Confessions of a Bitch

The Weakling

I first met Victoria on my first day of year four. I had been sitting alone, playing in the sandpit, while other children stayed with their cliques. They didn’t want to play with me and I didn’t fancy playing with them either. They said there was an evil aura surrounding me and I told them it was utter nonsense. That had given me a first class ticket to the outcast club.

I didn’t even fit in that club.

I had been figuring out the best way to build a sand castle, when a large shadow loomed over me. I looked up with a scowl on my face but soon found myself smirking at the strange sight in before me. A small, chubby African girl with braided hair stood in front of the sandpit with her hands on her hips.

“Watcha doin’ in da black people sandpit?” She asked in an African-American accent. I was impressed. I’d never met anyone with a sound African-American accent before. The only person I’d met like that had been Carol, but she always accents. It annoyed the crap out of me.

“What do you think I’m doing?” I retorted. “Singing?”

“You can’t be in da black people sandpit.”

“Why not?” From what I could tell, the girl was ball breaking crazy, and I wanted her hair.

“Because, it’s da black people sandpit!” She explained. I gave her a blank stare in return and she groaned. “Oh Lord, she don’t know what I mean.”

“Too bad. You can keep talking to the fat guy up there, and I shall keep on playing here.”

She growled and placed her hands again on her hips. “You have to leave da black people sandpit.”

“Make me.” I snapped.

It was then I realized my mistake. My skin prickled and eyes burned as Victoria gave me her much dreaded African glare. I wanted to get up and run away as fast as I could from her. She made me feel vulnerable and I hated it. No, I loved it. There was something about her that drew me in. She was like a large block of chocolate sitting on the table, tempting a child to do something wrong, and I liked it. So, I bit my lip, swallowed my fear and began staring her down. After what seemed like eternity, a large smile formed on her chubby face and she stretched out a hand. “I’m Victoria and it’s nice to meet you.”

I was taken aback a little bit, but quickly recovered. “Amanda. My name is Amanda.” That was how our little twisted friendship began. The bad girl and Christian girl became friends.

The world around me spins and my head aches as the walls cave in around me. A man in a police uniform sits on a metal chair with a pile of notes beside him. Words tumble out of his mouth but I don’t hear a thing. Nothing.

I think of Victoria. I think of the blood they found on the bed sheets and carpet. Where is she? Who has her? I want answers.

I want to kill someone. I want to get in my car and look for her. I want to bring her home. I want her back.

“Miss Winter?” A soft deep voice fills my senses. “Miss Winter?” My head jerks up and I’m face to face with the man in blue. His brown eyes look over me with worry and then he frowns. He doesn’t have all night, and neither do I?

“Yes?”          

“You haven’t answered my question.” He scowls, picking up his ball point pen.

“What was the question?” I ask feeling slightly irritated. My friend is missing and I’m being interviewed. What am I, a suspect?

“What happened when you went to see Victoria earlier this afternoon?”

“We talked.”

“About what?”

“Life, school… the ball…” I don’t tell him about the text messages, tapes, threats and Viper. He doesn’t need to know that. I just want my friend back.

“Is that all?” He looks bored and I want to slice his throat.

“Yes.”

“Ok. We’re done.” He motions for me to leave the interview room and I hurry out. I don’t want to lose my temper. Not here. Not in a police station.

Mum and dad wait for me by the benches. Victoria’s parents sit beside them. Her mum looks inconsolable. I want to go up to her and hug her. I want to tell her everything will be alright. But I don’t.

It’s not who I am.

Instead, I drive home on auto pilot. My mind is numb and my head buzzes. It irritates me to no end but I keep on driving. I sing an old folk song as the wind ruffles my hair. I want to forget. I want to pretend Victoria isn’t missing. I want to think she’s at home, in her bedroom, eating some sweets while having a conversation with God about nuns. However, she isn’t. She’s missing, gone.

I park the car on the lawn and enter the house. I shut the door behind me and make my way to the bathroom. I stink of disinfectant, Victoria’s hair cream and stale sex. It’s repulsive and makes me want to empty my stomach into the toilet. I stand in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My walls seem to crumble down to my feet. It scares and chills me to the core.

There’s one thing I’ve been afraid to say. There’s one thing I’ve forced myself to admit. I need that crazy black girl who wants to be a nun. Without her, I am nothing.

Being nothing scares me.

My hair stands limp around my shoulders. I look myself in the eye. I hate me. I hate who I am. If I had never met Victoria, if I had sorted out Viper in the first place, if I didn’t ask Victoria to come along and babysit me during my media project, none of this would have happened.

Sighing, I stare as small drops of tears roll down my cheeks. I don’t cry. I never cry. My shoulders heave. My chest constricts. My knees feel like jelly. My heart bleeds.

I should find her. I should bring my friend back.

I flinch as a layer of makeup is wiped from my face by my tears. The scar is still visible, long and crooked like a claw. I run my hands along the soft flesh of my skin. If I think hard enough, I’ll remember my sperm donor. If I close my eyes, I’ll see him hit me across the face with a bottle. If I think hard enough, maybe if I pray, if I promise to give up my ways, Victoria back.

You’re beyond redemption. My mind screams.

It’s true. I am beyond redemption.