SECOND CHANCE

I have a masters in psychology and an advanced diploma in forensic behavioral science so it was easy to tell he wasn’t lying; but dammit, his story was so farfetched yet believable so, I was too scared to classify it as true or otherwise.

He was born a confident child with good social standing and was raised as an extremely outgoing child but as his early years rolled by, his self esteem took a bit of a beating: sexually abused by an aunt at 5, molested by an uncle at 8, kicked out of a home at 13 after his dad drove his mum to a level where she had to be institutionalized and then at 15, was introduced to porn and masturbation. He had friends but couldn’t confide in any of them as he met practically all of them in church and the one time he tried, 24hrs later, he was summoned by the priest for a counseling, more like condemnation, session.

With every girl he met that he liked, that little, nagging, persistent voice of condemnation voice in his head would pop up in laughter giving him all the reasons why “he was no good” and why she wouldn’t accept him. He ended up in the only place where he was sure that this wouldn’t happen. He was well known in the brothel and they all knew Jennifer was his favorite. She had beautiful supple and firm breasts, not quite an hour glass shape as her hips were subtle but significant, long acrylic nails, full botox-type lips, silk eyelashes that would turn Kings to begging invalids, permanent waist length braids and hazel eyes and what he loved most about her was her strong, glittering, ebony complexion. With all this, she wasn’t the most sexy, she wasn’t even very pretty but she understood him, she understood his needs: she understood that he was so scared of being mocked that he’d pay just to hold her through the night. She satisfied his inner hunger, his inner pain, his inner void. She calmed his shame.

He had picked Jennifer up at least every week for about 2years and they had become friends, you’d even think perhaps, lovers, but they had never actually had sex.

Jennifer, in her mind, was teaching him to be a man and to a large degree, indeed she was. He struggled to let go of the abused child in him but somehow, Jennifer was able to put that child to peaceful sleep.

Beau was a man of means, comfortable and young so one day, he wanted to do something significant for Jennifer and he promised to take her out of the world she lived, out of the brothel and give her a life of dignity. He offered her freedom….but after he went back, somehow, she was gone; he never saw her again.

Beau mourned.

But Beau’s story isn’t about Jennifer. It’s about Baebee, his wife. They had been married a few months and Baebee wasn’t like the other girls he knew; he could never really place what the difference was, but in more ways than one, she intrigued him.

You see, Baebee was a slush fund kid who detested work and would often laze around in bed till noon before resuming in dad’s company as Director of Admin. She went to work every other day.

Unlike Jennifer, Baebee didn’t understand him nor his needs and over their short marriage, their relationship had broken down to, at best, co-tenants in a rather large house: oh, don’t forget, Beau was a very successful man in society.

When they met, Baebee was lively and though she hadn’t changed, Beau now thought her loud; he met, liked and married an outspoken woman but in his ears, she had become critical, condescending and aggressive; the go-getter spirit he loved had morphed into an impatient demon.

He really never could tell which of the two of them changed…or perhaps, they both did. Sometimes he longed to see himself through Baebee’s eyes, but those eyes didn’t seem to see nor regard him anymore.

Their life together was very triangular: Home, work, bed. In between, slipping in a conversation would have meant interrupting a soap, a tweet, a football match or an urgent presentation preparation. They were strangers. Cordial, but strangers still.

Beau would often come back late, retire into their dark room because Baebee permanently had migraines and couldn’t stand light. Baebee would be asleep, as usual, but he’d still hold her, cuddle her and tell her a little about his day. She’d often respond with a grunt and go back to sleep. Once in a while, she’d oblige sex and lie on her belly while Beau dispassionately humped away.

2-3 days could go by while sleeping in the same bed, not see each other’s faces; this was their routine!!

Remember Jennifer? She had invested quite a bit in her trade and nothing about her was real…not the eyes nor the lashes; not the breast nor the hips, not the lips nor the teeth; not the hair. She was a walking, talking creation of a factory…multiple factories actually.

So, a week ago, Baebee must’ve played a prank on Beau. She probably thought it’d be funny. She probably thought it’d spice and reinvigorate their relationship. She must’ve slipped out of bed and in her place, left a life size, 5ft8 sex-doll with firm breasts, like Jenny’s; long hair, like Jenny’s; full lips, long nails, glowing ebony skin….Baebe unwittingly resurrected Jennifer.

But Baebe didn’t even know of Jennifer.

So, Beau sitting in front of me and telling me his life history and trying desperately to string the dots as to how he got here, told me he woke that fateful day, kissed Baebee on the cheek (he thought it was Baebee) and left for work. Came back and there was no air of aggression nor condemnation. Baebee was quiet and lying on her stomach: Beau thought it an invitation but actually, he was a bit horny and anything would have seemed like an invitation. Sex this time was great, though physically, she was her characteristic unresponsive self, this time Beau could swear he heard Baebee moan silently.

Beau had spent the last few days out of the house at a retreat and was “testing” Baebee to see if she cared enough to notice and call. She didn’t. But you see, he didn’t find it odd, they had previously gone days without the need to speak to each other.

So, when Baebee was found dead and had been dead for about a week, Beau was called but he swore he left her in bed that morning.

I had been assigned the case and so from Beau’s office, he took us home to convince us we were mistaken. So we went home and he confidently walked into his bedroom.

And yes, just like he said, Baebee was in bed, lying on her tummy, but Baebee was not Baebee…Baebee was more of Jennifer…Baebee was a sex doll today.

His confusion look could easily be mistaken for indifference and indeed, it was. His silence, we thought, was that of a man caught red-handed cooking up a quick lie; but it was Beau too bewildered to utter a word.

It’s been 3years now since I became friends with Beau. Yes, from his investigating officer, we became friends because I alone believed him. Well, let me correct that: No I didn’t believe him, I just knew he wasn’t’ lying!!

Today our friendship ended and he had made me promise to tell his story today. He wanted his story to, perhaps, help all the young ones like him who live in denial , who live in pain, who live in love-less marriages, who let childhood abuse destroy their spirits, whose confidence is so shattered that they merely exist and don’t live, who deny themselves happiness because they think it would hurt their partners, who have sworn that instead of forgive or make amends, they’d rather die.

He knew he couldn’t turn back the hands of time so he asked me to tell his story so that he can live through the lives of all those who, because of him, swallow their pride and fix their homes.

Beau’s ego was large and he had once told a friend, “I’d rather die than stoop so low to beg her”….today, he got his wish, not quite how he thought though.

In the centre court of the maximum-security prison, Beau was hanged today.