Replacement

Chapter 11

December 25

Dear Journal,

          My name is Ashton Trevor.  My therapist suggested I start a journal as a way to heal from my past trauma.  Hopefully it works, though I can't really understand the idea.  I already know what happened.  What's the point of writing about it?  Well, I guess I don't have to write about "it" but honestly...it's all I ever think about.
          Ten years ago, I was kidnapped.  I don't remember the kidnapping part because I was drunk at a bar, which was typical for me at the time.  He just came up to me, claimed to be my friend, and took me home.  No one cared or even asked questions.  I wonder what would have happened if he hadn't taken me that night.
          He then kept me in his basement with horrible conditions for several days.  I can't recall how many.  I thought he was a serial killer cannibal at the time but...I was mistaken.  He was just a seriously damaged person.  And the one responsible for damaging him...was me.  I ruined his life...caused the deaths of his family and left without helping him.  To make matters worse, I don't remember any of it and when my father found out, he paid the police and the media to get me off the hook.  After I didn't pull my life together following that, my dad just sorta stopped talking to me.  Our relationship has been rocky ever since.
          When I finally confessed to what I'd done, Samuel (that was his name) reacted as if a horrendous weight had been lifted from his chest.  He told me the song had stopped.  He had a song in his head on repeat constantly and it must have driven him mad.  When we went to the police station, I turned myself in.  What I hadn't expected, was that Samuel would also confess for the crimes he'd committed while holding me.  I shouldn't have been surprised.  The entire reason for keeping me was to get me to take responsibility.  Obviously he would feel obligated to do the same.
          The police jumped on him as if he'd try to escape.  I should have hugged him - kissed him, anything.  I didn't know it would be the very last time I would get the chance. 
          Anyway, I went to prison for what I'd done.  I was sentenced to ten years with parole for two counts of involuntary manslaughter and fleeing the scene of a crime.  I called my dad and told him what had happened.  He was thankful that I'd turned up and asked if I wanted him to get me out.  I opted to do my time.  I think Sam would have been proud of me for choosing that option.  I only served five years of it anyway, but I'm always sure to give back when I can. 
          I was present during Samuel's trial.  It was probably one of the worst days of my life.  I got to hear his punishment.  Apparently, killing a cop, even a dirty one, is a serious issue with most people. 
          He got the death penalty.
          The jury was forced to watched many of the captured footage Samuel had turned in as evidence against himself.  I think this was what he'd wanted all along.  I watched my naked body get thrown around and abused...but it was almost like it wasn't even me.  I felt nothing watching it, because I was too busy watching him.  He watched every second of what he'd done.  I wonder if this had been the reason for the cameras.  He wanted them to kill him.
          Why I was surprised about it, I can't say.  Two counts of first degree murder.  Two counts of kidnapping, several counts of battery, torture, and they even tried to convict him of sexual assault and rape.  Not that it really mattered in the end, but, even though it made me look like an idiot, I was very sure to tell the jury that everything in that regard had been consensual.
          The strange looks were worth it because...he looked at me too.  His deep gaze gave me chills.  I could almost feel him touching me; undressing me.  He smiled, like we were having our own conversation, like no one else was in the room.  I wanted him then, more than I'd ever wanted a woman.  I wanted him to throw me onto the table in front of him and take me quickly.  Why?  I have no idea.  I wanted it all to go away.  I wanted us to simply walk out of the courtroom together, drive back to his home, and have our own lives together.
          It was ridiculous.  I know now that even if we were both free, I could never have a healthy relationship with him.  I would be torture for him.  Honestly, I don't understand how he ever touched me with any tenderness, replacement or not.  He must have been so desperate for affection.
          He didn't spend much time in prison before his day came.  I begged them to let me go.  I wasn't sure how I would handle it, but I needed to see him one last time.  I needed him to know that I was still paying for what I'd done and that I was there for him. 
          They didn't let me talk to him.  If I could have heard his voice one more time...that would have been nice.  But I don't know what I would have said.  I still had two more years to serve before I was out for good, so letting me see his execution was a big deal. 
          They stood me behind a huge glass window.  I don't know if he could see me or not but...I know that he knew I was there.  I knew because when they asked him what his last words were, he smiled, closing his eyes and said clearly "I forgive you". 
          I cried for days after they killed him.  It seemed so peaceful.  His chest was rising and falling one moment, and the next...it wasn't.  I hadn't seen him in years, yet that loss hit me like a train. 
          They transferred me to a different prison during the last year of my time.  I met a guy...I honestly can't even remember his name.  He had jet black hair and seemed to have been there a while.  He was rough on me, as I'd hoped he'd be.  As long as he didn't say anything, I could relive it...I could feel Sam again.  I let him have his way with me whenever he wanted.  I didn't really care.  I was using him too, after all.  When I was released, I felt bad because I didn't think I'd find a better replacement...which was the moment I decided to get therapy. 
          My dad helped me get an apartment, but once I managed to find a job (with my record, it was difficult) I started making positive changes.  I don't drink anymore and I'm nearly completely out from under my dad.  About time, right?  At fucking thirty four, I sure am taking my time.  But I can't think that way, because I've done nothing but good for myself. 
          Relationships...just don't work for me.  I can't be with women because they're too soft.  Other men aren't the same.  Aside from the occasional midnight call, I don't really connect with anyone.  I realized recently that I'm still holding onto him...clinging to him even.  I have dreams about him holding me or kissing me.  I can't understand why.  He was never mine.  I can't say for sure that he ever actually liked me.  But I went to visit his grave today and I said the words I should have said a long time ago.

          "Goodbye."

          After standing there for a lot of time, I was finally able to breathe.  I got into my car and turned on the radio.  A song about a bad day was playing...a song I had actively avoided up to that point.  This time, I turned up the volume and drove home.  It is a good song, after all.



END