Brightside - Mark Tullius (miss read books .TXT) š
- Author: Mark Tullius
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Rachel didnāt say anything, didnāt need to. I felt awful though, so I went out the next day and crossed it out, replaced Michelleās name with Rachelās. It was childish, something an eighth grader would do, but it was better than what Rachel was doing back then, getting fingerbanged behind the gymnasium.
Rachel kicked the bed. She was back in range. āYou got something to say?ā
Fuck!
Thirty-nine days werenāt enough to get used to this. From Day 1, we all knew we werenāt alone. They told us being together in a group would make it easier, but it was so much worse. Everything on display, nowhere to hide. Itās what brought Rachel and me together. We thought we could elevate past all the dysfunctional relationships, especially our parentsā, but we were even more dysfunctional, all honest and exposed, the little secrets and awful truths firing off like buckshot at anyone within range.
Iām not proud of it, but I couldnāt stop thinking about the list. It was long. All the guys Rachel had been with, the depths sheād sunk.
āYouāre fucking sick,ā she said.
āWhat the hell happened last night? I remember going to Rileyās and you ordering those shotsāā
āOh, so youāre just drunk?ā
āWhatās your problem?ā
āI shouldnāt care if you dream about her? That you gotta pretend Iām her to fuck me?ā
As calm as I could, I said, āI donāt do that.ā
Rachelās jaw clenched so tight I thought sheād break teeth.
I usually have a great memory, one of the things I hate about myself. Not on Day 39. I was having trouble thinking, let alone remembering. The walk home was one big blur.
Rachelās jaw relaxed. She was listening to my thoughts. I was trying to piece things together, grasping at vapors.
The smell of sex was stronger than my breath, and I guessed it was possible I imagined Rachel as Michelle. But I couldnāt admit that and saying I blacked out wouldnāt change anything. I put my hands over my head, as if that would block her out.
āI didnāt do that,ā I said.
I heard her thought:
Youāre a liar!
āRachel, I donāt remember anything. If that happened, Iām sorry. I never shouldāve had those shots.ā
āSo itās all my fault?ā She started pacing, moving in and out of range.
āHoly shit. Can you just stop? Youāre acting crazy.ā
Rachel smiled, breathed through her nose. āYou want to see crazy?ā Her voice scared the shit out of me. She was all the way on the other side of the room.
āRachel, I know youāre angry. But you need to calm downāā
āYou want me to calm down? Should I get some air? Maybe we should take a break. Thatās what you want, right?ā
Right then was my best chance of denying things, her by the door, both of us out of range, lights off so she couldnāt look me in the eyes. But I knew we werenāt going to work no matter how much I wanted it.
All I had to do was say it.
But I couldnāt.
āRachel, come on...ā
āWhere should I go, Joe? Should I go back home? Huh? Oh right, I canāt. This is it.ā Her smile was creeping me out. āThis is home.ā
I suddenly realized this was about so much more than Michelle. Rachel was cracking, like a dam ready to burst.
āRachel, please, Iām beggingāā
Rachel screamed like she was being burned. Her legs gave out. She thudded off the hardwood. She put her forehead to the floor. Her tiny fists strangled her matted hair and she just kept screaming.
The lights flashed on, the 120s blinding me even with the fixture over them.
āRachel, come on, be quiet.ā
I looked at the clock. We still had an hour before morning lights. They never came on early.
āRachel, please!ā
Her throat wouldnāt close, just kept spraying screams until I covered my ears.
āI think youāre great, Rachel. I wouldnāt be with you if I didnāt. Just please be quiet.ā
She kept wailing.
And I knew they were coming.
Rachel knew it too, but she didnāt seem to care, just curled up under the bright lights. Everything exposed. The scar on her collarbone. The two-inch wide birthmark on her lower back. She banged the floor with her head, pleading for someone to let her go.
āI just want to go home,ā she sobbed. āWhy wonāt they let us go?ā
My head was pounding from the lights and the hangover, but I kept my voice nice and quiet when I said, āJust come to bed, okay? Weāll say you stubbed your toe.ā
The bootsteps were coming.
Rachel, get over here NOW!
I jumped off the bed, felt foolish because my dick was just hanging there. But Rachel wasnāt looking at me. She was still crying to the floor, the voice not her at all. Broken and shattered. I yanked her arm, but she wouldnāt move.
The Boots were here.
It was going to hurt like hell, but I had to get close, right up against her so my thoughts would sound like they were coming through a megaphone.
GET UP! THEYāRE HERE! PLEASE!
Rachel made herself smaller, pressed her fists against the sides of her face.
They didnāt even knock, just opened the door. Two of them standing there, all calm, like they were here to fix the sink.
Rachel screamed, āFuck you! You canāt keep us here! You canāt!ā
I told Rachel to shut up.
She did, but only to spit in one guyās face.
The guy didnāt even wipe it off, just twisted her arm, almost snapped it. She begged him to let her go. Then she clawed him in the eyes.
I stepped forward, my hands out to show them I wasnāt looking for a fight. āShe had too much to drink. Please, donātāā
The baton cracked off my skull and I fell. The boots walked right up to my face.
āYou got anything else to say?ā
I kept my face to the floor, listened as they dragged Rachel from my room, her screams slowly fading until they were gone.
IT WAS DAY 39 AND I was alone in my office, just Rachelās desk to keep me company. I needed to look busy and pretended to type, my fingers tapping out nonsensical strings. I drank cup after cup of water so I could focus on my throbbing bladder, focus on anything but Rachel, the Boots dragging her from my room.
My computer dinged. A polite email reminding me of my quota.
Brightside required us to work. It wasnāt for the money. The government funded most everything. But Brightside needed us to keep busy, to feel productive. They started the jobs program after the first month. Too many Brightsiders had jumped off the mountain, took the easy way out.
Quotas kept us from living in our heads.
Busy people donāt kill themselves. That was the idea, at least.
I started dialing. Got twenty-four hang-ups, five donāt-call-me-ever-agains, and one old woman who spent three minutes asking about the weather in Greece before she realized I wasnāt her son.
I was one of the few Brightsiders allowed to make calls to the outside world. Iād been deemed a low risk. But everything was monitored. If I said one thing, like begged for help or told anyone the truth about this place, Iād be sitting in the Cabin dripping drool by night.
Finally, a guy actually sounded interested. I asked him if there was anywhere he dreamed of going.
The guy said, āCosta Rica. Iāve heard good things about that place.ā
In three quick clicks, I was on their homepage. āOh, definitely. Costa Ricaās great. Did you know the average temperature is seventy-two degrees?ā
āI didnāt know that.ā
āYeah, and theyāve got active volcanoes.ā
āThatās pretty cool.ā
āYeah, Costa Rica is definitely the place to go,ā I said, āand weāve got some incredible getaways available at great prices.ā
Brightside had given me a sales script, which was shit, but deviation was against the rules.
āI donāt know,ā the guy said. āHow much would it run me?ā
āIām sure youād qualify for our no-down-payment plan. And our smaller suites are under two hundred a month.ā
āThatās nothing.ā
āExactly. Less than you probably spend on gas.ā I checked the screen. āAre you still in management, Mr. Crawford?ā
āYeah, home enjoying a sick day.ā
āLucky man. How are your benefits over there? Do you have much vacation time built up?ā
āTons.ā
āSo what do you think? Would you like to own your very own Costa Rican condo? Doesnāt that sound like fun?ā They told us to emphasize the word āfunā as much as possible.
āIt does, but tell me this. Is prostitution really legal over there?ā
The screen said Mr. Crawford had a wife and son, but that was none of my business. For all I knew, heād gotten a divorce. The computers were never accurate.
I told him prostitution was legal and his laugh made me sick.
āWould you be looking for a one bedroom or two?ā I asked.
āJust one. So tell me more about this. Are there brothels?ā
āI believe so, now Iāve got some nice villas on the Pacific Ocean.ā
āAnd I heard thereās no age limit.ā
āThatās something youāll have to check. Now, the place is right on the water. Why donāt we get the process started? If I can get your credit card number and verify a couple details, weāll be done before you know it.ā
āHow do I know this isnāt some kind of scam?ā
āGood question. Goes to show what a smart man you are. Why donāt I just email over a contract? Just click on the link and itāll take you to our site. Brightside Travel is a very reputable company.ā
āHoly shit, youāre one of those guys? Tell me what Iām thinking.ā
āUh...afraid it doesnāt work like that. If you give me your email address, Iāll send you the contract.ā
A door opened and closed on Mr. Crawfordās end. A womanās grating voice said, āPaul, what are you doing on the phone? Youāre supposed to be sick.ā
Sounding nothing like the man heād been when she wasnāt around, Mr. Crawford said, āIāll be off in a minute.ā
I didnāt know if he was still listening to me, but I kept trying. āTell her itās a surprise. Tell her youāre doing something special for her, but donāt tell her what.ā As quick as I could, I said, āYou make this decision, and sheāll thank you.ā
But heād already hung up.
Iād told Carlos, my boss, the websiteās name was hurting our ability to sell. Carlos said it reminded people Brightside allowed us to live productive lives. Again, I told him, it was hurting sales. Carlos said the P.R. was worth it.
Brightside wasnāt very profitable, but we only needed to make enough to cover what the government wouldnāt fund, like the ice cream parlor, movie theater, and electronics store.
If this had been BMW, I wouldāve had papers everywhere, stacks of sales
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