Trust Me (63 page)
I
tried
to
get
him
to
stop,
but
he
was
crazed; he
just
kept
hitting
him,
over
and
over.
I
saw
the
blood
in
the
snow
and
even
as
big
as
Buddy
was,
I
knew
he
wasn’t
strong
enough
to
withstand
the
brute
strength
of
my
father’s
anger
for
long.
I
ran
to
his
house
and
pounded
on
the
door,
screaming
for
Buddy’s
father
to
come
help.
His
older
brothers
were
home
for
the
holiday,
and
they
all
came
running,
along
with
his
mother
and
sisters.
By
the
time
we
got
back
to
the
barn,
Buddy
was
lying
unconscious
in
the
snow,
my
father
standing
over
him
with
the
bloody
reigns,
panting
like
a
bear.
Buddy’s
father
and
brother
#1
laid
into
my
father,
beating
him
with
their
fists
as
Buddy’s
mother,
sisters
and
#2
went
to
Buddy’s
aid.
Buddy’s
back
and
arms
were
shredded
like
raw
meat; the
snow
beneath
him
was
soaked
red,
and
I
felt
the
grip
of
terror
as
I
looked
at
him.
I
thought
he
was
dead,
and
I
knew
it
was
my
fault.
Buddy
had
been
my
friend
more
than
he
had
been
my
lover,
and
I
had
caused
this
to
happen.
Buddy’s
mother
yelled
at
his
father
and
he
and
#1
left
my
father,
beaten
in
the
snow
and
helped
carry
Buddy
home.
I
just
stood
there.
On
one
side
of
me
my
father,
beaten
and
bleeding,
but
conscious
and
staggering
into
the
house,
on
the
other
side
my
best
friend
in
the
whole
world
was
being
carried
away,
his
blood
trailing
red
in
the
snow
behind
him
as
his
father
and
brothers
carefully
took
him
home.
I
sat
down
in
the
snow,
the
events
tearing
at
my
heart
and
soul,
and
I
just
sat
there
sobbing
like
a
lost
child.
I
didn’t
know
what
to
do.
I
didn’t
want
to
go
in
the
house,
but
I
couldn’t
go
to
Buddy’s
house.
I
felt
unwanted
and
alone
as
I
never
had
before.
I
finally
entered
my
house
around
midnight
to
find
my
father
unconscious
on
the
sofa,
an
empty
bottle
of
gin
on
the
floor
beside
him.
I
had
watched
from
the
barn
as
an
ambulance
arrived
at
Buddy’s
house,
and
the
paramedics
wheeled
his
unconscious
body
out on a stretcher.
I
stood
there
as
all
the
lights
in
Buddy’s
house
went
out
and
one
by
one
the
family
filed
in
their
car
and
left.
I
went
to
my
room,
packed
my
clothes
and
called
my
great
aunt
who
lived
in
Paris.
I
found
myself
crying
hysterically
on
the
phone
and
begged
her
to
let
me
come
live
with
her.
I
had
to
get
away
from
my
father,
the
neighborhood…Buddy.
I
couldn’t
bear
to
hear
that
he
had
been
killed
because
of
me.
I
had
money
saved
up
from
my
birthdays
and
Christmases,
and
since
my
father
never
let
me
shop
or
go
to
town
without
him; it
was
nearly
a
thousand
pounds.
I
left
my
father
a
note
and
walked
the
ten
kilometers
to
Northallerton,
where
I
caught
a
bus
into
London.
From
there
I
boarded
the
train
that
took
me
to
Paris.
I
learned
through
letters
from
my
father
that
Buddy
had
survived
though
it
took
him
the
rest
of
the
school
year
to
do
it.
My
great-aunt
enrolled
me
in
a
very
exclusive
finishing
school
outside
Paris,
where
I
remained
for
two
years.
When
I
left
school,
I
had
graduated
with
much
more
than
my
certificate.
I
had
made
friends
with
four
girls
there,
who
taught
me
how
a
woman
liked
to
be
pleased.
I
also
discovered
that
the
touch
of
a
woman
was
much
more
stimulating
to
me,
than
that
of
a
man.
It
was
a
very
productive
and
educational
two
years.
I
learned
all
about
sex
toys,
better
termed
marital
aids; I
learned
the
darker
side
of
sex
through
bondage
and
BDSM.
I
discovered
exactly
how
to
control
a
woman
in
order
to
make
her
experience
a
deeper
orgasm,
and
I
realized
that
I
wanted
to
teach
the
world
what
I
knew.
Buddy
was
never
far
from
my
mind,
however.
I
wanted
to
know
how
he
was
doing,
if
he
had
forgiven
me
for
what
happened.
I
hoped
that
if
I
could
find
him
that
perhaps
I
could
teach
him
what
I
had
learned.
I
knew
there
would
never
again
be
anything
more
than
friendship
between
us,
but
I
could
help
him
so
when
he
found
a
woman
in
whom
he
wished
to
share
his
life,
he
would
be
able
to
keep
her
pleased,
so
she
would
never
stray.
