposed beneath those pajama shorts, while her breasts swelled under her tight, white tee-shirt, which was partially covered by her long, golden hair.

Finally, the movie ended. She turned and stared at me with those gorgeous blue eyes. I felt my body begin to tremble, knowing that this may finally be it. I had imagined it playing out like this a thousand times over. She would look at me and, in an epiphany, would realize that I was more than a friend to her. After all this time, she would understand that I had so much to offer her. Then she would stare deep into my eyes and lean over. This is where our love story would begin, the point where at long last, she would be mine.

“Did you like it?” Amelia asked.

“I actually enjoyed it,” I replied.

A smile crept on her face.

“See, I told you that you would like it,” she gloated.

We looked at each other, not saying a thing. She then reached over, placing her soft hand upon mine. The hairs on my arm stood up and my heart began to race. She then leaned in. This was it. It was about to happen. After all this time, I would finally taste those succulent lips.

“Thank you for being such a good friend,” she remarked. “You’ve always been there for me. I just want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

And then, she said those fatal words that every lovesick male dreads.

“You’re like a brother to me.”

And with that one sentence, my heart sank. A pain struck my chest, as if a knife had pierced it.  It’s amazing. It only took few words for all my hopes and aspirations to suddenly be demolished.

“Thank you. I feel the same way about you,” I replied, listlessly.

I can’t think of another moment when I have spoken such hollow words. I tried to form a smile in a desperate attempt to mask my sorrow. If only she knew the suffering she had just inflicted upon me with those seemingly harmless words. I wish I could bring myself to tell her. If only I could make her understand that we’re a perfect match, that I’m the one who could provide and care for her like no one else could. How is it that someone so intelligent cannot see that what she needs is right in front of her?

Her phone then chimed. She picked it up.  

“Barron’s coming by,” she announced, with a smile.

Ugh, Barron McCloud. If a laboratory were to construct the perfect asshole, a man with every negative quality, it would be Barron. He’s a rich, womanizing, wannabe alpha-male, tool whose only accomplishments are due to his family’s connections and daddy’s money. He always dresses in over-the-top, expensive, conspicuous attire, made all the more douchey by that ugly combover, which makes him look like the stereotypical blonde villain from an 80’s teen movie.

It wasn’t long before there was a loud knock on the door accompanied by an obnoxious whine.

“Yo, Amelia! It’s Barron! Open up!”

Amelia pranced over to the door and opened it. Barron stumbled in, obviously tipsy.

“Sup, girl,” he sputtered like some braindead Neanderthal.

They embraced; and as he stood there holding her, he noticed me. He released her.

“Hey, man,” he said, trying to focus on me. “You’re, ugh…wait, don’t tell me…”

I’ve met this idiot about five fucking times.

“It’s Tarquin,” I finally remarked. “Tarquin Hathorne.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, bro. I’m super bad with names, ya’ know?”

I don’t know how such a shithead functions in our society or why Amelia wastes her time hanging out with him. Seriously, how does a girl who graduated near the top of her class at a prestigious university become friends with an alcoholic frat boy who barely graduated from college and who could only find a job at his father’s firm?

They both sat down, Amelia at one end of the couch with Barron between us. He smelled like a shitty Scottsdale bar at 2 am. He placed his arm around her, and, as usual, began his typical bragging monologue. What I would give to see him get struck by a bus. He’s such a worthless waste of space.

It got late. Amelia said she needed to get some sleep. Barron, being the gentlemen he was, offered to stay and help “put her to bed.” She declined. I guess she is not as naive as I imagined.

Barron and I left, and walked out together. I did not offer him a ride, as the thought of doing something helpful for that ass-clown made me physically ill. Instead, I hustled to my car and drove off, hoping that he would find his way into some deep, desolate ditch. I could only be so lucky.

Journal Entry: October 31, 2016.

I’ve never understood Halloween, a holiday rooted in strange rituals and occult themes. A night when children pester their neighbors for junk food, teenagers wreak havoc, and the sluts and deviants indulge in their salacious sides, all the while the repugnant gain attention through offensive “shock” costumes.  And that’s not even mentioning the Halloween parties, pathetic spectacles consisting of disguised drunkards decimating what little brain functions they have left.

I hate this holiday so much. But tonight, I put all that aside because she invited me out. She actually called me and told me that she wanted me to go with her. How could I refuse? Just being with near her is a treat.

I met her at her place at around eight. I drove because I don’t really drink and I had no intention to tonight. I walked up to the door and knocked. I heard her tell me to come in. I entered her small apartment and walked over to the sofa, the place we had sat together just weeks earlier. I sat down on the couch and waited.

Amelia eventually came out of her room, and my God, was she stunning! Sure, her costume wasn’t what I would term ‘inventive’. But she wore it so well: the grey dress, the pointed crown, the yellow torch. She was so mesmerizing. I felt like how immigrant must have felt when they first viewed the real Statue of Liberty upon sailing into Ellis Island. "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free."

If only I could have her right now, nestled in my arms, every fear and anxiety I have or ever will have would melt away, like the famine and oppressiveness of far off lands did for millions of migrants when they laid their eyes upon the Colossus’s majesty.

I, on the other hand, did not even compare. I’m not a big costume person. I bought some plastic fangs at a gas station and tied a black cloak around my back. It wouldn’t win me the award for best costume, but it did the trick.

We arrived at the party a little after 9:00. The party was what I expected—loud, smelly, insufferable. But at least I was with her. I can always count on Amelia to lighten even the worst experience. Yet, as much as I tried to stay close, Amelia did what Amelia does best— such a lively and social creature does not stay idle.

She was soon making her rounds, traversing from person to person like a bride greeting guests on her wedding day. I attempted to remain near, but not even I could keep up with her. Eventually, I fell by the wayside and wandered over to a corner where I wouldn’t be disturbed.

I stood there, miserable, wondering how and why I talked myself into attending this awful gathering. I looked over at her as she chatted with several guys and could not help but feel abandoned. Here I am, the man who took her to this thing, and I’m just shoved into a vacant corner. I get it, she’s outgoing, but I came to this stupid party solely because of her. Can’t she see that? Doesn’t that mean anything to her?

But things only got worse when he arrived. Dressed in a tacky Andrew Jackson getup, I watched as Barron crept his way towards Amelia. And as she turned to look at him, I saw it—her unmistakable gaze of attraction. They began to chat. She moved close to him, and every so often would lightly press her hand against his arm or chest.

I was angry, horrified. How could this be happening? How could she find him attractive?  This wasn’t possible. This was not the girl I knew. I could not sit by and watch this. I had to leave.

I approached them, and without even acknowledging Barron, told her I was leaving. She asked me to stay, but I declined, giving some excuse about how I needed to get up early in the morning. She gave me a hug, and then I walked off. I turned around to give her a final glance. She had already forgotten about me as she was looking up at Barron, smiling, staring deep into his eyes.

I don’t know what has gotten into her, how a girl who is so sweet and intelligent could possibly find anything of value in such a massive dumb-fuck? Maybe it’s just a temporary thing— a momentary weakness in judgement. I’ve known Amelia for years, and though she’s had flings with assholes, she eventually comes to her senses. Plus, she’s older now, wiser and more mature. She is at the age where she is looking to settle down. She knows there is no future with such a distasteful man.

She might not know it yet, but she wants an intelligent man, one who will be loyal to her, who will be loving, who will care and provide for her. I’m that man, and I know that deep inside she knows it as well. One day she will see it, I just know it.

Journal Entry: November 8, 2016

This is un-fucking believable! How can this be happening?! How the fuck is this possible!? This can’t be real! It’s like I’m living a fucking nightmare right now!  How could she do this?! What in God’s name is she thinking?!

All the hours I spent with her, and all the things I’ve done her for. Always by her side, always there for her— whether it was something she needed done or a just shoulder to cry on after some man-boy broke her heart. I cared for her, gave her the respect and admiration that no one else would or could ever give her. And how does she repay me?  She chooses him, a bombastic, awful, loathsome prick from the ‘One Percent’!

What is wrong with her? Why can’t she see it? Doesn’t she know what will happen? Doesn’t she know that he doesn’t really care about her, that she is just another notch in his belt? All he is going to do it hurt her. He will have his fun with her, then cast her off like she is some used child’s toy.  And then she has the audacity to call and tell me.

“He’s actually really sweet.” She exclaimed. “I know he acts like a dick sometimes, but it’s mostly an act. Deep down inside, he is a really good guy.”

“A really good guy?” Is this the same guy who cheated on his last two girlfriends? Whose Twitter feed is just an endless array of derogatory slogans and vulgar observations? Whose nickname in college was the ‘Poon Poacher’?

And yet, she speaks of him as if he possesses some hidden redeeming qualities. It’s like she sees herself as Belle and he is her Beast, and it’s her mission to break the witch’s spell, thereby freeing the inner, handsome prince. But there is no Prince Charming in this tale, for there exists no inner good inside this cretin. He is a predator, a monster, a narcissistic deviant who uses sexual promiscuity as a means to further inflate his already swollen ego. 

I’m the one she should be with, the one who is supposed to be with her, not that wretched, deplorable creep. I’m the one who would be loyal to her, who would emotionally support her, who would give her the life she deserves. She just can’t see it yet because she’s been blinded by the spell of lust.

No, no, no, this can’t happen. I won’t let it happen. I need to stop this, not for me, but for her. Because I know what he will do to her if this continues. It’s my job to protect her, to save her. I know what’s good for her. I know what she needs, and it’s not him. I must destroy this union at every juncture or she will suffer. I’m her only hope.

Journal Entry: November 16, 2016

Tonight Amelia and I met for a drink. I had not seen or spoken to her since last week, when she told me the awful news about how she had a new boyfriend, the insufferable Barron McCloud.

We met at a bar near her apartment. As I approached the entrance, I saw her through the window, sitting alone a table near the corner. She had just gotten off work. She was dressed in a fine, black, dress suit. Her silky blonde hair was tied neatly in a bun. She looked so proficient, sitting there with that perfect upright posture, glimmering with an aura of grace so pronounced that even a blind man could sense her magnificence.

She saw me as I walked in and shot me a smile, that heavenly beam which could make even the most hardened person’s heart melt. She stood up and we hugged.

Things went well, at least at first. We caught up a bit. I asked her about work and she asked about how I’d been. It was pleasant, things always are with her. There is no person on this Earth who can make me feel the way I do when I’m with her. However, I brought up Barron and things quickly turned south.

I told her my concerns about her new man. I reminded her about his past as well as the things he’s done and said. I stated that I didn’t believe he really liked her, that he just viewed her as another one of his conquests. I expressed how much I cared about her and how the last thing I wanted was to see her get hurt.

Amelia listened, diligently, never once breaking eye contact. I knew she saw the concern on my face and thus knew full well that it was legitimate. When I finished, she looked down for a second, opened her mouth, then peered up at me as she began to speak.

“Tarquin, I really do appreciate your concern. You’re a really good friend, you always have been. But I think you have the wrong impression about Barron. You just…you don’t know him like I do. I know he comes off a little crass sometimes, but he really is a good guy.”

“A ‘good guy’?” I replied. “A ‘good guy’?” This is the guy who only six months ago posted a side-by-side picture of an ex-girlfriend of his with an ostrich with the caption ‘Separated at birth?’ How can you actually believe that he is a ‘good guy’?”

“I know he has made mistakes in the past, but haven’t we all? He’s really matured…”

“Matured?!” I interrupted. “Only after six months?! Are you even listening to yourself!? Seriously, if you could hear yourself you would realize how moronic you sound!”

Her face quickly soured.

“You don’t have to be mean or call me names. I was hoping that as my friend you would at least be supportive. Maybe if you just got to know him you would see that he is not all that bad.”

“’Get to know him?’ Why would I want to get to know him? Jesus, I can’t believe I’m fucking hearing this. You have really have lost it.”

Amelia grabbed her leather purse and stuffed her phone in it.

“I have to get up early tomorrow,” she abruptly remarked. “I’m going to go pay. It was good seeing you, Tarquin.”

She stood up, gracefully, pushed in her chair, and stormed off without even looking back at me.  I don’t understand this. Has she been brainwashed? Why is she so naïve? Why can’t I just get through to her? This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I can’t let this happen, I just can’t. I need to end this. Someway, somehow, I must end this.

Journal Entry: November 24, 2016

If only I could find something to show Amelia how big of a scumbag Barron really is. There has to be something. I mean, no family becomes this rich and powerful without having at least a dozen or so skeletons in their closet, right? A commercial real estate company which engages in business ventures the world over, there must be some shady shit going on there: bribes to government officials, backhanded deals with building inspectors, connections to organized crime figures, something along those lines. Yet, despite hours of research, I found nothing substantive.

Sure, I’ve heard rumors. There’s been talk for years now about how his father was involved in corrupt deals with foreign government officials, such as Russian oligarchs, Saudi princes, and Chinese bureaucrats. But this may be just conjecture. Not to say that it’s not true. In fact, I believe it is. A family like the McClouds surely rubs shoulders with the many nefarious figures. I mean, I know Barron. How could a man like that not? But without hard proof, I can’t convince Amelia.

So, I decided that I needed to up the ante a bit. I’ve begun tracking and following Barron on my free time. This has proved to be a rather simple task, considering he works in one of Phoenix’s most accessible buildings. Moreover, because he is always posting pictures on his Instagram story, it’s easy to know where he is.

However, he’s been spending an exorbitant amount of time with Amelia. This is unfortunate, not only because he’s further sinking his teeth into her, but because it’s hindering my investigation. How am I supposed to dig up dirt on this douchebag if he’s constantly spending time with her? He’s not going to behave in his usual nefarious way around her. I need to catch him in the act, like cheating or ripping someone off. I must find something concrete, something that will prove to Amelia beyond any doubt that he is no good for her.

What is it that you’re hiding, Barron McCloud? I know there is some secret you don’t want the world to know, that you don’t want Amelia to discover. Whatever it is, I promise you I will find out what it is and expose you.

Journal Entry: December 5, 2016

It’s strange the things you’re willing to do for a person you adore. You think you know yourself, know what you’re capable of, then you fall in love with someone and see that person is in peril. Suddenly, you’re engaging in acts that you never thought you would, committing actions you’ve told yourself you’d never do.

What is it about love which brings this about? Has love changed my character or has it only unleashed a darkness which always lurked deep inside without me even knowing it?

I know Barron is an evil man, but proving it to Amelia has been more difficult than I imagined. I’ve texted and called her countless times, pleaded with her to see him for who he really is, but to no avail. It’s gotten to the point where she is now screening my communications. How did it come to this, my best friend not even willing to talk to me?

So, I decided on a different approach. During times of war, it’s often necessary for leaders to take actions which, from an outside perspective, may appear immoral and possibly illegal. This includes deception, the quashing of freedoms, the ordering of executions, etc. This has been true for leaders like Lincoln, F. D. R. and Winston Churchill. Yet, despite these seemingly heinous acts, these men hold a place of reverence in our psyches.

I can’t prove that Barron has done anything illicit with regards to his work, family, or his relationship with Amelia. But I know that he is a despicable brute, and eventually he will hurt her. It is thus necessary to stretch the truth a bit, to perpetrate misinformation in order to save Amelia.

This might appear objectionable; but it’s for her own good. Because just like Churchill when he used dishonesty and trickery to save democracy, I must do the same to protect her. What other option do I have? It’s not like I’m being completely dishonest. Sure, I may not be factually correct, but I’m morally right. Amelia’s future well-being demands that I take drastic measures. The end justifies the means.

I’ve set up several fake social media accounts. I’ve messaged her from these anonymous sources, telling her that I have seen Barron with other women. I’ve told her that I witnessed him using drugs during his boy’s nights out and that he has been saying grotesque things about her behind her back. I even texted her things from a burner phone I picked up at a drug store.

Regrettably, none of these tactics seem to have worked. She has never responded to any message and is still with him.  Does she know that I’m the one behind them? No, she can’t know. How could she? Barron must have his fair share of enemies. How could a man like that not?

I can’t give up though. Sitting back and letting her be emotionally destroyed is not an option. I love her, and I will not stop until that fucking prick is permanently out of her life.

Journal Entry: December 25, 2016

It’s been a tradition every Christmas to call Amelia. I’ve been doing it since we first became friends. She spends the holiday season with her family in Monterey, which usually is quite a burden for her, since her family is rather dysfunctional, to say the least.

We’ll usually talk for well over an hour, discussing the various mishaps which accompanies the holidays. However, when I called, there was no answer. I tried once more an hour later, but still, no answer.  I decided instead to text her.

“Merry Christmas!!! Call me when you get the chance. Would love to talk to you. Hope all is well!”

About an hour later, I received a response.

“Thx. You too.”

That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me? You don’t even return my fucking call?! You just message back three fucking words!

This is his doing. Barron has obviously turned her against me. It’s like the more I try to push him away, the closer to her he gets.  How is this possible? Why can she still not see him for the sick, wanton asshole he really is?  Merry Christmas to me, I guess.

Journal Entry: January 1, 2017

My grandpa once told me that New Year’s Eve was “amateur hour.”

“It’s when every dipshit in America who doesn’t know how to drink comes out and wreaks havoc for a night,” he once said.

I tend to agree with him. I have never been a big New Year’s Eve fan, but this one was particularly egregious.  As I was home last night, alone, I scrolled through Instagram. I saw that Amelia posted a picture. It was of her and Barron kissing with the caption, “Here’s to a new year with new friends, including this cute bozo!”

My heart sank. Seeing someone you care about so deeply not just kissing something else, but being so infatuated with them, is one of the most severe pains you can suffer. That should be me in that photo. I should be the one kissing her when the clock strikes midnight, not him.

Here’s to another awful year.

Journal Entry: January 20, 2017

You have got to be fucking kidding me?! They are moving in together?! No, this is not fucking possible! It has not even been six months and she is willingly moving in with that obscene jackass?!

After everything I have done, the warnings I’ve given her, the information and rumors I’ve spread, they are going to be living together?! First, Barron steals her from me, then turns her against me, and now he plans to permanently shield her from me in his two-bit, white stucco mansion.

I hate this man. I loathe him more than anyone I have or ever will encounter. I can’t even begin to properly express my detest for him. I would love nothing more than to beat him with a crowbar, gauge his eyes out, and set his lifeless body aflame. I want him to suffer, I want him to feel pain. He deserves nothing less than an excruciating death.

And as for Amelia, how could she do this me? She just up and moves in with this guy? She doesn’t even bother to tell me. I have to find out through a fucking Facebook post. The more I think about it, the more I realize that, although I still love her, I resent her. I resent her for the suffering she has inflicted upon me, for picking this man over me. How could she be so stupid and insensitive? How could anybody, for that matter?

And after everything I’ve done for her; after how devoted I was to her. All the time she spent dating idiots and sociopaths, I stood back, patiently waiting for the day when she would see me as more than just a friend. And how does she acknowledge me? She chooses the biggest asshole on the planet over me, a man she knows could never care for her the same way I could.

The thought that she is now going to be with him 24/7—that every night he is going to be lying next her, holding her as they drift into slumber while I’m cast aside like a worn-out piece of clothing, is so infuriating that I can’t even comprehend it. This rage, this hate, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I can feel the venom stir within me every time I think about them, every time I imagine their together, whether its out on a date or at home, snuggling, watching some trite Netflix program, I feel the compulsion to unleash a wave of violence upon the world. 

I can’t let this go on anymore. I won’t allow this happen. I’m the one she is supposed to be with, and if not me, certainly not that scumbag. I don’t care how long it takes or what seemingly unsavory acts I have to commit, I will not stop until Barron is gone.  

Journal Entry: March 23, 2017

I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t even focus. The only thing on my mind is Barron and how much I despise him. Every second of every day, I think of ways how best to drive him and Amelia apart, even of ways to hurt him. It consumes me like nothing else ever has.

I’ve tried everything—I’ve sent her anonymous texts and social media messages, as well as leaving unmarked letters in her mailbox with information about his past misdeeds, both true and fabrications. Yet, nothing seems to work. I still can’t get through to her.

Every weekend she is out with him. I know that because I see it. They will go out to these fancy dinners, then leave to go meet up with their friends, aka Barron’s cadre of deplorables. I’ll stay back and watch as they joke with each other at dinner, laugh with their friends, appear jovial on their nights out. But I know the truth. Appearances are always deceiving. He doesn’t love or deserve her, no matter what act he tries to pull over on her.

I need to up the ante. I need to find a way to make her realize the mistake she is making.

Journal Entry: May 30, 2017.

I haven’t written in this for a while. I’ve been distracted by other personal matters. Barron and Amelia are still together, and it’s ruining my fucking life.

A few months ago, I waited for her outside of her work to confront her. I was done playing games. No more lurking in the shadows while she coddled with that awful man. This was the first time I had seen her up close in a while. She looked weathered, with deep bags under her eyes. She was thin, almost sickly looking, like she had stopped eating.

As she walked, her head angled down, I could not help but notice a distinct sadness in her expression. Maybe it was finally working. Maybe she had finally come to see Barron for who he really was.

We came within feet of each other. Her eyes glanced up and she saw me, but unlike previous times, there was no warm expression or cheerful greeting.

She stopped.

“What are you doing here, Tarquin?”

“Hey, Amelia! I…um…was just around and wanted to see how things have been. You know, because we haven’t talked in a while.”

“You need to leave me alone,” she replied as she hurried past me.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she answered as she kept moving.

“Amelia, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just…”

She then violently swung around, glaring into my eyes, inches from my face.

“You think I don’t know that it’s you who’s been doing this?! All the messages, the anonymous letters, I know it’s you, Tarquin! You think I’m some kind of idiot?! It’s like all you do now is try to harass me and break me up with Barron! I seriously can’t go a fucking day without you pestering me!”

I tried to get in a word in, but she angerly interrupted.

“I don’t want to hear it! I’m sick of this shit! Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone, leave us alone?! Stop harassing us and stop following us around! Yes, I have seen you following us, and Barron knows you spend almost all your time prowling round his office, asking his coworkers to give up dirt on him! Leave us alone, Tarquin! I don’t want to see you anymore!”

With that, she stormed off.

I was left there, saddened, hurt, humiliated. I don’t understand it. Why can’t she just see that I’m trying to help her, to protect her. I’m not the one she should be attacking, it should be him. This is his doing. She’s obviously unhappy with him, but she’s been so taken-in by Barron that she is unleashing her bent up frustration on me. She just needs to realize it…I have to make her realize it.

Journal Entry: June 14, 2017  

Today was Barron’s birthday. It’s really quite fascinating when you think about how the two types of people you learn and know the most about are the people you love and those you hate. I know almost everything about Barron at this point: where he was born, where he grew up, what schools he attended, how many siblings he has, etc.

That being said, I assumed Amelia would do something for his birthday. It was difficult to find out, as she has now blocked me on every social media and communications platform; but I have my ways. I learned from a mutual friend that they were having a dinner at a fancy bistro in North Scottsdale.

I arrived there a little after seven. I parked across the street so I could have a clear view. There they were, sitting beside the large window—Amelia clad in a stunning red dress while Barron was sporting a typical, ostentatious, Italian crafted suit. Could he honestly be any more of a douchebag?

They were sitting on opposite ends of a small table, beaming at each other. Then something happened, something terrible. I peered over at Barron, saw that smug smile swell on his lips. That’s when it happened. It took ahold of me. I felt it flow through me like a powerful electric current. It permeated to every inch of my body, from my toes, to my fingers, to my crown. It was rage. I could feel it burn the inside, like it was a coal oven of an old ship.

I couldn’t control it any longer. I hate that mother fucker so much. I can’t just let him get away with this. No, he needed to pay, to suffer for what he has done to me, for what he has done to her.

I jumped out of car and marched into the restaurant. I was infused with so much anger it was like I no longer had control, like I was an airplane pilot, watching from the cockpit as the plane flew on autopilot.

I flung open the door, stormed over, and slammed my hands against the table. Barron and Amelia were startled, looking up at me in shock.

It took a few moments before Amelia could produce words.

“Tarquin, what…what are you doing here?”

I ignored her. I was not there for her. I was there for him.

I turned to Barron.

“You and me, mother fucker, outside, now!”

Barron peered up at me, his mouth slightly open.

“Bro, you need to calm down, alright?”

“I told you to get your ass outside, or are you too big of a fucking pussy?!”

Barron stood up.

“Listen dude, I…”

But he didn’t finish, for just then the rage completely took over. I hit him, striking him with every ounce of fury I had. And as my knuckles connected with his ill-shaped jaw, I felt the months-long indignation and hate release onto that conceited little face of his.

He plummeted to the ground; and as he lay there, I continued to flail on him with every bit of malice in me. My final vestiges of control had dissipated. I wanted to kill him, I needed to end him. I would have kept going, too, but then I heard a loud scream.

“Tarquin, stop! Please, stop it!”

And like that, I stopped. I felt as if I had been knocked out of a trance. For that voice, that voice which always used to sooth me, to hear in distress and pain, was unbearable.

I turned to her. Tears were rolling down her face. I had never seen her before with such a look of pain and distress. The way she was looking at me, eyes wide and saturated, it was like nothing I’d ever beheld. It was as if she saw me no longer as a friend or even a person, for that matter, but as a vicious creature.

People in the restaurant were standing up, gaping at me like I’d performed some terrible act of sorcery. I rushed out of the establishment and jumped into my car. I sat there for a moment, still bewildered by what had just transpired.

I turned on the ignition and sped off.

Journal Entry: June 20, 2017

For the last several days, I’ve awaited in fear for that knock at my door— to see cops standing there with a warrant for my arrest. Yet, nothing. Not even a phone call from the police inquiring about the incident.

It’s weird, you know. I have never physically attacked anyone before. In many ways, it still feels like I haven’t. I know I did it, yet it all feels like a dream. Maybe I took things too far. Maybe I was too blinded by passion to understand what I was doing.

Whatever the case, I do feel remorse. I just wish I could express that to her somehow. Maybe I’ll get the chance, but who knows.

Journal Entry: July 4, 2017

What have I done? Why did I…I don’t know. It didn’t have to be this way. Why couldn’t she have just have seen the truth? It wasn’t that hard, it was staring her right in the face. She knew he was bad for her, that he was a nefarious slime-ball, yet she did nothing except coddle him, giving into his dark ambitions. And now it’s come to this, to a place I never imagined it would.

It was her birthday. Ever since I met her, we always did something special on this day. Her girlfriends would throw her a shindig, I would show up with a present, maybe flowers and wine, and she would greet me with such warmth and affection that it made me feel like the luckiest man alive.

This year was different, though. I had not spoken or seen her since the incident at the restaurant. I knew I had hurt her, maybe even beyond repair. But I couldn’t stand idly by as she suffered. I needed to make amends.

And that’s how it happened. I arrived at her and Barron’s place and began pounding on the door. I knew she was home, as I could make out her shadow through a second story window. As I knocked, I screamed that I was sorry. I begged for her to let me in so I could apologize to her directly.

Just when I was about to give up, the door creaked open. There she was, my Amelia, pale and sad, gazing upon me with a mixed look of contempt and pity.  

She stepped back and let me in. We entered the living room, a large and luxurious chamber cluttered with all sorts of expensive items and decorations.

“You have five minutes,” she said, with her arms folded. “Then I want you out of here and out of my life for good.”

I put my head down, took a deep breath and apologized. I told that everything I did was done to protect her.

“I was afraid he would hurt you,” I uttered. “I never thought I would be the one to that to you though.”

The room fell silent for a moment. Then I finally asked the question.

“But why him?”

Amelia sighed.

“Because I love him.”

She then unfolded her arms; and that’s when I saw it. It was large and shiny, enclosed in a fine platinum lining. Amelia must have seen that I had noticed, because she raised her left hand until it was almost level with my eyes. It dazzled under lights, smugly glaring at me, mocking me with its glimmer. It was a diamond worth most men’s yearly salaries.

And I as a stared it, I felt it rise again. I could almost see Barron’s reflection grinning back at me on the smooth cuts of the stone. The rage consumed me once more. In that moment, I loathed her. I reviled her for everything: for underappreciating me, for never giving me a chance, for choosing that ingrate mother fucker over me. I couldn’t control it anymore. I couldn’t hold it back.

 I scowled at her. She stepped back, a fearful look emanating from her.

Before I even knew what happened, I had grabbed her by the hair, and then tossed her to the floor. I then seized a nearby metal lamp, ripping its cord out of a socket. She lay on the ground, staring at me in panic, pleading for me to stop. But I couldn’t. I flung the blunt object down with all my might, striking her. Blood seeped from her forehead, but I did not care. I just kept hitting her, as if every bit of resentment and anger I felt for her and Barron was being unleashed upon her in a wave of animalistic furry.

Eventually, my arms became tired and I stopped. And as I gazed down at what was left of her, it hit me. That once elegant face, the one which I had become so infatuated with, was now a bloody heap, ornamented with loose teeth and bone. It looked like her skull had been crushed by a trash compactor, as innards oozed out of the fissure now present where her cranium used to be.

 I couldn’t believe what I had just done.

“This isn’t real,” I told myself. “It’s just a nightmare, you’ll wake up soon and none of this will have ever happened. She will still be alive, you will still be friends. Don’t worry, just wake up.”

But I never did, and now here I stand, the blood of the woman I loved splattered across my clothes like I’m a butcher. How could his happen? What brought it to this point?

I adored her. I treasured her. How could I ever bring myself to hurt her like this?

All this time, when I thought I was shielding her from a menace, really, I was the one destroying her. I ate away at her lifeforce like some flesh-eating virus. And I never realized it, because I allowed myself to be blinded by hate for Barron. It was an animosity so powerful that it consumed every aspect of my life. Maybe I never really loved her at all. Maybe I just loved the idea of her, loved what I thought she was, what I wanted her to become.

            But it doesn’t matter anymore. There is no going back now. Like Robespierre, I became a worse leviathan than the man I attempted to unseat. I killed the person I cared for most in this world. She was my light, my goddess, my Shining City on a Hill; yet I destroyed her by deluding myself into believing that I was protecting her. I guess I did accomplish my goal after all. Barron and Amelia are no longer together and they never will be again, for there is no Amelia left to be had. I succeeded, but the damage will never be undone— for no one got a happy ending in this story— not me, not Barron, and especially not Amelia.

This is my final entry. Pray that I’ll be forgiven.

© Copyright 2019 by R. M. S. Thornton