The Life and Death of Genevieve Tular
Mandie:
BEWARE: This sory is rated PG 13. There are moments of simulated violence.
If you want Genevieve or Guinevere, you can find them here
The Beginning, or is it perhaps the End:
As I sit here next to my daughter's grave, looking with cold unseeing eyes at her body lying in her grave, I honestly wonder how I got here. A beam of moonlight shines through my body, and I let out a shuddering sigh. Of course I know how I got here, I still don't know how I could have let it happen.
I grew up in a normal family, in a normal suburban home. I was the middle child of three, my sister Sara five years older then I, and my brother Ian five years younger. My parents loved us all equally, and always showed it. I got plenty of love and attention from my father, and we siblings all got along reasonably well. I can look back and honestly say that there was no clue in my childhood I would end up where I did.
My first real memory was my little brother's birth. I remember being so afraid for my mother, but soon all was well and Mama was home with a baby in tow. I loved my brother, and he grew up so fast. I think that I always knew that myfather had desprately wanted a son. Perhaps Ian was even his favorite child, but he never showed it. Everything in my life was still normal and happy.
My childhood could even be described as boring. My mother would frequently play tag with me, I think I would say she was my best friend. I always wanted my own little girl to play with like that. Oh I'm so sorry my darling baby! But I am getting ahead of myself again.
My sister went off to college as soon as she had graduated highschool. She met her true love there, and ended up staying only one semester. When she came home, she was glowing and she happily prepared to get married. I didn't realize it at the time, but she had accidently gotten pregnant, and was in quite a hurry to get married so her baby would not be born out of wedlock. Her wedding was absolutely beautiful, but now that I look back I can't help wondering if perhaps I would not be where I am if it had never happened.
I was newly a teenager, only just interested in boys. I hadn't even had my first kiss. I was so naive! It was at that wedding that I met Bradley Tular, the brother of my sister's husband Jeffery. He was so handsome, and I was immediately in love. He was an adult, and if my parents had even an inkling of our relationship, they would have stopped it in it tracks. I probably would have hated them for a time, but at least I would have been alive.
It happened when I was fifteen. I had been seeing Bradley for two years now, on the sly. He had always wanted to bring our relationship to the next level, and I had not been ready for it. I was taught that one saved themselves for marriage, and I just wan't ready for that step. In hindsight, I should have noticed how angry he got when he was denied anything, much less that, but I was young and in love.
On that day, Bradley told me that he had had enough, he had waited long enough for me to decide when I was ready, and he was making my mind up for me. He said that he wasn't going to have this time waited and get nothing out of it. I can't help remembering everything, every moment. We were at his shouse. It was fall, and his window was open. The breeze coming in through the opening was not really cold, but somehow it seemed to freeze my soul.
I cried, although I tried not to. It hurt more than I had ever believed it would. Afterward, Bradley wiped the tears from my face. He apologized profusely, telling me that now we could be together, that even my parents could not stop us from being together now. He was right! Now that I didn't have my virginity, my parents would force me to give my life to this man!
I ran home that day, and never mentioned anything to my parents. I was saddened that this man I had loved had been so horrible to me. When he called my cell phone, I refused to answer. I wanted to sort myself out before talking to him again. That time came sooner than I had hoped. A couple of weeks after being with Bradley, I bagan to get sick. I hid it from my parents the best I could, however one morning my mother walked in as I was hunched over the toilet. The pain in her eyes will stay with me forever. My parents hustled me into the family doctor that day, whispering together as the verdict was handed down. Pregnant...
On the way home, my parents were very angry, and I think sad, as they quizzed me on what had happened. In the end, I could not tell them what Bradley had done. I probably should have, but as they say hindsight is twenty-twenty. My father called Bradley immediately, and the three of the went into the kitchen to discuss my future, leaving me out in the hall, scared and alone. I didn't hear much of their conversation, but when Bradley came out of the kitchen, he propsed to me. I knew in my heart that I had to say yes, but even then my soul screamed no.
What you have to understand about my parents, is that not only are they very religious, they truly thought they were doing the best for me. Of course they could not have had their teenage daughter bringing a child into the world out of wedlock. They were full of anguish, wondering where they had gone wrong. First my sister, now me. I heard my mother crying hard that night, my father softly comforting her. I wished that I had never met Bradley Tular. That might have been the first time that I wished that, but it definately wasn't the last.
The wedding was a quick, quiet affair. My parents were too ashamed to invite any of their friends, and Bradley to angry to invite any of his. I think that I was the only truly happy participent there, but if I had known what lay in store for me, I would not have been so eager to say "I do."
Mandie:
My parents offered us a place at their house, but of course Bradley had his own house and wasn't eager to give it up. So it was that I moved out of the house that I had lived in all my life. I had no idea that I would never step inside that house again. I had been to Bradley's house before, it was different to actually be faced with the idea of actually living there. As I walked around the house, I noticed that there was no room for the baby. When I mentioned this to Bradley, he just laughed at me. I wish that I had turned around and gone home.
The beatings began a few weeks later. I was so tired, the pregnancy wearing on my young body. Bradley came home from work and didn't find supper on the table as I usually tried to do. He came storming into the bedroom, the door slamming against the wall. He grabbed me by the arm, and threw me onto the floor. I remember staring up at him, panting as fear flooded every pore of my body. AS if in slow motion, I watched him raise his foot and swing it toward me. I just watched! I didn't even attempt to move. I wonder now if it might have been because I was too surprised, or perhaps it was an innate sense that the movement would only serve to make him even angrier.
After kicking me several times, Bradley pulled me to my feet. Tears were streaming down my face, and I could bearly see his contorted face as he screamed at me. Only a few of his words even sunk into my brain. Ugly words spewed out of his mouth, words I won't repeat...ever. Then he slapped me in the face and pushed me toward the kitchen as he stalked off to take a shower.
I stood at the doorway for a moment, nothing that had just happened to me making any sense to me. One hand anchored me to the door frame, the other cradling my bulging tummy. The sound of water running got me going again. I pushed off the doorway and waddled toward the fridge. I tried, in vain, to remember what he wanted to eat. I sttod in front of the open refrigerator door, the soft yellow glow surrounding me as the cold air swirled around my body. I shook myself out of my stupor, and grabbed the ingredients for spaghetti. I just hoped that Bradley would be calmed down when he came back out to eat. I threw everything into a pot, and absentmindedly cooked supper. Where had I gone wrong?
After the meal had been cooked, I served each of us a plate. I didn't really feel like eating, but I knew that I had to keep myself healthy for the baby's sake. Besides, I didn't want to risk making Bradley angry. I sat down and put a bite in my mouth. Bradley walked into the kitchen, and walked up behind me. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he sighed. He was sorry, he said. He had had a tough day at work. Sitting down next to me, he started eating as well. Maybe everything would be fine, Bradley was sorry and I would heal.
When supper was over, Bradley actually offered to do the dishes while I went to lie down. As I walked past the mirror, I was astonished to discover that I bearly recognized my own reflection. That other girl looked so sad, bruises beginning to form all over her body. I curled up on my side of our bed, tear leaking out of my eyes. Sure, Bradley had apologized, but would he do this to me again? Suddenly, a pain ripped through my lower stomach, starting from my back rippling around to the front. I gasped as I sat up, pushing the covers off of me. My hands went to my belly, somehow I instictively knew what was happening, and a small part of me was actually glad.
Mandie:
I crawled out of bed, standing carefully. I felt a warm liquid running down my legs. I reached down between my legs and when I pulled my fingers away, they were sticky with my own blood. I screamed for Bradley, and he came running into the room. He bacame enraged, telling me that I was so stupid, I couldn't even do this one thing right. I never opened my mouth, never said what I was really thinking, that this was all his fault anyway.
He took me to the hospital, warning me all the way not to tell where my burgeoning bruises had come from. Warning me not to get blood on his precious car. My baby was born that night. He was, unsurprisingly, stillborn. I got to hold him before he was taken from me. He was perfect from head to toe. So tiny that he fit into my hand, looking just like a doll. I kept telling everyone who asked that a topple down the stairs had caused both the bruises and the early termination of my pregnancy. Bradley was there the whole time, putting on a great show of actually caring for me. I got a pint of blood, and a night in the hospital. I was happy to know that I was safe, at least for one night. But I knew it wouldn't last, and indeed it didn't. I got released the next morning, straight into the hands of my loving husband.
We buried our son in the backyard. I couldn't stand the idea of having my tiny baby alone in the graveyard, so far from me. I wish now that I had put him in the graveyard. Maybe I would be able to take care of him as well. My parents came to his funeral, my mother trying to make me feel better. Afterwards, Bradley actually became meaner. As he put it, if it weren't for the pregnancy, he wouldn't have had to marry me. That, at least, let me know how he really felt about me. I always knew he didn't love me, it just wasn't until that moment that I realized how little I actually meant to him. I was so stupid, Bradley was right about that, but not for anything other than loving him.
Mandie:
Bradley slowly cut me off from my family and friends. So slowly that I never saw it happening. I began to think that no one actually cared for me except Bradley. To me, it seemed that he was only trying to teach me with his beatings. It became a part of my life. I learned very quickly how to avoid his rages, and also learned to protect my stomach when he did start kicking me. I wore long sleeves, and learned the art of covering most of my bruises with loads of makeup.
He still raped me, every night. You might say that since we were married, I can't claim that it was rape. If you were in my place, you would understand why I do. He hurt me, in fact I think that he liked to hear me scream. Every night, it was the same thing. Every night he would go out of his way to hurt me. Then, after it was over, he would take me in his arms to snuggle me while he went to sleep. I guess I grew used to it all. How sad that one person can become accustomed to so much pain.
The day I became an adult will stay in my mind forever. I had actually been looking forward to becoming an adult. I think that I hoped that perhaps I would be able to take better care of myself when I was bigger. Bradley was at work, while I celebrated by myself. I grew up quite nicely, if I do say so myself. Bradly came storming into the house, as was his routine. He yelled at me, to make sure I was making supper, then headed into the bathroom for a shower. I knew I had some time before he saw me in person, and I excitedly prepared supper. I smiled, imagining his surprize when he finally saw me. Maybe this would be the day he would finally love me. Despite everything, I did still love him. I was scared of him, but I did love him.
What dreams I had! I should have known better, and perhaps I did. My dreams were about to crumble around me. Bradley did stop when he saw me as he entered the kitchen. I smiled at him, reveling in his surprize, until he opened his mouth. He started to swear at me, his face beet red with anger. The smile left my face, my heart finally breaking into a million pieces. He beat me as he had never beaten me before, and I didn't even bother to protect myself. It was odd. It seemed like I was seperated from my body, watching him punch and kick me from afar. The pain didn't even set in until much, much later.
After he had taken most of his anger out on me, he pulled me to my feet. I thought that now he would apologise to me, and I would be able to get a hot bath, but he had other plans. He dragged me into the bedroom, swearing at me all the way. He threw me onto the bed, and climbed on top of me. There was a wild look in his eyes, a look I had never seen before, a look I was only ever going to see once again. He growled low in his throat, and told me that I had better still be good. He shoved himself between my legs, and I couldn't help thinking that I had never dreamed my birthday would be like this. Bradley inadvertantly gave me two gifts that night. He never touched me, sexually, again. That was also the night I concieved my baby.
Mandie:
Bradley did continue to beat me if I crossed him, but he never took me to his bed again. The next day, as I was trying to work some of the soreness out of my muscles, some contractors came to the house. They had an order from Bradley to build a tiny room off the kitchen. They finished quickly, and as I watched them leave, I was still feeling confused. When Bradley came home from work, he brought a single mattress with him. After tossing it into the new room, he informed me that this was my room from now on. He installed a lock on the outside of the door, and went to take a shower. I have to admit, I was nervous and scared, but I was to afraid of Bradley to ask any questions.
From that time on, whenever Bradley would tell me, I would go to my room, and Bradley would lock me in. I knew he was seeing other women, I could hear a feminine voice in the house. Almost every night, I had to listen to masculine grunts and feminine moans as I tried to sleep. I was too happy to be left alone. A part of me was sad, but he had already destroyed and dreams I had had of him ever loving me. My baby was born in that room. Whenever Bradley was "entertaining" I had to stay absolutely quiet. When the labor pains hit, I had to bite my lip to stifle the screams that welled up in my throat. It was so painful, but so worth it. She was so beautiful, my darling Genevieve. You will always be beautiful to me, my sweet baby. I love you always.
Gen was such a sweet baby. She hardley ever cried, and I was always able to stop her when she did. I enjoyed nursing her, watching her tiny mouth suckle my breast. I was the reason she was alive, and she was my reason for living. She slept on a blanket on my floor, quite happily I might add. Bradley was never interested in her, but I didn't mind. She was mine. The only thing he said as he looked at her, sleeping peacfully on her little blanket, was that he couldn't believe I was so stupid that I couldn't bring a boy into this world. I couldn't help remembering the sweet baby boy he had taken from me. I think that I was a good mother. I certainly tried to be. I just wish that I had been a better mother, and given her up for adoption. But no, I was selfish. I wanted to keep her, and now she lies here in her grave.
Genevieve and I celebrated her second birthday while Bradley was at work. I had been so excited for her to grow up. I looked forward to teaching her all the things that she needed to know, to sending her to school, to see her grow up and have children of her own. I vowed that I would protect her better than my parents had protected me. Bradley called me from work, a common enough circumstance, and told me that I had better be in my room when he arrived at home. I never even considered the problem of keeping a two year old quiet. It is much easier to keep an infant quiet and happy. Everything changes when you have a rambunctious toddler on your hands. I couldn't keep her quiet, no matter what I did! She didn't want to be stuck in that tiny room any more than I did, and she couldn't understand why she had to be.
When Bradley came home, I was trying to quiet her crying. Bradly came storming into the room, and demanded that I keep the brat quiet. He had important company coming, and he didn't want to spoil things now. I nodded, keeping my eyes downcast like the dutiful wife I was. I told him that I was trying. He left the room, and I was relieved. I wouldn't have been if I only knew what was in store for us. Just a few moments passed. Not nearly long enough to calm a crying child. Bradley came back into the room. He was strangly quiet when he looked at his sobbing daughter. He had that same look in his eyes. That look he had had the night I concieved Gen. My heart chilled knowing that trouble was brewing. He told me that if I couldn't keep her quiet, then he would. He moved so quickly, I had no time to stop him. He brought out a knife he had in his hand and slit my baby's throat. For a brief moment I watched my daughter's blood flowing over the floor, staining the wood forever. That was the last straw. I erupted, screaming and kicking Bradley with all the strength I had. He had an oddly amused look on his face as he stabbed me three times, the last one slashing my voice box. He left me there, in a puddle of mingling blood. He clicked the lock and walked away.
Death came slowly. I pulled my baby into my arms, crying silently as I realized that she was already dead. I put her on her blanket, not wanting her to be left on the cold floor. I'm so sorry that I was unable to protect you, baby. I was weakening, and I found myself unable to even roll onto my mattress. My last memory is of angry voices arguing, then a gunshot. I wondered who else Bradley had killed as the last of my life slipped away from me.
Navigation
[0] Message Index
[#] Next page