Victim Mindy By DLBARGRILL
Anywhere along the line, if I had made another decision, I could have avoided what happened. I was naïve. I was stupid.
I also didn’t have that great a social life. That was why Mindy was in my apartment.
Mindy and I had been friends for a long time, ever since we worked together. I had long since left the company, but our friendship remained. We never dated, not because I didn’t want to, but because Mindy was out of my league. She was beautiful, smart, and successful. She dated men more handsome and richer than I was. They also treated her badly. One boyfriend hit her, another would yell at her constantly, and a third cheated on her repeatedly.
Each time Mindy would make excuses for her boyfriend, explaining, “He ‘s really a great guy most of the time”, “He had a bad day” or “It was just a one night stand. He really loves me.” Despite the advice of her friends, she never broke up with any of them. Her relationships broke up when the boyfriend dumped her.
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I never understood why she ended up with jerks or why she couldn’t see how badly they treated her. She was a tough, no-nonsense manager at work who didn’t let anyone get anything on her. Why was she just the opposite in her relationships? Why couldn’t she find a nice guy who treated her well, someone like me?
I didn’t understand the abused, masochistic mind. I didn’t know how her family destroyed her self-esteem to make her into a person who felt she was worthless and lucky to have anyone. I thought she just had poor luck with men. I wish I had known all this before tonight.
This time it was Roger. They had been living together for 8 months when earlier that evening Roger proclaimed he was tired of her, he’d found someone new, and she was moving out. Immediately. Mindy called several friends, but it was a Friday night, and the only one who was in, was I. Of course she could come over. Of course she could stay awhile. Of course she could have my bedroom. She insisted she would take the couch.
We drank the bottle of Tequila I had. I didn’t want to, but Mindy insisted. If I had had 2 bottles, we probably would have consumed both. She cried, wondering what she did wrong. I assured her it was him, not her, but she still alternated with wanting to go back to him and never wanting anything to do with him. I comforted her and drank with her.
The entire time, I couldn’t stop thinking how beautiful she was and that this was my opportunity. I wouldn’t do anything though. This wasn’t the time. Her creamy smooth skin, her supple breasts and dark eyes, overwhelmed me.
The one thing I didn’t like was her hair. Most of the time I don’t really care about hair. I’ve liked short hair on some women, long on others, but usually I don’t care either way. Mindy’s hair was awful. When we first met, her hair was an incredible shoulder-length style that really brought out her face. Since then, she’d let her hair grow a little longer, but it still looked good.
She dated Roger around a year and a half and he wouldn’t let her cut her hair. He wanted it as long as possible and now it was down to her waist. Sort of. Parts of it were. Her hair was different lengths with more split ends than she could count. She wanted to get it cut, and pleaded with Roger to just trim an inch or two. He said no. I have no idea why he couldn’t see how bad it looked, how it made her look plain, and weighed down her petite 5 foot 2 inch frame.
As much as I tried to get her to stop drinking, Mindy wouldn’t. Her speech became slurred, but she resisted the idea of sacking out in the bedroom. Fairly soon it didn’t matter. She sacked out in the chair. I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I carry her to the bedroom? She might be too heavy for me to lift. She probably weighed 110 pounds, but I had no idea how to lift her.
I sat her up on the chair and her hair fell over the back of the chair. I saw how awful I thought it looked and an idea occurred to me. Now I’m not sure of the wisdom of the idea, but I was drunk then. I took my hairbrush and brushed her hair. The split ends and uneven lengths showed. I couldn’t stand how ugly it looked and got my scissors. I tried to neatly cut the hair straight about 3 to 5 inches to the top of her hips.
I stepped back to admire my handiwork. She had moved, so it didn’t come out that even. Regardless, it looked better. Just then, Mindy’s head bobbed forward with all of her hair flying in her face. I thought that was terrible. Mindy’s hair was always getting in her face. I combed all her hair in front of her face and started cutting bangs just below her eyebrows. I paused halfway.
This was fun.
Until Mindy woke up. “Huh? What are you doing?”
That’s when it dawned on me that I was doing this for me and she might not be happy. “What?”
One of her eyes was covered with her long hair, while the other was free. She was an odd sight and she knew it. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I tried to think quickly, but the alcohol was in my system. “What we talked about. Cutting your hair.”
“We didn’t talk about this. I don’t want my hair cut.”
“Sure you do,” I bluffed. “Remember how you were saying Roger wouldn’t let you cut your hair and you wanted to get it cut.”
She tried to think. “Yeah. A while ago. Not tonight.”
“Sure you did.”
There was anger in her voice when she said, “Why would I have you cut my hair?”
Reasoning with her wasn’t going to work. I didn’t know what to do. Then I did something I’d seen Roger do. “Mindy, I don’t want to hear another fucking word out of you! We are finishing this haircut now!”
Mindy was dumbfounded. “I… I…”
“What did I say? THE ONLY WORDS I WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU ARE ‘YES, BILLY.'”
She looked at me, then lowered her head and meekly replied, “Yes, Billy.”
I had never seen her so timid. When we worked together she’d always been so forceful, so sure of herself. She was a no-nonsense manager who didn’t take any insubordination. I told her to sit still or the cut would be uneven. She didn’t move as I finished with her bangs. They were a little harsh, a little too boxy, but I thought they were cute. “Now to finish the back. Head down.”
She quickly complied, putting her chin to her chest. Now I had to decide what to do with the length. I must admit I was not only drunk on Tequila, but also now drunk on power. I could do anything I wanted. I decided to cut her hair up to her shoulders. That was how I remembered her hair looking best. I cut straight across in the back, severing nearly 2 feet of hair. Since I didn’t have the right scissors, I had to pause twice to clean the hair off the blades. A huge amount of hair fell to the floor. I picked it up as best I could and put the hair on the kitchen table. Mindy looked up to see the hair and gasped.
“I didn’t say you could look up,” I scolded her.
She averted her eyes from me and looked down, “Yes, Billy.”
I picked her head up myself and decided to cut layers into her hair. I’m not sure why I thought of this or why I thought I was capable of this, but I picked up long locks of hair one by one and cut an inch, two inches, even six or eight inches off the ends. This was a time-consuming process, at least to me. It must have taken ten minutes of lifting and snipping. I suppose a hairdresser might take much longer.
Once I finished, I had Mindy put her head up straight and I admired my work. It wasn’t the best haircut I’d ever seen, but Mindy looked much better. Her boxy bangs brought out her eyes much better. The shoulder-length do didn’t weigh her down. I liked it.
“I want you to sleep now on the couch.” She got up and lay down on the couch. By the time I fetched a pillow and blanket for her, she was asleep.
When I awoke the next morning, Mindy was gone. The only thing left to remind me of the previous evening was Mindy’s hair on the floor and the table. I remembered everything that happened, everything I did, but it seemed like a hazy dream. The hair confirmed it happened. I thought about how I’d apologize for my actions, how I’d explain that I was drunk.
It turned out I didn’t have to. When I returned from my Saturday volunteer work at the homeless shelter – see, I’m not such a bad guy – Mindy was in my apartment and so were all her things. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought some of my stuff,” she told me deferentially. “I made you dinner, cleaned the bathroom, and did your laundry.”
With that, Mindy and I were together. At work, she didn’t change, according to a mutual friend. When we were together, Mindy was obsequious and meek. She did everything she could to please me and I enjoyed having a beautiful woman whose world revolved entirely around me.
When I treated her well, she grew bored of me and talked about ending our relationship. She didn’t say that was why, but she didn’t have to say it. It was obvious. So I treated her harshly. I made rules for her life, rationed her money, and punished her when she disobeyed. I saw how I was acting; the way I was changing was wrong, but rationalized that being treated this way was what Mindy wanted, what made her happy. She didn’t understand being treated any differently.
I didn’t realize she needed therapy that her father had made her feel like less than nothing. She sought out men who regarded her as she felt she deserved to be regarded. She deserved punishment. And I gave her that.
Mindy came home late one night, apparently work on a project had kept her an extra three hours. She hadn’t called and I was on my own for dinner. I knew Mindy expected to be punished for an act like this and in my new mindset I was happy to comply. “You know you have to be punished for coming home late, for not cooking for me.”
“Yes,” she said. “You have to punish me.”
“I’ve been a bad girl.”
“You know I don’t want to, but there’s no other choice.”
“I know. I deserve to be punished.”
“You like your hair, don’t you?”
She ran her hair through her thick ponytail. “Yes. I love my hair.”
“If you spent less time with it in the morning, you’d get to work earlier, and you wouldn’t be late coming home.”
She nodded vigorously.
“So do I,” I answered. “So you know I take no pleasure in what I’m about to do. I want you to get a hairbrush and sit naked on that chair.”
Expressionless she complied. Nude, she reached up to her ponytail holder to undo it. I put my hand on hers and brought it down to her side. I took the ponytail in my left hand and the scissors in my right and cut the ponytail off in swift fashion. I had no idea how Mindy felt. There was no change in her expression as I left only a short stubby bit of hair on the other side of the ponytail.
I nodded to her and she removed the clip. Her hair was in an ugly jagged condition somewhere between her ears and cheek. I lifted the hair on the side with my comb and carefully cut around her ear. I created short sideburns and continued cutting so that the hair was less than an inch long. I repeated the cut on the other side and admired my work. I was getting good at this.
I casually cut the back in a sort of layered fashion so that it too was less than an inch long. To finish the job, I trimmed the bangs up to mid-forehead. I then cut some shorter than that, so that her hair would have an uneven feel. Mindy was cute now, but no longer sexy. She didn’t say a word, however, throughout the entire cut.
“May I get up now?”
She got up and looked away from me. I didn’t like that. “Kiss me. Show me how much you love me. ”
She turned to me and gave me a long passionate kiss. “I’ll be a good girl now.”
And she was. For a few days. Then when we were out at a movie theater and she insisted on seeing a different movie than I did. That’s when I crossed the line. I now realize I crossed the line long before then. I hit her for the first time. And the last time. I had become every other boyfriend she ever had. I was now a sadistic person who mistreated women.
And I was now in jail. Waiting for Nick to bail me out. I’m going to stay with him for a while. I can’t go back to Mindy. I now see the person I became when I was with her and I don’t like him. She needs psychological help and so do I. I got everything I wanted with Mindy. And it destroyed me.