by K. F. Breene
It all started from a look slightly unhinged. A look off kilter. A look like Sean was giving her.
The memories coalesced with the present, Jim’s liquid black eyes overlaying Sean’s vibrant green, squeezing out the primal fear she’d thought she buried too deep to find, but that found its way up for the second time that day. Sean had gotten too close, and now she was in too deep. She was in a position to be masticated again; chewed up and spit out at will.
Her chest tightened up. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t relax.
Bottom line, she wasn’t recovered where it really mattered. She was still that lost little girl who needed to be picked up, hugged, and kept safe from the monsters of the world. From the guys that would use her up and spit her out. From the Jims.
From the Seans.
She wanted to go running back to Paul. To the safety of not feeling.
She forced herself to keep her head calm. She didn’t want to unlock Sean’s anger. She didn’t want him to use his substantial muscle on her. She was sure he might not want to hurt her, but Jim always said he didn’t, either. Sometimes it was best to keep quiet, accept all blame, and wait for it to pass.
“Monica stalking you really bothers you doesn’t it?” Krista said, pushing down her memories and fear and trying to keep Monica as the focus. “It’s hard when you get involved with someone at work. You can’t repair what inevitably breaks.”
As he realized the double meaning, the spark in his eyes dulled. His desire pulled back into himself.
“Maybe you should give in, make her stop,” Krista continued with regret. She was chasing him away, but it was for the best. For both of them.
“It was always going to end like this anyway,” Sean said robotically, looking at Krista with a sober expression. “I was shortsighted for thinking we were two adults about all this.”
Ouch.
He looked at her with a level expression. She was sitting at one end of the couch, he on the other, but he seemed to float away. The distance between them became a deep chasm. Krista could actually see the distance growing. His body language pulled back. His engaging eyes turned elsewhere.
She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She’d caused that, and she felt like a complete shit for it. But at the same time, she felt cut loose. It felt like danger was passing. It also hurt so bad it felt like she was stabbed.
“Anyway, I should go,” Krista said quietly.
Sean didn’t make any effort to stop her.
They walked to the door in silence, Krista trying desperately to hold back the tears.
“Well, I’ll see ya,” Krista said. It was goodbye. Sean knew it.
Sean watched her walk away down the street, not having offered to walk her home. He was at a loss.
Chapter Seven
Halfway home the smoke cleared. It was then that the dam burst, reducing her to sobs. She walked and cried. Partly she cried out of frustration, and partly because it felt like something was breaking deep inside. Breaking and floating away, like an iceberg in Alaska.
Being that she was crap at dealing with her problems, she did the only thing she could think of, the thing she always did when she felt like this; she went home and got raging drunk. By herself. Like a real alcoholic. If she was a poet, she would have written some prose and then stuck her head in the oven, Sylvia Plath style.
She must have passed out on the floor sometime during the night because she awoke to light filtered through the cloud cover above. Ben was sitting on the couch watching TV with a bowl of cereal. He looked down at her when she roused and said, “Good morning. What’s the crisis?”
“Uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh,” She grabbed her swollen head.
“You polished off a bottle and a half of wine on your own. You emptied two, but I think you spilled half on the floor. You’re lucky Abbey didn’t come home last night.”
“Uuuuuuuhhhhhhhmmmmm.”
“I was supposed to remind you that you are supposed to be on a train in about an hour to go to the Folsom Street Fair.”
“Not going.”
“I was supposed to remind you that you promised to go, and not going would be unacceptable.”
“Don’t care.”
“I was then supposed to say that if you don’t go you will have to rely on your department to help you, because your two good friends will not.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Kate said that if that didn’t work, you should probably be in the hospital.”
“I hate her.”
“Yes.”
“You going?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“I didn’t think you were a homophobe,” she said, getting up painfully. It felt like she slept on razors.
“I’m not. Krista, my God you look like shit.” For Ben to say it, with a swear word and everything, it meant that it was probably true. Being that she also felt like shit, there wasn’t much of an alternative.
The mirror in the bathroom revealed exactly as Ben had said. Holy. I look like I got run over by a train. Then caught at the bottom of a stampede. Then thrown up on.
It was going to be an ugly, painful day.
She showered, dressed, and threw up. She put on some make-up and threw up again. She put her hair in a ponytail, grabbed her handbag, and contemplated throwing up one more time. She held strong, however, and headed out without saying goodbye to Ben. She couldn’t waste the energy.
It was a long, miserable bus ride into the general area she needed to be. She would not answer phone calls from the girls, but she did answer texts telling her where to go, getting updates on status, and other useful information for someone who cared. Krista didn’t.
Off the bus she sat on a bench next to a homeless man, needing a minute to steady her stomach. Needing to make sure she wasn’t going to throw up again.
“Hair of the dog,” the dirty man croaked next to her. He had his face turned toward her. “Hair of the dog. Only thing for it.”
He gave her a salute with his peach flavored wine before turning away.
It was bad when bums were on a level with you before noon. She had to agree, though. And well, he would know.
She staggered away, hearing him yell “Hair of the dog!” in her wake. She got about one block before she had to lean against a building to make sure she didn’t upchuck. As she rested, she saw the strangest thing. A transvestite had a bag of bread--buns it looked like--and was chucking them at people. No evident reason for it, and no one was singled out, but anyone within firing range had the threat of getting pegged with a bread roll.
The woman missed as many people she hit, but she was not deterred. She was on a mission to fire every bun or roll in that bag.
Loving the entertainment, Krista leaned harder on the wall, which was starting to lean back, and watched the show. One bun hit a man in a suit crossing the street. It was a great shot! Well placed. She had an arm on her, Krista would give her that.
The man with the suit stopped, right in the middle of a busy lane, and looked back at his attacker menacingly. He probably had some high-powered job where he gave orders. The last time he was the butt of a joke was probably in high school.
This time, though, as he stared at the transvestite, holding up a lane of traffic with his self-importance, he got a heated stare back. In fact, when she noticed the eyeball attack, the sports-loving gal raised her arm slowly, taking aim.
With the first honk of a held up car, pissed at the professional jackass holding up traffic, the woman let fly another bun. It arched through the air, the aim dead-on, and hit him on the chest, center mast. Then, for good measure, she chucked another bun at the honking car.
The man, realizing that anyone dressed like a disco ball before noon on a Sunday, while throwing bread at people, was probably out of her mind, turned around with a burst of speed, and finished crossing the street in quick strides. Like the coward he was, he was not planning to stay and fight with crazy. Which was wise. You didn
’t argue with a crazy person, and you didn’t get into stare-offs with a crazy person. It was the Rule of Thumb in the Mission: you-don’t-mess-with-Crazy! You just don’t. You never know what a crazy person might do. There are no rules on that side of life.
Krista just shook her head and continued on her way. She would hate to live in this part of the city, but visiting was fantastic. Very colorful.
She walked the million blocks to meet Jasmine and Kate, who blessedly had a breakfast burrito for her. She badly needed grease.
She scarfed some of it down in big, hungry bites, and then nearly threw it back up again. The bum was right—food wasn’t going to do. She needed alcohol. Hopefully. Otherwise she was doomed.
“What the hell happened to you?” Jasmine asked in surprise.
Kate just stared. She’d seen Krista like this a few times before, and knew what the origin probably was.
“A bottle of wine wrestled me,” Krista muttered. “It won.
“More than a fucking bottle by the looks of it,” Kate said, grabbing her arm and pulling.
“Yeah. Double team. They cheated.”
Krista was bumped and jostled before she noticed how crowded it was. “Wow. Popular street fair, huh?”
She wasn’t answered. Instead she was posted outside a liquor store for a minute before some wine was thrust into her hand. She immediately retched.
“Get it into you,” Kate commanded. “You’ll feel better when you balance out.”
“I don’t know about that,” Krista replied in agony.
They walked on, Kate and Jasmine leading Krista as if she was on a rope. She had no idea, nor did she care, where they were going. She was worried about the wine. She took a couple sips, retched each time, and looked for a spot next to the curb where she could lay down and die. It turned out Thai food wasn’t a great base for a crap load of wine. Her stomach was revolting.
When the wine started to have an effect, relieving her pain somewhat, she poked her head out of her turtle shell of hangover and looked at the people around her.
Then she stopped dead.
They were not all men. They were not all gay. They were, however, all ready for some form of BDSM. The man in front of her had leather chaps on. That was it. Just leather chaps. His bare ass was bobbing up and down in front of her, his balls hanging down, free for all the world to see.
On her right was an e-norm-ous penis. That’s all she could see. Her eyes wouldn’t look away to find a face. Or even a stomach. They were glued to a g-i-ant dick.
Kate nudged her, able to skip the track so Krista could wrench her face in the opposite direction, looking for a place to rest her eyes that was nudity-free. There weren’t many. One woman was stuffed into a tight, leather corset. Fat oozed out the bottom while her squishy boobs were oozing out the top. They were overflowing the sides, making the woman’s arms have to shove them forward to have proper movement. It was so gross.
So was the guy standing alone in a corner jerking off. Jerking off! Naked! On-a-city-street!
“What the hell?” Krista asked to no one in particular, feeling like throwing up again.
Kate and Jasmine were both looking at her as if she was in some large scale joke and they were witnessing the punch line.
Obviously, she was the punch line.
“Where have you taken me?” Krista asked, incredulous.
“You have to experience it at least once,” Jasmine said, her smile ear to ear. Kate was beaming.
“You two are some bitches. I don’t want any part of this.”
“Tough,” Kate said, grabbing her arm and pulling.
“Seriously, I wanna go home. This is not my cup of tea. I am too naïve for this.”
“No you aren’t,” Jasmine said, taking a sip of a beer out of a paper bag. Apparently you could be naked, but you couldn’t have exposed alcohol? What sort of messed up was that?
Krista watched a man posing for a picture. The camera wasn’t aimed at his face. It was aimed at his bare cock, and something called a Prince Albert. At least, that’s what he told her when she asked if a bar through the tip of his penis still hurt after the fact. Apparently it did not.
She didn’t have time to ask why it was called a Prince Albert—Kate was continuing to drag her along.
The wine was definitely starting to level her out…if drunk could be called a level. Her parting words, besides ouch, was congratulations on his large cock. He just laughed at her. She didn’t mention that she had recently seen one bigger. It was rude to play the one-upper game, no matter if that particular man would’ve been interested to hear.
She also had the distinct feeling the world was laughing with him. At her.
They walked on—not Krista’s choice—and looked at stands. Apparently there was a lot to see, and Kate wanted to make sure they got to everything. Everything being all sorts of S&M paraphernalia. Leather, chains, nipple clamps, the works. If Krista wasn’t actually standing in the middle of it, she would not believe that this was allowed to happen in public. She would not believe that a fair of this size, in the middle of a large city, could actually exist. Nowhere else, except possibly Amsterdam, would permit this amount of naked people wandering around.
Not just naked, either. Oh no. As she saw earlier, some were standing off to the side jacking off—not even Vegas allowed that to happen! Krista watched a circle jerk in mute horror. She stopped and pointed out two men in an alleyway engaging in sexual acts. Then screeched when she witnessed a full-out orgy. Penetration and everything. In-the-middle-of-the-day-in-a-public-place!!!
The girls did look, but they didn’t seem overly put out. It was because there was so much more to come.
At one point Krista saw a guy on all fours with a collar and a leash, being led around the dirty ground by a hairy, fat man in a leather Speedo. The young guy on the ground never said anything, and he always acted submissively. It offended her inner feminism even though he was a dude.
Thank God she was drunk, because she was not at all up for any of this. She was having a hard time keeping an open mind.
When they got to a stand selling whips, they stopped for a minute to peruse. Kate was looking at some lotion or other, so it gave Krista time to really get to know the craftsmanship. And she had to admit, there was some really fine workmanship that went on with those whips. It showed in the price tag!
It was when she had taken a leather strap down and was swinging it around that she felt a tap on her shoulder. She probably wasn’t supposed to test out the merchandise. Which made sense, because if they let one person flog the air, they had to let everyone, right? And then, why flog the air when you can flog your ass-less chaps-wearing partner?
But Krista would make her case. Being that she needed a small touch of normal within all this insanity, she was ready to debate that swinging the whip was necessary to see the whipping power before she purchased such an item. How could she possibly spend $100 on something that she couldn’t get the feel of first? That was pure illogical.
When she turned, however, she stood face to neck with Sean.
She would have rather been whipped.
“Trying out the merchandise?” he asked, echoing her argument. He stood there, relaxed, acting as if last night had never happened. He looked at her askew, but was genuinely smiling.
“I have to make sure it is from the right stuff, of course,” Krista said, attempting not to slur.
She was handed a drink out of thin air. She gulped it down, but it tasted like water so what was the point.
“It is water,” Jasmine clarified.
Krista looked down at clear liquid in a white cup. “So it is. And should you want to know, I am unperturbed that I am voicing my thoughts. Just so we are clear on that issue.”
“Now we know,” Jasmine said in her usual dry voice.
“Yes.”
“Krista overdid it a bit last night,” Kate said in Krista’s defense. Then, “Hi Sean.”
Sean was still looking at Krista, his
face gone thoughtful and confused. Krista meant to meet his gaze head on, but she got lost when the second biggest penis she had ever seen walked by. It wasn’t quite as big as Mr. G-i-ant Penis she had seen upon first walking toward the fair, but it was a close second.
“Ouch,” she said, following its progress. “I mean, with that much hardware, how could that guy ever get a date? It would rip the ass out of a guy, or give a chick a second virginity. Neither would ever come back from that. I hope he’s a bottom.”
“And you think I’m blunt?” Kate asked skeptically.
Krista shrugged. “You brought me. If you didn’t want my commentary, you should have let me stay home and die quietly.”
Sean had followed Krista’s gaze until he saw what she was looking at. He turned away quickly to the person next to him. It was the first time Krista realized he wasn’t alone. That was partly because she couldn’t focus.
“I need a toilet, and then my bed, for about two days,” Krista muttered, bending over at the waist.
“How much has she had to drink?” a woman asked. Must be Sean’s new friend.
Krista zeroed in on this friend. It was a woman a bit shorter than Sean, but tall for a girl, and freaking drop-dead gorgeous. Jaw-dropping pretty. She had long, blond hair that one might see on a Swedish person. Real blond, not died and highlighted blond like Krista’s. She had crystal clear blue eyes, high cheek bones, and a soft and sultry voice.
Krista hated her immediately, mostly because she was so beautiful, but also because she was so perfect for Sean. And also because she would get to have sex with him. And also because he had moved on without a problem in the world, and found someone new immediately. And also because she was not as belligerent as Krista, and Krista looked plenty stupid.
But those were the only reasons. Other than that, she was probably a real nice girl.
Plus, nothing said “good choice not picking me” like a belligerent drunk chick looking like crusty dog crap in the middle of a fetish festival. She was basically saying, “No hard feelings.”
