Mostrando las entradas con la etiqueta guilty. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando las entradas con la etiqueta guilty. Mostrar todas las entradas

lunes, 29 de febrero de 2016

I did it

    I did it. I have to acknowledge, after long hours of thinking and deciding was it’s best, that I do have to consider what I have done and said. The fact that now I present myself as a guilty man, does not mean that I think that everything that happened that night and the following years, was all under my control. As you know, things can happen and we just can’t control ourselves, we are driven by something else, some other version of us that is more primal and simpler or more sophisticated and brilliant. No, I’m not trying to excuse myself but I am trying to explain what I think that has to be explained. After all, many of you would be reading this wondering how I ended up here.

 They have labeled me as someone with privilege and I have to accept that my life has been much richer in objects and shallow things that most people’s. I had the chance of having been born into a family that was able to provide with many things, many which were useful like education and others that could have gotten me away from this mess. I don’t blame, at all, my parents or anyone else for what happened. I know that it was me, and me only, who caused so much pain and misery. But I cannot talk about all of this and ignore the fact that I was able to spend money when others weren’t able to do it. Yes, I was privileged but in no way have I ever been rich, loaded with some many things I couldn’t remember all of them. That’s not my life, don’t believe that from them.

 I started writing this letter because my therapist thought it would be easier for me to talk about all of this in this form. I have never really been one to write or to ever think much about anything. But this trial, this process, it has taken over seven years of my life. I was another person when I did it. I do not mean that I am less guilty because of that but I think it’s important you understand every single aspect of this situation from my point of view. After all, al of this time you have seen me as an evil character, someone worst than the devil, like a serial killer or something. And that’s not me. I do have a soul and I do have a brain and feelings.

 The hardest part of this whole process has been having my parents live it with me. They didn’t deserve to be drawn into this vortex of media frenzy, hate from every corner and suppositions and insults and so many other things that have made this time a living hell. I don’t say I don’t deserve it but they are innocent in all of this. My upbringing had nothing to do with why I did it, they didn’t have anything to do with it because they were great parents, they were great people who I actually pushed away in that moment and I do believe that if I had being closer to them, if I had been a good son, maybe I wouldn’t be writing this letter from a rusty table in a very small cell of a major prison.

 About life in jail, I do not want to talk about. It is well known that I have avoided death several times here. They think I’m far worse than them and I honestly don’t know if that’s true. But if I have to remain here for the rest of my life, I want to live as long as they do, as comfortably as they do, because they do have many things here, like outside. The men that have tried to hurt me are the ones that handle a small black market that trades every single thing you can imagine, even those razors they have tried to use to kill me. But I have to say here, without any modesty, that they have nothing to do with me in a fight. They might be big and tough and now the drug world and the hard life but my life had rough patches too and during many of those times I learned a couple of things.

 No, I don’t really want to sound like a bad guy. Maybe I am but I do not want to sound like that. I just think I just should be given the same chances that everyone else has. But I know I am here and that I will possibly live here until I die so at least I want to make this work. Yes, that doesn’t make any sense but I don’t think it has to have any sense at all. I did something wrong, a bit drunk and high but I did it and now, I think I can take the punishment. Because I did it and I have to recognize that. I did do it and I am sorry.

 I know that, for many years during the trial and all of the process, my lawyer has insisted that I was so wasted, so consumed by marihuana and cocaine and booze that I had no idea about anything, that I couldn’t have done even if that had been my intention. The truth is I do remember some flashes, like fragments of my memory and I have to confess they are very confusing. I do not now if I remember those parts more because my brain was really fucked up or because I have chosen unconsciously to only remember bits and pieces.

 I do remember the party. Fuck, that was a huge party and the kind of party I had gone to many times without anything weird happening. I’m not proud of it, but back then I was just starting my career and I had so much going on. I was very popular in every sense possible and successful too, so people liked to make me feel special and tended to my every need as if I was an all powerful being that needed to be pampered every single second of his life. And I was. Many brought me alcohol, others brought me drugs and others brought themselves. And we would party all night.

 Another confession: I was in the closet during all those years. I had never dared to publicly tell anyone that I fucked men but people that knew me really well did know and I think some of them are responsible for what happened to Blake. I mean, I did it and I acknowledge that but they should be here too.

 After all one of them was his cousin. He brought me cocaine and other stuff that I would use in private with my lovers. Yes, because I had many. Back then, I had bought this nice apartment, nothing too fancy, and that was where everything happened. My business grew in there, all the parties and the craziness happened there and what happened and got me here also happened there. I wasn’t thinking, that is obvious. I wasn’t smart enough to know that many of those people that fed me all of those things I consumed were not my friends; they didn’t really want me as a significant part of their lives. They were just leeches, taking away things from me and I didn’t even saw it.  I actually think I didn’t want to see it because it would have been obvious otherwise.

  They did fake it for long and just like Robert, Blake’s cousin; they all brought me things that I would enjoy. He was the one who gave Blake to me as a present and I have to confess Blake didn’t know anything or at least he didn’t seem to know anything. I cannot say anything for sure and I wouldn’t be the kind of person to blame the victim. As I have said many times, it’s Roberts fault and mine, of course. He brought to my birthday party and just presented him as a friend. I did like him because he’s a beautiful guy but the party went on and I don’t remember launching myself at him from the first second.

 I was too busy getting high and performing that sick and stupid persona I had created for everyone else to see. It was such a fake, such a false representation of what I was. Or rather, what I had been. Because just a few years earlier, before money and false friends, I was a guy trying to live his life and even falling in love. I was normal and I was a human and I do believe I’m a human now, even if many of you don’t think so. I have feeling and I know that because I have barely endured all of these years trying not to be consumed by my own hatred, by guilt and so much pain. Because what I did not only affect one person. It also affected me. I know, I am not the victim but that’s how I feel.

 The fact is, however, that I vaguely remember finally speaking to him. I was drunk but I tried to make me look great in front of him. Then my memory goes very blurry, I think we did cocaine and he was wasted much faster than me. The next fragment I have in my head is him falling slowly on my bed, the sound of the music far away and me trying to take off his jeans. I remember him fighting, I do remember it… Oh my god, I remember. He was fighting, as much as he could and he couldn’t do much. The cocaine had gotten into him all right. Then, the next image is me forcing myself onto him and my hand feeling wet over his mouth.


 Then, I woke up the following morning, alone. And then the path to this cell started. I did rape him and I know that now, I accept it now, It is I fact and I am ashamed of it. I do blame drugs and alcohol and also Robert for having had the audacity to do that, almost setting a trap for me to fall into. But the fact remains that I did it, that I am guilty. And I would repeat this as many times as it’s necessary. Because I have come to the conclusion that I cannot live in this way any longer. I want peace. I did it.

sábado, 5 de diciembre de 2015

Payback

   Jean was on highway six and she was doing great time. The road went through the mountains, using tunnels and bridges, to a place with a much nicer climate and where she could finally relax from an exhausting week. Work as a nurse could be very heavy and opportunities to have a few days for herself were pretty scarce. So she decided to grab the car and ask her parents for the keys of the summerhouse they had on that region.

 She had not been there for several years, since she had started her career, and her parents were not big fans of going to a house were the weather was warm but there was no ocean or anything to look forward to. There was a pool though and Jean knew she would have to clean it thoroughly before making use of it. Her parents now owned an apartment by the ocean, so this house had been deserted for quite some time. The plan had always been to sell but no one really seemed interested.

 Driving was making her back hurt a bit, so she decided to turn up the radio and sing along, in order to male a distraction from her pain. She would sing clumsily after the lyrics were sung but it worked as it made her laugh and enjoy the trip. On every curve, she would stop singing, instead humming the lyrics and looking at the dark road. It was the end of the afternoon and she had been driving for about an hour. She was only about thirty minutes away from her exit went the unthinkable happened: another car rammed her.

 The hit from the back make her bob like one of those taxi dolls but her arms kept straight and the car didn’t move so much. She tried to look who had done it. For a second, she thought that maybe someone was having problems and it had just been and accident. But some minutes later it happened again and in a curve. Jean’s heart felt right in her mouth and she decided it was best to speed up in order to loose that insane driver.

 She gained velocity quickly and in a couple of minutes she had lost the car, a red car that seemed to old to be still in circulation. Jean noticed the exit was nearby and was trying not to miss it when a police car appeared out of nowhere and she was asked to park further ahead. She stopped the car on a restaurant just off her exit. Stepping out of the car, she fixed her hair and waited for the police officer to come and talk to her.

 With that air of superiority many policemen have, he told her she had gone above the limit some kilometers ago and that she had violated the top speed she could be driving on the highway. Jean answered that it was all fine but that they should also give a ticket to the owner of the red car that rammed her twice. She went to the back of her car and showed him the marks of both attacks. The man checked it closely, then grabbed his radio and alerted other patrols to be on the lookout for the red car.

 After he had given the ticket to Jean, she was able to go. Her parent’s house was just fifteen minutes down the road on a small plateau between two mountains. The place in itself was very nice but it was obvious people always wanted more and better things so they were all selling these all old houses in favor of newer, more modern ones in places not very far from there.

 Jean stopped the car on the entrance and used the keys to release the lock on the main entrance. She opened the door manually (it wasn’t a electric one) and then drove the car into the lot. She stopped the car just by the pool, closed the door and then took out the only suitcase she had brought along.

The place was very dark and moist, the humidity was incredible. She turned on the lights and was amazed at how much work she had to do that night. She only had three full days for herself there and she was to clean to leave everything as it was. So after leaving her suitcase in her parent’s old bedroom, she decided to grab all the cleaning products available and start scrubbing the floor, mopping them, dust the furniture, vacuum and a number of other thing she would have forgotten to do if she hadn’t been a nurse.

 She had gotten there around seven and now it was almost eleven and her stomach asked her for food. In the house there was nothing to eat, as they had always disconnected the refrigerator before leaving, in order not to let any electric appliances on the long periods of time they were not there. She had forgotten all about eating when she had grabbed the car, so she went outside and decided to head down the road, where she remembered some stores were located.

 They were small family-owned stores, the kind that sells things kids would like on a road trip. No meat or anything raw. No lunches or any form of cooked meals or even microwave meals. Thankfully it was open and the lady that tended to it remembered her. They had a nice conversation as Jean grabbed some yogurts, orange juice, milk, cereal, bread, ham and butter. She also grabbed some candy and a big bottle of soda. The lady asked her if she wanted help to carry all that to her house but Jean refused and told her she could manage.

 After dropping the soda bottle five times, she finally arrived to her house and ate a pathetic sandwich before feeling to tired to go on. She feel asleep in no time.

 The following day, she put on her swimsuit and ran to the pull, only to realize she hadn’t cleaned that. Someone, according to her parents, took care of it when they were not around but still there were many leaves. She grabbed that long pole they use to catch leaves and she started doing so, sweating like crazy, feeling more and more humid by the minute. As she was halfway through the job, she heard a car coming. She wasn’t expecting anyone so she didn’t looked up to see that it was the red car coming slowly down the road. It stopped a few meters away, far from her sight.

 Jean finally looked at the pool: it was clean enough and she just wanted to swim. So she did, for several hours. After that, she decided to lay down in a plastic deck chair and just dry away the water of the pool. It was right then when the two men driving in the red car entered the house and she didn’t heard a thing. They hid behind lush plants and behind her car. She had closed her eyes, tired again from all the exercise. One of the men was holding a knife, the other a gun. This last one raised his hand.

 A shot was heard all over the road and many neighbors looked up and down the street for the source. But they could only see a red car parked there.

 And also, a patrol car.

 The policeman, not the same one that had stopped Jean on the road, had shot first, wounding the one that was holding a gun on the side. He fell to the ground by the pool and his pain had made him drop the gun into the water. The other one was still holding the knife and was pretty agile, grabbing Jean by the neck and trying to suffocate her with his skinny arm.

 She fought back but he was stronger and much more crazy. The policeman was pointing at him but the knife was already too close to the skin and Jean decided to do the only thing she could thing of doing: she bit the arm of her attacker, that got distracted for a second. The policeman got the message and shot two times, both to the chest.

 In a matter of minutes, neighbors had called the police and ambulances. Both men were alive, one on much worse condition that the other. Paramedics also attended Jean, as she was coughing too much and she had a deep cut on her neck.

 She went back home that day, on the ambulance. She would ask someone to go down there and grab her car for her. She only wanted to be home. Jean thought of the men every second of the short trip, their faces mad with anger, the weapons and the feeling when she had heard the gunshot and then the man grabbed her. She felt so helpless and useless. They cured her wounds in a hospital and then released her, late at night.

 Once home, she sat on her bed stroking her neck wound and remembering where she had seen those men before. They were family members of a woman that had recently died in her care. Her husband had attacked her and those men were her sons. Jean remembered they wanted her cured instantly, like by magic and they pressured the doctor not to mention their father in the report. But he did. And Jean was too slow the day the woman went into cardiac arrest and died. She had not believed their word, as the woman had been fine just hours before.


 Jean couldn’t fall asleep anymore. And traveling to relax was definitively out of the question.

lunes, 19 de octubre de 2015

Trapped in the flow

   For the first time ever, I was in the presence of snow. It was like in those movies where everything is covered in white and the characters make snowmen and throw balls of ice to each other, but it was pretty nice nevertheless. The snow just began to fall as we had stopped on a gas station and I walked out of the car just to feel it by myself. I was the only one there interested in the phenomenon but I didn’t care, the experience was even more unique like that. It felt so nice at first and so soft and simple. It was like magic was real but it was also very basic and not complicated like one would imagine. It was just this: snowflakes slowly falling to the ground and on my skin and hair. I felt alone and unique somehow but then I was reminded I was escaping and I had to go back to the car.

 Our journey went on exactly as it had been going on before the stop. Although the magic was ongoing because I could still see the snow falling on the other side of my window. But somehow, it felt very far away now and even more considering the circumstances. The driver was a woman I didn’t even knew the name of but she said she was doing all of this to save both our asses. I believed her because I had no other choice but the truth was I didn’t trust anyone anymore. Doing so had been my downfall and now I was in a car with a strange woman who never smiled, being chases by the police and other security agencies just because I never opened my mouth to say anything, I never fought back.

 I guess I have never been the kind to fight back, to be on the offensive side of things. I have always been more into letting things happen and just adapt to that. To be honest, I consider myself one of those persons that don’t need to go around the world doing things to prove who I am or what I’m worth. I don’t really need to test myself because I just now what I’m capable of. My life is one to be lived in peace, without breaking to much controversy in my path. Or that’s what I had always thought. Now, I really only want to be looking at the snowflakes and enjoy the beautiful spectacle that it is to see nature unfold itself in front of my very eyes. But soon, snow stops and rain ensues, ruining the landscape with its violence.

 I hate rain and now I have nothing to look for. I just realize I don’t want to be there, I don’t want to be running forever like a criminal because I’m not that. I’m just a stupid idiot that made a mistake and didn’t have the courage to talk when he had to. I bet she doesn’t know that I’m not an evil mastermind as many have thought, I’m just an average and maybe even below average guy who just wants to be left alone for the rest of his days. But I’m not stupid; I know that now that’s impossible. There’s no way everything’s going to stop just because I say the truth. My truth is simply not interesting enough for people to listen to me and I know they will just not care about it at all.

   It was all about lies and more lies and I now that I’m not completely innocent because, after knowing what had happened, I didn’t say or do anything. My so-called friends, those people I had learned to love and respect, they had set me up several times by making me keep their secrets, whether they came in the form of drugs or in the form of money. To be fair, they just gave me bags that were black and covered in duct tape so I never really knew what I was taking care of but those people were the only thing I had in life. I couldn’t doubt them, I just couldn’t begin to dare to betray the confidence they had put in me. So for years, many years, I kept those bags of whatever it was.

 I discovered once one of those bags had money and I asked my best friend what that was about. He told me he had earned a lot of money and would rather split it and keep it safe with friends that in a bank. To be honest, I didn’t believe him; I just decided that having friends and a certain sense of family was better for me that meddling in some business I had no idea about. After all, it was them who paid my rent, my clothes and food and who had given me the chance to be someone by working in a factory. They made plastic objects, of many natures, but I wasn’t to bad at it and I earned my living so they didn’t have to help me so much. I loved my life back then and wouldn’t have changed it for anything.

  My parents had died many years ago, leaving me an orphan. They didn’t have any money so I was about to turn into one of the many children that roam the streets at night, when I met them and they just accepted me into their bigger family. To be honest, I don’t remember my parents. I have no idea what kind of people they were or even how they looked like. I guess I could find out maybe now wasn’t the best moment to do so. It had never been one of my priorities in life to know who they were because I had always felt my family was the guys and girls and hung out with, those who gave me money to survive and live a life that was just good enough for me. Even now, I know I owe them a lot for what they did because they had no obligations with me.

 But I grew up and realized that what my family was doing was not really ok. Also because I saw the people that bought their product, on the streets, and thought that selling such a poison was not what a good person would do. I asked one of them once if they would change their work in the future. He said he wouldn’t because drugs not only have him money, they also gave him status and respect from other people. I told him about what I had seen and he just said that weak people shouldn’t be doing what’s meant to be for the strong and the mighty. So it was all a question of power that I couldn’t quite put to words.

 That wasn’t necessary. I discovered the hard way that this family had never really been mine or anyone else’s.  The day one of their bags filled with cocaine arrived at the police department, they instantly went for me. They sent a thug, a guy I had know and loved as brother, to punch the truth out of my body. I was beaten heavily, barely surviving the whole thing. Even now, my ribs hurt as if his enormous feet were pounding my thorax again. I bled a lot, covering the flour with the unmistakable odor of iron. I told him, when he let me, that it hadn’t been me. He just left me there, to clean myself and to take care of my wounds alone, because my family had officially left me for good.

More bags arrived to the police department, some filled with money and others with drugs. This time, I got a letter saying that someone was sorry it had to be blamed on me but that it was the only way to do it. So before I was killed, I surrendered myself to the police. It was stupid from me to do it, as I hadn’t done anything, but my mind couldn’t decide of anything less dangerous. The police didn’t believe me either, only thinking I was looking to save my ass from something they didn’t know about. They protected me for a while but I knew I wasn’t safe and I knew the police wouldn’t risk it all just to have me alive. So, once again, I escaped but this time with the woman that was driving the car after I had seen snow for the very first time.

 She didn’t talk at all and it was better that way. We just knew we had to run away and we did. I didn’t wanted to know why she had been arrested or she was guilty or not. Not even if she was a serial killer. I knew that the trip would end eventually and that I would have to fend for my own, which I was looking forward. I needed to prove myself that I could defend my own body and my own existence. So I just waited until the moment came and it did, faster than I thought. Because when we stopped again in a motel, and now more snow was falling, I went to get something to drink and eat and she stayed behind. She was arrested by a state security agency that was looking for her for a long time. I saw them take her and just leave, without even stopping to look for me. 

 I didn’t know what that was for but I thanked it. I left our car there and just realized I had no money. So what I did was simple: first of all, I ate what I had bought. There was no reason to go hungry now. After that, I waited patiently until the night arrived and then I went to a bar that was just a few steps away from the motel. It was greasy and old and depressing but it made me shine. So I took advantage of that and, eventually, I found what I was looking for. A mind that was weaker than mine, someone that would pay attention to me and to no one else. Someone that would want me and not the rest. For the first time, I was going to be my own person.


 The next day, I put on my clothes, went out the bedroom and bought a seat on a bus that would take me far away; so far it would turn me completely into another person. And I would like that.