Chapter forty-one:
Carrie is crying quietly.
The sun is coming up.
It’s fucking Tuesday. Tuesday, when Mr. Fancy Asshole is supposed to come back.
With each passing minute I see more and more of her, and I’m more and more disgusted by her.
She’s not beautiful, or perfect. She’s skinny—too skinny, in fact. Her breasts are too big for her small frame. Her ass is flat. Her stomach is bloated. Her skin is pockmarked and pale. Not just pale white, but a pale gray. Her teeth are dirty and yellow. Her eyes are sunken on her face, shadowed by dark gray rings.
She’s a drinker, like her mom was. I now realize. That’s why she wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t food she needed, but alcohol to feed her body. I see it all now. And I’m more shocked at myself than her. How did I not see this before?
The illusion of love,I think, and I want to laugh at myself.
This woman has ruined my life from the moment she came into it. And I could possibly, probably, more than likely, forgive her for ruining my, and even my parents’ lives, because fuck them for not believing in me anyway, right?
But the fact that she’s wasted her entire life regardless of how many people she’s ruined, that’s what makes me so mad.
She ruined my life and wasted her own.
If she would have achieved anything with her pitiful existence after destroying me, I could probably, possibly, more than likely, forgive her. Because at least it wouldn’t all have been for nothing. Ya know? At least her actions would have held some purpose.
But there is no purpose to this. To her. To what she did to me.
She left me to rot in her mess.
She could have saved me, and she didn’t…because why? She was too drunk to give a shit? She was too slutty to care? Because she was too much of a user to ever really love?
That’s not good enough, Carrie.
She’s done nothing. Achieved nothing. She’s an empty shell of a woman. Barely a woman at all. Because women are supposed to be good, and motherly, and loving, and caring, and nurturing. Just like my mother used to be. Just like my life used to be before Carrie came into it and ruined everything. And Carrie, well, she’s none of those things. She’s rotten, and bad, and evil, and pointless.
Do you hear that, Carrie? You’re pointless. Your entire life is pointless!
She has her back to me, and I sit on the ugly sofa with the ugly cushions and I stare at her ugly bare back, and as the sun rises I see the bruises forming on her flesh. And I don’t even care. I feel no guilt, no shame, not an ounce of remorse. Because she doesn’t deserve my remorse. She doesn’t deserve anything from me.
I’m still naked, too, after our love-making, but my anger is keeping me warm. She’s naked and she’s shivering from the cold. I sneer, because I don’t care. And I know sneering is ugly and not nice, but I honestly, truly, don’t even care. Not anymore.
She could freeze to death for all I care.
I would sit and watch that happily.
Imayfucking sit and watch that happily.
Because it would serve her right.
All of this is her own fault. Just like Benny said,‘You have to accept responsibility for your own actions.’
And the same goes for Carrie right now.
This is her doing, not mine. And she needs to acknowledge that. No more blaming other people. Not her shitty pedophilic father or her alcoholic mother. Or the school system that let her slip through the cracks. Not my mom and dad who did nothing to help. Or any of the people that should have been there to protect her.
No, now is the time to admit that she was wrong and she is to blame.
I tried to help. I tried to save her.
But maybe, just maybe, there is no saving someone who doesn’t want to be saved.
