Jinkies!: The Velma Dinkley Chronicles (part 3 of ?)

You don’t know yourself anymore once everyone’s gone. They take you with them, leaving behind a shell, just skin and bones and fat and no substance, no mind. Without Daphne and Fred and Shaggy I was nothing. I felt nothing. It’s like sleep walking. I could have died at any time and cracked this empty shell and…what? Been free? Maybe it’s just nothing. Machine breaks, nothing. Empty. Dead bug, kick it aside. I did my work, I went home, I sat and smoked and I didn’t think about anything. Not about the past. Not about the future. My mind felt so blank, so empty. So useless. I felt so useless. I ate when it was convenient. I stared at pornography on the television. I didn‘t even get pleasure from it. Nothing. I just watched this not-Daphne go down on not-Shaggy while someone who is not me spreads her legs so that not-Scooby can take care of the precisely placed peanut butter. Not-me rubs her own breasts, raising her pelvis. “That’s a good boy, Scooby.” Shortly after not-me will have her orgasm, shrieking “Aaah, ahh, oh! Jinkies!” Clever.

I felt sick after watching them, sometimes. But not as much as I should have, all things considered. Really, they’re just.. memories that never were. When I watched not-Daphne saunter away from not-Shaggy and wrap her hands over not-my breasts, I got chills. When she takes a rag and wipes away the remains of the peanut butter from not-my vagina, I felt it as though it WERE mine. That not-Daphne was doing it to me. That Daphne was cleaning me so carefully before kissing down my body, between my chest and down, down to my suspiciously shaved pubic area where Daphne would suck on my clitoris, elegantly painted fingernails sliding against soft walls, warm and wet and those fingers press just the right place, making me sigh and clutch bed sheets I’d never seen before. Her other hand carefully, teasingly, pinches a nipple. I moan, back arching as fingers press against sensitive akin. It’s too much, and the person who is not me comes, using her catch phrase once again. “Oh, oh god oh god oh JINKIES!” I make tea and rewind the VHS.

I turn the television off and sit in the dark. The brown easy chair has horrible back support. It was cheap, which made sense because it came with the apartment and the apartment was cheap. I need to wash my hands, so I do, and on the way I decide to get out. The air will clear things. Make it better. Coat, keys, wallet and door and I’m walking down a street I still don’t know. It’s late. It seems dangerous. Maybe I’ll take a subway to somewhere.. different. To see water maybe. Someplace different. Someplace nice. The streets are dark and mostly empty. A few couples walking, a man on his own. The station is even more empty. Down the stairs, sit on a bench, wait. What am I doing? I hear noise, someone walking, looking for change? I pull myself closer, hoping to attract little attention. Whoever it is comes closer. They walk closer, and then they run. To me. “Velma?” I look up. “Shaggy?” I’m suddenly terrified of this man. This is not my Shaggy. This is the not-Shaggy, thin and scarred and carrying garbage with a face gaunt and pock-marked and unwashed and aged years and years and years. “Velma!” He drops his bags and holds me. He’s filthy. He smells like rotting food and garbage cans. I manage to push him off and force a smile. “I’ll be back. I.. need to use the bathroom.” He nods and moves his bags under the bench with a foot, sitting and waiting with eager eyes and the childish smile I remember on a face so wrong.

I shakily ran into the woman’s lavatory. I felt sick. What was this? What is so wrong with this? Water. I was looking for water. I’ll splash it on my face. I bend down, thin hands grab my arms. Struggling. “Velma, why did you run away?” I stop. “Why did you leave me alone?” He didn‘t mean now. “I..I thought you’d go with Fred.. you two were close-””BULLSHIT.” He pushes me and I hit the floor, scrambling back against the wall, heels scraping against the damp restroom tiles. “He hated all of us, but he hated me most, and you knew that.” He was right. “So you left me alone. Do you know how scared I was? M-my..my best friend.. they killed Scooby! Because he was rabid! Bullshit!” He kicks at the bottom of a sink, “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!“ A deep breath and he looks at me. “Everyone was gone..I had nothing..I did..I found ways to be happy..I wanted to forget, so..I did what I had to do, what they told me would help, but it didn’t!” He sobbed down to his knees, shaking.

I could get up, I could run past him, find someone, anyone, but I can’t move my feet. I’m terrified. He’s calm suddenly, and so quiet, and rises, and wraps his bony hands on my shoulders. I close my eyes while he pulls me up against the wall. I bite back all the noises, the sounds trying to escape. I fight it all. His pants are down and I wish I was dead. I wish I was someplace else. Filthy fingers are under my skirt, pulling down underwear. I’m not here. This isn’t me. This is not-Velma. Not-Shaggy is fucking not-Velma, because real-Shaggy would never touch me. It isn’t me, and that’s not him. Somewhere, Shaggy is smoking a joint and petting his new puppy, wondering what happened to the old team. He lives by the beach where it’s warm and the food is always available. Not-Shaggy slams not-me’s head against the wall, screams at her. She’s not listening, just shutting down, body limp as not-Shaggy abuses it. He fucks her and hits her and makes her cry. He pulls out and blows his load on the front of her skirt. He kicks her and spits and leaves. Not-me doesn’t move. She doesn’t have to, because she’s just a doll. The doll was used and now someone will come and clean it up, clean up the blood on the floor. Someone like the pretty Indian woman who ran into the room and screamed and ran out and called the police. The pretty Indian woman is scared, but she came back and sits by the doll. She lifts the doll’s head and she rocks back and forth, even though not-me doesn’t respond, just stares. Not-me is just as numb as I am. She doesn’t think or speak because she’s just a doll. Just a shell. What does this woman expect? She has pretty eyes, dark and deep and full of tears like oceans. The men come and carry not-me to the ambulance. She stays with the doll, and I watch them. I watch them until I am too tired and I fall asleep.