Sunday, February 1, 2004

Dath

Dathall Wilts sat at the kitchen table. He was thinking about the strange person he'd met that day. His name had been Alder, and he had been different.

Alder had worn distinguished, colorful clothes—clothes that Dath had never seen—not ever. They were so full of color; full of colors Dath hadn't even knew existed. And when he'd seen Alder, saw those clothes he was wearing, he hadn't known what to think. Dath hadn't even known what to say. He had been breathless—his jaw was closed tightly, and through his teeth and nose he had held his breath, as if caught in the moment. Eyeing Alder, his eyes wide, his arms to his sides, Dath had felt that moment last so long. And when Dath had finally took a deep, hard breath, that was when he greeted himself to Alder.

It had been during school—during lunch—as Dath had been sitting in his usual table, his usual spot, with his friends.

They had been taking about Fera Harner. It seemed they did this every day at lunch—like it was some ritual.

But what they had talked about concerning Fera had been different. It hadn't been just talk of how good she looked, or what she had been wearing. It had begun like that—but it had turned out different.

Dath had wondered if it was for the best it had gone this way, and he did the same now, as he thought back over it.

"Fuck," Groyl Stephens had said. "Did ya guys see what she was wearin taday? Did ya?" Groyl took in a bite of his lunch. He was big, chubby. His double chin made it hard to distinguish where his neck began and ended. Groyl's cheeks were round, his eyes meek and small on his round face. Groyl did a Groyl smirk, remembering what Fera had been wearing as he chewed his food.

"Hell, I saw." It was Enton Giers. "I saw. She was wearin a short lil skirt, was torn of course, but let me tell ya—went bout this high—bout shortest I ever seen too. And she was wearin no bra, and this lil tight shirt—just this lil thing. I swear you could see the nipples—could see em pokin right out. " He paused as Groyl swallowed his food he had been chewing, and went on, speaking in a whisper. "I heard she's been raped many a time, I have. Some say she's pregnant. For all I know, she damn well could be. Some say she's been fucked half a dozen times—some say a dozen."

"Sounds like a whore if I knew one," Bent Summers said, who was sitting right next to Dath (Dath was on the seat to the right of him), and across from Enton. Groyl, beside Bent, on the seat to the left, was smiling, and looked like he was in a hypnotized haze. Dath thought he looked as if he were going to drool all over the table—and he could well imagine that happening Could see it going on so long that the table itself would be covered in it. Even so far as the entire cafeteria flooded with it. And it might be stretching it a little too much, but he could imagine an underwater sea. One that covered the whole school in drool—and he could see Groyl in that sea of drool, that hypnotized look on his now dead face, his eyes wide open. Those eyes looked like they were undressing you—they looked like they could see right through you.

"Fuck yeah," said Groyl, still looking hypnotized. And sounding it. "Course she sounds like a whore. Course she does—that's cause she is one—she's a gawdamn dirty lil whore." Groyl thought over how many times she might have been raped—tried to put his finger on a number—tried to finger it. "I heard too she's been raped, but the best I can guess is bout half a dozen—even less. I don't think it's that high—could be wrong, I suppose, but give or take, I'd say she's been raped more than once." Groyl put his hand dreamily on his double chin. "Goddamn, she sure is one sexy lil bitch, isn't she? Gawdam—gawdam, she's, she's just so goddamn sexy."

Dath had been quietly eating all throughout the conversation. He had listened, and now as he looked in Groyl's eyes, and saw his hand on his chin like that, he had to hold back a laugh. Groyl sure was funny with his lusty want for Fera. It was too bad she was already taken. She had been for a long while.

She was dating Warn Bower, had been for a while. From what Dath had found out, she was often raped by Warn's friends—sometimes by Warn himself. Even gang bangs sometimes—all at her, one by one, rape after rape. It wasn't a bad thing, of course—it was quite usual. Allowing another person to rape your girl—or wife, for that matter—wasn't seen as a bad thing. Allowing others to rape your girl showed you loved her enough to let others have her, and that you weren't selfish—as well as a woman allowing men to rape her was sign of the woman's integrity and strength. It showed her willingness and her power. It was polite and honorable for a woman to allow a man to rape her if she was asked. If she declined, it only showed she was selfish and had no honor.

When Dath was a child, he had seen his mom being raped many times. He hadn't meant to find her being raped, but it was just a matter of being there at the right time. Looking through a little crack in the door, he'd watch his mom, and she never resisted when he watched. Each time she had a smile on her face—it wasn't a pleasurable smile, more of a smile of pride—a smile of accomplishment. And as the man on top of her (it was often his dad's friend, Delton) would reach orgasm, she would only smile more—she would only have more pride reading on her face. Dath could tell she was glad to do it—it was the polite thing to do—and polite things go a long way, he had found.

He had asked Groyl then—he'd been thinking of asking him since forever. Dath had put down his fork he was eating with, and just asked. Groyl's hand was still on his double chin, still leaning forward dreamily, his eyes off in the distance, as if he wasn't even at the lunch table. It was like he was with Fera right then and there.

"Groyl," Dath had said. Groyl had turned, looked at him.

"What?" And Dath said it, after all this time.

"Why don't you ask her to let you rape her?" he said, said it as if he hadn't wanted to say it forever. As if it had just come to him now.

Groyl only stared, his mouth moving up and down slowly, his double chin moving back and forth, back and forth. He didn't look surprised, Dath thought, he just looked like he was trying to articulate what he was thinking. He was trying to understand why he hadn't asked her.

"Well, I," he began. then stopped. Bent looked at him, amused, and snickered.

"You're just afraid—can ya imagine that? Groyl afraid—afraid, of all things." He rolled his eyes. "Are you really that scared, are ya really that much of a scaredy cat?" Bent snickered again, and looked at Groyl, waiting for him to say something back. When Groyl's mouth only continued to move up and down like a swaying, rusty swing, he spoke up again. "Well Groyl? What do you have to say? Why haven't you asked her to rape you? What's the reason?"

Groyl's mouth moved up. Moved down. Up. Down. Up, down, up, down. Then it stopped moving, and he looked like he was about to speak.

Dath actually had an idea why, but he wasn't sure. He would wait until Groyl said something before he assumed anything. Dath had read on his face then that he was finally going to say something. His mouth had stopped moving, too.

"Well," Groyl said, speaking up finally. "I, well, I'm afraid of that Warn. The guy seems like a real jerk—like a fucking jerk. A big fucking jerk. And I'm afraid if I ask her to rape me, he'll, well, he'll hold it against me—hold it gainst me like it's fucking life or death." He stopped, looking stern. "I'm not a chicken at all, Bent. What would you do? Haven't you seen that Warn guy? He's a real bastard from what I've seen—gets into fights with lots of people—pulls out knives, even—guns too—is heavily into drugs.

"He seems like a real fucking bastard—one that Fera doesn't deserve to put up with at all, either. I'm sure that fucker's only been with her as long as it is cause he threatens her—puts some fear into her. I just don't get it, I don't get how Fera even started going out with this little prick. I just don't get it, I don't get it at all; I don't get it one little fucking bit." He sounded angry. He sighed. "I don't even know why I give a fuck about Fera—I don't even fucking know her, ya know? I don't even know her. Why the fuck do I care for her so much? I should just face it, shouldn't I? I should face she'd never go out with some fat bastard like me—and that she's stuck with that Warn bastard." He paused, as if thinking things out. Then, "And I feel like such trash for not helping her, ya know? I know that bastard's doing something to keep their relationship together—and I get a feeling it's not about something as fucking simple as love. And I can't even do a thing to help her—I'm, well, I'm afraid. But I'm not chicken, Bent." He finished. "I'm not chicken. But what can I do?"

Their entire table was silent. There wasn't a snicker from Bent, wasn't a single whisper, peep, anything. Just silence.

Dath wanted to say, that's not true, Groyl, and you know it. You know you could get her, could have her rape you if you wanted—you know this Warn guy wouldn't care. You know you're a good guy, that you're a great friend, that you deserve someone like Fera. But all he could do was stare at Groyl. Maybe Groyl was right. Maybe he was.

Dath had given Groyle a look of desperation and gotten up, grabbing his tray to go dump it.

That was when he had seen Alder—had seen his bright, strange clothes he was wearing. It was the first time he had met the mysterious new student—but it was not the last.
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