Dirty Disaster

by Addison Moore

  “Move it along.” I shoot a barbed look her way. “Move it or I’ll arrange to have those long raven locks chopped off at the ears when you’re passed out drunk on my couch later.”

  Mer gasps. “My God, you’re a monster.”

  I cut my eyes her way. “Isn’t that the wandering wife calling the kettle a beast in her own home?”

  “All right, ladies.” Raven dares to tap me with her prehensile toes. “Keep it clean. Lex, if you’re not going to kiss him, he gets to ask you a question and you have to answer it no matter what.”

  “Of course, I do,” I muse. “Who am I to protest the sacred rules of middle school games.” I channel all of my rage over at Axel and those pale gray eyes that keep vying for my attention like some annoying siren. Yes, Axel is drop-dead gorgeous. Yes, my pink parts have morphed into the wild rivers since he’s set foot in the house tonight, and yes, I still blush if I look at him too long, but as for now, rage is the emotion of choice, and I plan to wear it well. “Ask me anything. I dare you.”

  The room grows eerily silent. Raven turns down the music via her phone, and even the chanting of the protesters outside fades a notch.

  Axel’s affect melts down to something just this side of serious. Gone is that obnoxious know-it-all grin, replaced with the timidity and ferocity of anger mingled with pain. Pain is a perfect emotion for Axel to feel. He should marinate in it until his bones and organs dissolve from the grief of losing me. I bet he’s going to ask if I still pine for him. I bet he’s going to try to invoke the tragic breakup card and dig up a skeleton or two about those crazy hazy days just after we ripped apart from one another. He still feels pain, and deep down he wants me to feel it, too. I know he does.

  He tips his chin back enough. Smug move on his part. “When was the last time you slept with anyone?”

  My heart stops beating and glares at him right along with the rest of me. Of all the mother-loving questions. The audacity. The pig-headed ego of it all.

  Mer flicks a finger in the air. “Anyone? You mean she swings both ways? I thought you were smelling my hair.” Now it’s her glowering at me, and it’s almost comical.

  I hold up a hand in her direction, not even quantifying it with a reply. Instead, my eyes are dead set on Axel’s, so very laser-focused on my ex even Strudel starts in on a low-lying growl as if he senses a disturbance in the force. Good boy. Now bite his balls off and I’ll take you to the dog park and let you hump the living daylights out of that Springer Spaniel you’ve had your eye on with the long thick lashes.

  “How very crass of you,” I growl out the words, and Low sucks in a breath because she obviously senses imminent danger. “How very tasteless.” I bite the air with my words. “So you want an answer—an accounting of my vaginal wanderings.” His eyes round out showing his discomfort. As much as Axel tries to pass himself off as an everyman, he’s an aristocratic snob through and through. I’m sure having his ex tout the word vagina in front of his high-brow legal eagle friends is appalling to him on some level. Come to think of it, there are enough lawyers in this room that should a Molotov cocktail come crashing through the window, it would be doing a public service for delousing the world of four of them.

  “I give.” I toss up my hands, and just as I’m about to spout off some random number, offer up some random name with enough random facts about an entire string of fictitious nights, I can’t seem to do it. Instead, my gaze remains sealed over his. “There was just you.” I try to swallow the truth back down, but it’s impossible. A part of me is hoping that the truth will sting far greater than a lie, but I can already feel this won’t be the case. “The last time I slept with someone was with you—your apartment just after Halloween, exactly six years ago. It was as you suggested, a memorable night.”

  The room stiffens as the air grows stale. The thick scent of tequila flirts with my senses, but I’m too paralyzed to move, think, or breathe. Axel’s wide-eyed reciprocation of what I’ve just uttered has him frozen, stone-faced as if it were all too difficult to take in. As if he didn’t want any part of the truth. Maybe the truth was the best route after all.

  Mer expels a cross between a groan and a belch. “I call bullshit. I saw the way you tackled Levi. Trust me, honey, you’re no novice. Moves like that are honed over time, not some distant memory from over half a decade ago.”

  Levi shakes his head. “I think it’s real. Is it real, Lex?” he says it soft as if talking me down off a sexual ledge. The concern for me on the faces of those around me is almost comical. It’s as if the idea of not committing coitus with another person for six long years was something akin to a felony.

  I press my lips tight as I look to Ax. “It’s real.” A thousand different emotions run through me all at once, embarrassment, anger, resentment because I know he can’t say the same, but the most surprising of them all is relief. It’s as if I’ve lanced a wound and let the pus gush out between us. If anyone should see all the ugly parts of me, it’s him.

  Mer huffs as if we personally offended her. “So, you think you’ll hit that mattress with Axel again?”

  “No.” I don’t let a beat go by without answering. That’s how sure I am. But I never take my eyes off his. “We’re over and done. We crashed and burned with the best of them. We were a disaster.”

  The muscles in Axel’s jaw pop in silent protest to my words. He knows I’m right, though. That’s why he’s not contesting it.

  Raven unscrews the lid on that bottle and takes a quick swig. “How about we open some gifts?”

  After everyone slowly gets back to an upright position and the coffee table is moved into place, the room breaks out into hushed conversations as Raven gets the music going again. Everyone is paired off in twos and threes, and it’s just Axel and me staring at one another from across the room as if we’re about to have a showdown at high noon. Believe you me, if there was a weapon in the house that required gunpowder, I would have lunged for it by now.

  Raven herds us all onto the sofas with Levi and Low sitting on the hearth to my left. Strudel sits dutifully at their feet as if vying for front row seats.

  Raven plucks at the tag attached to a white gift bag. “First gift of the night is from Brody Wolf.” She nods to him, amused. “Let’s see what Animal thinks is an appropriate engagement gift.”

  Low plucks it from her and pulls out a beautiful silver frame with the words Our Wedding inscribed across the top.

  “Well done,” I muse. “A frame is a perfect gift for the happy couple.” I’m quick to laud him for his accomplishments because it was Brody who made up my first week’s schedule for me, thus issuing me all the juicy hours. I garnered so much green by the end of the week, I felt as if I was robbing the patrons at gunpoint.

  “Next gift”—Raven reads the tag off another gift bag—“is from me.” Her cheeks pinch with color, and she bites down over that cherry lip of hers with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Enjoy!” She practically shoves it at the poor couple.

  Low plucks a bunch of tissue paper out of the bag and shakes her head. “I don’t get it. There’s nothing in here.” She turns the bag upside down, and sure enough, it’s empty. Air from an airhead. Sounds perfectly appropriate.

  “It must be there.” Raven gives the tissue paper on the floor a quick tug and out rolls a bright pink, thick, slightly curved rubber stick of some sort, and both Mer and Low gasp with delight.

  Strudel wastes no time in making a beeline for the shiny pink plastic toy and takes a bite right out of the center of it. And just like that, the hideous thing gyrates to life, violently whipping back and forth as if it had a mind of its own. The room breaks out into hysterics as poor Strudel barks up a storm, but the tiny pink jumping bean dances across the rug and lands between my feet, beating them both in turn. Neither Nannette nor I are amused.

  Raven howls with laughter as if she belongs in an insane asylum. Low turns red as a lobster as she laughs and points.

  Mer harks out something that sounds more like a
sandblaster turning on and off in spurts in lieu of a laugh. “It looks like that dildo has a foot fetish!”

  “The what?” I squawk so loud the room erupts an entire notch louder with its riotous laughter. I’ve heard of dildos before, but I’ve never seen one live and in person—and for the love of all things holy, why is it breakdancing over my Manolos? And son of a monkey on fire, Nannette is being sexually defiled!

  I pull my feet up on the sofa as if an entire cage full of live rats were just set loose.

  “Oh God!” I scream, hopping onto the couch, swatting at it with a throw pillow. “Kill it with fire! Kill it with fire!” I knock over a glass of someone’s chardonnay and let out a howl of my own as I watch the ink splat sink into my beloved silk rug. Not Nannette! A blood-curdling scream escapes me as I summon the courage and stomp the ever-living crap out of the dancing dick that’s set my every last nerve on fire. Finally, I manage to trap it under my heel, and it throbs a slow and vibratory death until Raven yanks it from me and turns it off.

  “Enough!” a male voice thunders from the side, and I turn to find Axel standing there with his hands cutting the air as if he were an umpire. “The party’s over. I think it’s time we call it a night.”

  Raven clicks her tongue in protest. “But what about the penis cake?”

  Both Levi and Chip groan at their naïve, dirty little sister at the thought of the inappropriate confection.

  Levi pulls Low to her feet. “There’s no way in hell you’re shoving that down our throats.”

  Chip is quick to hug Low goodnight. “He’s right. It was fun. We’ll have to do this again, sans the tequila and blowup dicks.”

  The room clears out in a hurry with Raven buried in the kitchen doing who knows what to that crude appendage sticking out of the not-so innocent cake. And I don’t even want to know where one would procure such a treasure.

  Axel lingers at the door, glaring at me as if I owed him money.

  “If you’re gunning for affection, there might be a protester or two willing to whack you over the head with their signs.” I step forward and peer past him, but there’s not evidence of a single soul out there. It seems even Stumpy has called it quits for the night.

  He leans in, and the heat from his chest warms mine. “Hey”—he says it sweetly as if summoning me to look at him and I do—“about what you said—”

  “No need to put yourself on the altar. The last penile sword I’ll be falling on will be yours. Besides, I have a new friend who’s dying to get to know me better.” I glance to the broken dildo lying limp on the floor.

  He gives a hard frown. “I wouldn’t touch that thing. Your dog had his mouth on it.”

  “As did he you.” I offer him a firm shove out the door, and my palm lays flat over his rock-hard abs a moment too long. My God, what is he doing in his spare time? Lifting buildings off their foundation?

  “Touché.” He offers a rumble of a laugh as his eyes remain pinned to mine. “You always did have a way with words.”

  “And you’ve always had a way with tramps. Be gone.” I’m about to shut the door on his face, but he wedges his shoe in the threshold before I get the chance.

  His gaze is unmovable, and as much as my head screams look away, my eyes can’t seem to obey. He shakes his head ever so slightly. “That’s not what happened.”

  “It happened. It happened over and over and over again.” I kick his shoe so hard it nearly sends him flying from the porch, and I manage to slam the door shut before I can appropriately appreciate his literal downfall.

  I turn to find Raven trying to sop up the wine from Nannette’s silken locks, and she jumps to her feet admiring her handiwork. The dishrag in her hand looks as if it’s been party to a massacre, but miraculously, thankfully, the rug has been spared a stain.

  “How did you do that?” I marvel.

  “I’m as anal as they get. If it’s not white glove ready, I’m all about taking it down until it glistens and shines. You know what they say. Cleanliness is next to godliness!”

  “Yes, well, let’s see if you’ve heard of this saying: Drunkenness is next to I’ll call you an Uber driver.”

  “About that.” She shrinks a bit. “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  “You like big penises and you cannot lie?” I growl at her for even thinking it was okay to bring that X-rated, frosted pile of flour into my home.

  “I like warm beds, and, actually, I can lie.” She ducks her face behind her hands a moment. “You see, remember that last trip I came back from? The corporate excursion to Hawaii? I sort of got fired.”

  “What?” My voice razes the ceiling.

  “And my roommate sort of took off so I couldn’t make the rent on my apartment. You have no idea how expensive a penthouse is in downtown Jepson.”

  “And I couldn’t care either.” I grab her by the shoulders and march her straight for the door.

  “But I can be your roommate! I can split the rent and the utilities, and I’ll even scrub the toilets with my toothbrush if you want. I just can’t tell my family until after the wedding.” I push her closer to the exit with each frantic word that expels from her lips. “Wait! Stop.” She writhes and she turns her head to avoid looking at the door readying to meet her fate. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for Low.”

  I open the door and give her a generous shove, but she’s dug her heels in, and if I move her one more inch I risk having my hardwood permanently marred by her nasty hoofprints.

  “Okay,” I hear myself say. Clearly, I’m going to have to disown my vocal cords after what they’ve done to me tonight and sell them on the black market. “But I’m only doing it for Low.” And my mortgage payment. And maybe for the sheer entertainment value, too. “Under one condition.” I loosen my grip on her shoulders, and she sags into me, her perky little face filled with relief.

  “Anything, I swear it. Just say the word and it’s yours!”

  “The next time Mustache Lady and her handler bring the pooping pop star to my front lawn you’ll chase them away with a stick.”

  “Deal.” She offers my hand a quick shake without hesitating. “And you’ll do something for me in exchange.”

  “I’m already doing something for you, you nitwit! That’s how having the upper hand works.” My God, Low’s little bestie is dumb as a brick.

  “You’ll do something for me.” Her voice drops to her lower register as she leans in just enough. “You’ll tell me what that rat bastard Axel Collins did to you six long years ago.”

  “Why would I tell you anything?”

  “Because maybe once you let it all out you’ll stop lighting the world on fire, and you might even start to breathe again. What you need, Lex, is a good old-fashioned best friend. And lucky for you, one just took up residence in your home.”

  I stare out at the void Axel left in his wake, at the dense nothingness of a moonless Hollow Brook night. It did feel good letting out the truth of myself imposed celibacy. It felt more than good, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why.

  I look back at Raven and frown. “Best friend.” I scoff at the idea. “I don’t remember putting out a casting call.”

  “That’s because you’ve built your walls up so high, not even you can see what you need anymore. Now get back in here before you catch your death.” She scoots me in and shuts the door. “It’s time to clean up this mess before we hit the pillow. I don’t get to bed until the house looks unlived in. I’m a neat freak that way.”

  “Unlived in? I make it look as if it’s never made contact with a human before.” My eyes shine with a hint of pride.

  And I find it hard to believe that Raven is a self-proclaimed neat freak. Go figure. Who knows? We might just get along yet.

  But I seriously doubt it.

  Axel

  Seven Years Earlier…

  Halloween night should be spent at a frat house, or better yet, at a sorority house finding chicks, getting laid, not meandering the ce
nter of campus wondering how I got so whipped over a girl who I will most likely never see again. It’s been two months since my run-in with the queen of mean, and I haven’t been the same since. Case in point, wandering aimlessly on the most hormonal night of the year.

  Crap.

  I look to the sky, rich with its stars, and hold my arms out at the expansive nothingness. “Is anybody out there?” I shout and listen as the echo of my own voice comes back to me. Whitney Briggs is a ghost town ironically. The campus is drained of its student body as every single person holed up in those dorms bleeds out to The Row where the frats and the sororities sit across the street from each other. It’s just me, my shattered ego, and wounded heart. Hard to imagine that a girl I knew for less than ten minutes could do so much damage. I wish she came with a warning label. Hell, I probably wouldn’t have listened anyway.

  “Should I wait for her?” I don’t pack the same punch as I did the last time. “I think she’s the one.” My voice grows small and my neck hurts at this pitch as I gaze out into darkness. “Anyway, if you could spare a moment, I’d appreciate a sign.” My voice dwindles to a whisper. I doubt anyone is listening anyway.

  The peachy glow of Hallowed Grounds beckons to me, and I head on over. It’s either that or head back to my apartment. At least this way I’ll get a cup of something hot and maybe a donut out of it.

  I head in and the thick scent of coffee bowls over my senses as if trying desperately to heal me with its hypnotic roasted beans. A smattering of people litter the place, a couple of girls dressed as French maids, a dude done up like Dracula works the line. Just as I’m about to step up to the counter, I spot a lion’s mane of dark cherry red hair, and my heart booms once as if threatening to cut out early.

  “No way,” I whisper as I stagger on over. Her back is toward me, head bent over, fingers gliding over a laptop, and not until I make the full radius around the table do I quantify that indeed it’s her.