The Death of Us

by C.A. Mariah

better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

Bunny just looks at me with those dead…broken eyes. That same look is plastered on the faces of women across the nation. It’s the same empty stare of the woman who lives across the hall from me. The woman whose husband is a little too angry, a little too quick with his words, and even faster with his fists.

I tell myself I wanted it as I take the first sip of my coffee because surely men like him, classy, rich, and powerful, don’t need to take advantage of girls like me.

Nothing comes for free.

“You listen to me, you ungrateful little shit. I took you out of the garbage you came from. I saved you from working in the shitty little café my scout found you in and being homeless. I put a golden roof over your head and provided more for you than most people would see in a lifetime, and this is how you repay me? This is how you show appreciation for the opportunities I’ve given you?”

What men never seem to understand is acting out of pride makes you sloppy, less careful about accuracy, and more interested in proving a point.

“What’s your name?” he asks, drowning me in the soft blues of his gaze. I wanted to keep that close. I wanted to deny him everything, but in this moment⁠— “Bunny.”

“Fuck, and you know, maybe we were. Maybe we lost our senses. Maybe we were just two kids desperate for something other than darkness…but we found it. In that moment, we found a light that had been stripped from our lives.”

The more the story unfolds, the less I see the monsters that graced the covers of the New York Times. The longer I sit here, gazing into the eyes of a killer, the more I see a child who went through hell.

“How could we be so fucking stupid? How could we put ourselves in those situations?” Because what else did they have? You were an orphan. You were abused. You could only dream of dreams. The question shouldn’t be, how could they be so stupid? How could they put themselves in such dangerous situations? The question should be, how could you blame yourself for wanting to get out? How could you call yourself stupid for wanting more? More than the suffering. More than the torture.

People looked down on you, as if it was somehow your fault you had no home, no family.

The wetness collecting at the opening of my center can’t be from desire, because then what would that say about me? I just fought for my life. I just lost what could have been a friend. Cade’s touch shouldn’t spark want. I should be running. I should never want the touch of another man again, not after all the men I was forced to take. But then, Cade drops to his knees at my feet and my hands naturally find the top of his head. I hold him there as he holds me against the wall, his lips so close to that dripping part of me…

It’s the only thing making me feel less of a whore. I swore I’d never feel like one again… I’d never let a man make me one again.

As if she knows monsters will catch her in the dark, her eyes spring open, wide and frozen with fear. Swiftly, I hold my finger to my lips. “We’re not going to hurt you. I promise.” Her eyes bounce between Cade and me while her breathing hastens. “Are you here for the bad man?” she asks, her voice tiny and frightened. “Yes,” Cade responds, dropping to his knees beside her bed. “We’re gonna make the bad man go away because he hurt her.” The little girl inhales a horrified gasp. Her big brown eyes snapping to me. “He hurts me, too.”

Sophie. We’re going to kill him for you, Sophie. And for Clara. And for all the other girls whose names I never learned.

I beg for more—more teeth, more passion… More brutality. Look what they did to me, I think to myself. I need the pain that comes with sex. It’s something I recognize as Cade drives another digit into me, but instead of freezing under his savagery, I turn to liquid in his arms.

“On my life.” It’s a promise he meant literally, I learned eventually. A promise he truly kept…until the end.

If I didn’t know them, I’d think we were witnessing a romance, but people who help whore out children don’t deserve that kind of happiness.

I can understand his doubt. I mean, men, I know. They do vile and wicked shit to children every day, but women? We’re supposed to be the nurturers. The guides. The backbone of civilization. Women aren’t supposed to be cruel. Women aren’t supposed to cause pain. Women aren’t supposed to be monsters.

But that one is. “She’s the one who passed me onto Marone. That was after she had me pose naked for the photos she’d sent to him. She said I was the perfect girl for her friend, someone he had been looking for.” Someone he’d love.

People weaponize weakness,

“You learn to know your tools when you get beat with them.”

“I did you a favor.” “You set me up!” “I gave you an opportunity!” she snarls. Looking like a victim, she sounds every bit like the predator I know she is. “We both did! Do you think you would have gotten anywhere looking like you did? You were trash. You both came from nothing. We got your feet in the door! We introduced you to the right people! It’s not our fault they had a better use for you.”

Baffled, I stagger back, unable to do more than whisper, “I was beaten… I was raped.” “Then that’s all you deserved.” The lack of remorse in her hostile tone has my breath catching in my throat. Nathan apologizes profusely, begging Cade to understand that he didn’t know what would happen to us. He’s only a “footman,” he called himself. I won’t deny there is horror in his voice, and maybe those are genuine tears of remorse in his once-captivating eyes. Still, the company he keeps rejects any guilt, refuses to take any responsibility. To them, this is all our fault. We asked for it.

I heard it my entire life that I was a victim of my own choices, and maybe, sure, this started that way,

It didn’t matter how they treated her, if they cheated on her or beat her to within an inch of her life. None of that ever mattered because she said it was better than being alone.

“Take this as a lesson, baby girl. Never chase a man. You’ll suffer for it every time.”

“You’ve given me everything.” It’s as close to I love you as I’ve ever gotten to saying, and the biggest thank you I can squeeze out through my strangled throat, and it's not enough. There are no words or actions that could even come close to repaying what he’s done for me—what we’ve done together, for each other.

We will never go through this world alone, we solemnly swear, falling into each other's arms as swiftly as we fall deeper in love.

I prefer to think of us as something better than a hero. Heroes are selfish, only doing good in the brightness of the day, where everyone can see their righteous deeds. The mayor is a hero, doing all he can for those foster kids in front of the cameras while leaving them soulless at night.

“I’d rather die than let either of them have one more child.”

“I love you, Cade.” Until the end, I can still hear him say. Until the end.

“You were only kids.” “And what did we have to lose, right? So much was already stolen that I thought… I thought, what the fuck? We could just kill them and run. I convinced him to run…with me. I-I killed him.”

“I couldn’t let my girl go alone. I-I wasn’t there for her when she was inside, but I can be here now.”

“I can go now,” are her last words, and she goes with a smile, finally resting with her other half.

The walk to the execution room wasn’t the longest walk I’d ever taken, but it would be my last one. As a child, death scared me because I didn’t want to die in the same place I’d always been. I wanted to make something of myself and be better than everyone said I could be. Life didn’t turn out the way I wanted, but at least I’m not scared to die.

Soon, I’ll be with you again.

I could breathe. For the first time in decades, I could breathe. And when I did, I saw him there, that beautiful smile, waiting for me. I love you. Until the end.