This story was written in mid-2003.
12 years, 2 months, 2 weeks and three days. That is how long I have waited for this day, planning to end it like this. I’ve been incomplete all this time and now I’m going to be more complete than ever before.
My parents told me I wouldn’t go through with it, or I shouldn’t. Sod them. It’s their fault I turned out like this anyway, and now I’m going to show them. I’ll take pictures when I’m done; complete. Then, if they’re lucky, I’ll invite them around to see before I call the press.
It’s not about the notoriety because if I wanted to be well-known for my endeavours I’d probably be killing little children or something similar (at least according to my psychiatric profile). Then I could appear on television and get in the national papers, maybe even the international press. But I’m not doing it for the public attention. I just wanted to teach my damn parents a lesson. That’s all.
The number twelve bus pulls into the station at eight fifty, leaving me approximately 10 minutes to walk to my destination. Timed almost to perfection.
Rain is coming down hard but it won’t dampen my spirits. In fact the feel of the rain makes me feel so much more alive. Life doesn’t get any better than this. If I had to choose my favourite weather it would be rain. It’s a pleasure enhancing stimulant; the perfect accompaniment. I love the sensation of it trickling through my hair and down into my eyes and sometimes I get carried away and spike my wet hair, pretending I’m Robbie Williams. It doesn’t last long though. Nothing ever does, except my completeness. When I’m complete no-one will ever be able take anything away from me again. Not my parents, not Jesus Christ nor the Prime Minister. No-one.
At the corner of Dean St I stop to buy a paper. One of the babes from Voyager is on the front cover of The Sport so I buy it to satisfy my curiosity. I’m not interested in the fact she is naked (supposedly naked, though studying the pictures closely I think they look fake). Her vulnerability with her naked form is what I am interested in. My experience suggests women can be vulnerable even when fully clothed.
As I hand the paper to the cashier she asks ‘Will that be all, Sir?’
Will that be all? I can tell you a few things else you can do for me, mostly legal. ‘No thanks,’ I said, handing over the exact change and feeling a bit of a prat. Still, I could’ve had her, but I can’t let superfluous floozies get in the way of my mission today.
The paper fits nicely into the inside pocket of my flak jacket. My jacket is a bit similar to the one Richard E Grant wore in Withnail and I. Perfect for stashing a shot gun in.
Across the street I see an elderly man hunched over a dustbin, foraging for god-knows-what. You can’t help but pity those who god has chosen to smite, not selected to achieve great tasks like me. Perhaps I take my god correlation too far, but who else would’ve asked such a thing of me? Okay, so He didn’t come to me in a vision but it’s obvious.
I can’t watch the old man for long. If I did I could end up feeling more pity for him and might be moved to give him some money. I can’t have that just in case I don’t have enough left. I’ve been told this one’s going to cost me anywhere between £50 and £75, but it’ll be worth it. I can’t wait to get my hands on….
In the distance a police siren wails. It sounds far away but it is getting nearer. For some reason the flashy blue lights, the ear-piercing siren mixed with the chill March rain and the close proximity of wrongdoing is so erotic. I don’t know why. For a fleeting moment I’m tempted to go and watch (from a distance) but I can’t risk it. Not now, when I’m so close to completion.
I picked up my stride to make up for the distractions. I’d factored in picking up a newspaper; everything else was unplanned. I guess I didn’t think anything else could take my attention, albeit briefly, away from my task.
Still, it is now eight fifty seven and the quickened pace is getting me back on track, not to mention pumping adrenalin around my body, exciting every single inch of me.
Ahead I can see the familiar form of Spider, my supplier, entering his place; my destination. Spider (the web tattoo on the back of his neck giving rise to his nickname) is not the sort of guy I would normally want to do business with, however, he does have the best range and the right contacts. I’m sure I can put up with his skinhead persona one more time. Then I’m finished. Done. Complete. I’ll be out of this business once and for all. Cold turkey – the best way. Sure, the desire to continue will be there, the wont to do more, but I’ll be satiated too, paradoxically speaking. Knowing when to stop is easy, stopping isn’t. It’s the difference between abnormal behaviour and obsession.
I enter the building less than a minute after Spider. He clocks me and nods. I return the gesture.
‘Have you got her?’ I ask, sounding like a prat again.
‘Yeah, Rob. She’s waiting in the back room for you. My west-end snoop brought her in last night. Give me a few minutes and I’ll introduce you,’ Spider said, finishing with a snorted chuckle.
I catch a glimpse of the clock. Two minutes past nine. I must seem desperate to be here so early, yet it feels like I have waited an eternity. Well, over 12 years any way.
While Spider busies himself I pick up a magazine and flick aimlessly through the pages. More rumours of a new Wonder Woman series, the “low-down” on the new Star Trek movie, and gossip from the set of the Harry Potter. Just titles and pictures. I can’t focus enough to take an interest in any of it at the moment.
I hadn’t noticed a couple of lads enter the room. They couldn’t have been much older than twelve; older than I was when I started to take an interest in this stuff. I was in my mid-teens when I was deprived of it. That’s when I got hooked. It’s amazing how something seemingly trivial can set you off down a certain path.
With hands glued into their pockets the boys gaze around the room at the paraphernalia hanging on the walls. In their shoes I would be apprehensive.
Spider is still in the back room, giving me the opportunity to save these boys.
‘Alright lads.’ My opening gambit gained little response other than a quick glance, and probably even less respect. ‘You don’t want to waste your lives on this stuff. I have and look how I turned out.’
Okay, putting myself down has always been my strong point. I think it’s an inherited characteristic.
‘Wot you on about, weirdo’ said one of the boys.
‘This scene. It’ll eat your money up, ruin families, relationships, and maybe even lead to criminal activity.’
‘Criminal activity?’ the other boy asked, picking on the one thing that perhaps might bother them.
‘Ever heard of a crime of passion?’ I capture both of them in a wide-eyed stare for a few seconds and allowed a slightly sinister smile creep in for added effect.
The boys looked at each other and somehow communicate an agreement to leave. They only look back once – to make sure I wasn’t following. As if. Young boys aren’t my cup of tea. I don’t feel bad about what I just did because, the way I see it, I just did them a big favour. Spider would’ve got them hooked on this and they would be selling their bodies for a few pounds here and there. I’ve been totally shafted by Spider and his kind too many times, yet I keep coming back for more because I have my goal to achieve. My nirvana. My completion.
Spider returns, his fingers curled around an oversized coffee mug.
‘Right, Rob. Let’s get you sorted.’ Spider beckons me to follow him into the back room. Standing so close to Spider I notice how badly he smelt. Well, I think the smell is him, but the smell becomes over-powering on entering the back room.
I think Spider has noticed my distaste. ‘Rotting corpse,’ he admits.
I didn’t want to know anymore and he didn’t want to tell. I guess you could call it a mutual respect among peers. Besides, it wasn’t my particular fetish. We were stood in a small ante-room. Spider parted a curtain to reveal a larger section of the room.
‘There she is,’ Spider’s gesture drew my eyes toward a diminutive figure sitting on a worktop.
Yes, that sounded very pratish but I could not speak my real emotions in front of Spider. I desperately want to rush over and pick her up and swing her around, caress her every curve, hold her close with my eyes closed, to squeeze her, crush her head into my chest. That’s just the start of my list of desires I dare not utter. This, after all, was a business deal. All I got to do is pay the money, do my spot of business and walk out of here on a high, never to return again. Completion accomplished.
‘Do you wanna touch her, check out the goods eh?’
I suddenly became aware I was drooling. Not for long but probably long enough to be noticeable. I edge forward in small steps, as delicately as my exquisite princess deserves.
‘Hello,’ my voice stumbles over numb lips. ‘My name’s Rob.’
‘She can’t talk back, man’ Spider said. Boy does he know how to ruin the moment.
‘How much do I owe you?’ I said, not taking my eyes off her. She is staring back at me and I am sure I detect a smile, as though she knows what I’m going to do; what she is going to help me to achieve.
I want to get this over with now. With all the excitement I’m starting to feel a bit giddy and really want to get her home, take some pictures and wallow in my conquest.
Spider held his hand out. “Seventy notes and she’s yours to do what ever warped stuff you wanna do.’
All the money I have on me but I don’t think it is worth bargaining because Spider knows how desperate I am. The wad of cash feels dirty, over-used. I hand the money to Spider, pick up my love interest and leave, my fingers wrapped around her tiny waist.
Now the deal has been done I can breath easier. Four thousand four hundred and fifty-eight days since a car boot sale deprived me of my action figure collection and here I am, holding the final piece in my replacement set. I now have the whole lot, more than I had before, yet something doesn’t feel right. Although I have avenged the wicked act of my parents who forced me to sell my toys I thought I would feel more whole. More complete.