Poor Girl: Victor, Part 3
Image from unsplash by Elijah Lychick
It’s about not getting caught.
When Victor got home, his mother was asleep. It wasn’t uncommon for Victor to roll in well past midnight on most nights, but this was the latest he had been out for as long as he could remember. His mother was never up past 10 PM, and he was grateful for this because he needed to thoroughly clean himself up after that mess with Mayra. He was certain he had missed some of the blood in the gas station bathroom, and he needed to check himself for noticeable injuries.
He made sure to take his shoes off before he walked in the door. He wasn’t sure if there was blood on the soles of them, and he needed to be as silent as possible. His mother’s bedroom door was shut, and he could hear her low snoring as he went past.
He turned on the light, closed and locked the door, and finally got a better look at his entire body in the full length mirror on the door. His shirt was torn at the collar, the knees of his jeans had two large circles of blood on them, and there was some more spattered at the ankles. He looked at his shoes and saw that he had, in fact, gotten blood on the soles.
Damn, he thought, I just got these fucking things.
The first thing he did was fully undress. Under his shirt he saw that he had some bruises along both sides of his ribs, there was a deep scratch along his neck which he hadn’t noticed at the gas station, and more scratches on his arms.
That fucking bitch almost escaped, good thing she was pretty drunk. Victor had been replaying the whole night in his head. He was giddy thinking about it.
He turned on the shower and prayed that the water would warm up quickly. He knew if his mother woke up to the sound of the shower at 3 AM, and it was a longer shower than normal, she might knock on the door; he didn’t want her bothering him or getting suspicious.
He threw his clothes in the shower and got in under the water. He scrubbed himself clean, wincing when he had the go over his ribs. He wondered if Mayra had cracked one or more of them because of how sore he was.
Then he bent down and started washing out his clothes. The blood flowed down the drain, diluted by the water and suds. The rich smell of iron and floral body wash filled the steamy room; Victor inhaled deeply, almost intoxicated by the mingling scents. He was in love with that smell.
Victor was proud of himself. Proud that he had finally found closure, proud that he had rid the world of a woman who was morally corrupt, and proud that he had been able to follow through with something in his life. Again, he kept thinking about what had happened, and what one might find reprehensible, he found revelatory. He couldn’t stop the grin from creeping on his face. Victor had discovered something new about himself that night, something that had been missing was now found, and he couldn’t wait for this new him to impact the world.
***
Victor woke up at noon after his exciting night. He was even more sore now that some hours had passed; it took all his effort to not call out in pain when he sat up in bed. In his haste to finish up in the bathroom and get to sleep, he had thrown his wet clothes in a corner of his room and they had created a giant puddle on the carpet.
Fuck, another thing to take care of.
He rolled his eyes at the pile and gently laid back down. Every time he closed his eyes, he had flashbacks to the night before. The dingy bar, his friend goading him on, his new-found power, and finally, his ability to kill.
He knew that his mother wasn’t home because the house was completely still. This was a blessing for him because he didn’t want to face her just yet. He knew he could wear long sleeved shirts to cover the scratches on his arms as they healed, and he would have to load up on pain killers for his ribs, but the deep scratch on his neck was something unavoidable.
Victor needed some kind of excuse or explanation for it. He could already see his mother’s observant eyes, he knew exactly what she would ask. He was also thinking about what to tell his work friends about the scratch because he knew they would be asking about it.
As he was pondering what story to come up with, he heard his mother’s car pull into the driveway. He scrambled out of bed, gritting his teeth as the pain from his ribs radiated all over his body. In his desperation to hide from her, he dove under his bed like a child hiding during a game.
His mother lightly knocked on his door, then she knocked a little bit louder. After a moment, there wasn’t any sound. Victor started to drag himself out from under his bed, but the doorknob started to turn. His mother entered the room.
Victor could only see her feet from his vantage point, but as he scanned the floor, his eyes fell squarely upon the pile of soaked clothes. His mother must’ve seen the same things because she sighed and muttered, “Another goddamn mess to pick up, and on the carpet!” She sighed loudly and muttered some more under her breath.
Victor’s eyes widened in horror as his mother walked towards the clothes. Had he gotten all the blood out from them the night before? Would she notice the torn collar? He almost burst out from under the bed just to stop her from grabbing them, but he held steady.
She gingerly picked up his jeans, and more droplets fell from the legs. His mother must’ve been holding them in midair because the water drops just kept on falling, making the already large puddle that much bigger.
Suddenly, his mom gasped and dropped the pants. She took two steps back, and then her shaky voice whispered, “Oh my god, oh my god.”
A clump of long hair softly landed next to his mother’s feet. How had Victor missed that last night?! He could still only see her feet, but she started to back away from the clothes pile and clump of hair. He could hear her loudly breathing, like she was desperately trying to keep from screaming.
***
Victor looked down at his mother’s lifeless body. He didn’t exactly feel sad or remorseful at the sight. In Victor’s mind, this was a matter of life or death for him. His mother had found evidence of something that he didn’t feel like explaining. He knew that if he hadn’t lept out from under the bed and stopped her from running, that she would turn him into the cops. He had no choice; it was either his freedom or his mother’s life.
When Victor sprang out from under his bed, his mother had been so startled that she fell backwards, tripping over her own feet. Even though he was in pain from his injuries from the night before, his adrenaline kicked in and made it easy to overtake her.
This struggle wasn’t as intense as the struggle with Mayra; there wasn’t any pesky blood to worry about this time around. Maybe his mother wanted to die. Maybe she wanted peace after years of grief over her husband and turmoil with her only child. Victor believed that if his mother had really wanted to live, she would’ve fought harder.
And now, all there was was silence, peace, and another body for Victor to get rid of. A man’s work is never done.