Sin With Me

by JA Huss

At least I’m pretty sure those are the questions I ask. I’m not entirely sure what I say, if I’m being honest. It’s possible I’m having another weird fucking dream. Goddamn Klonopin. Anti-anxiety, my ass.

  “Y’know,” he says, standing up, “it takes a lot of balls to ignore my calls and texts for a fuckin’ week and then ask me ‘what the fuck.’ Also, you’re out of Pop Tarts. See ya.”

  He throws the foil wrapper on the bed and crumbs spill everywhere. He starts walking out of my bedroom and towards the front door.

  “What?” I ask, jumping out of bed to follow. “What are you saying? How did you get in? Where are you going?”

  I come up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder to turn him around. Those eyes. I have no idea what his expression is. My guess would be… No. I got nothing.

  He counts off his answers to my questions by holding up a finger as he responds to each. “I’m saying, fuck you for making me worry all week. I got in with the key card you gave me, and fuck you for making me worry all week. And I’m going to work because you’re clearly OK and apparently just being a cunt, so fuck you for making me worry all week.”

  He starts off again. I stop him again.

  “Wait. Wait. I’m… really fucking confused. What day is it?”

  He steps back, closes his eyes slowly. Opens them again. Breathes in. Sighs out.

  “It’s Friday, but…” He looks me up and down. “But man, I can’t talk to you until you put some clothes on.”

  Oh, right. I’m naked. It’s possible I’ve been naked for a few days. The whole thing feels very Apocalypse Now all of a sudden. “OK,” I say, “just hold on. All right? Just hang here for a sec.”

  He acquiesces. Nods. As I’m going to put on some pants and a shirt he calls out, “Nice dick, by the way!”

  The coffee tastes extra bitter as we sit around my kitchen island and I try to explain what I’ve been doing all week. “… and then somebody punched a hole in my wall, I guess. It’s possible it was me.” I sip the coffee. Evan looks through me, his eyes blacker than the liquid in my cup.

  “So this girl. This dancer…”

  “Scarlett.”

  “Sure… So you and Johansson got freaky, you fell in love, and then when you remembered it was just a business transaction, you… lost your fucking mind? Is that more or less what I’m hearing?” He arches an eyebrow. He can arch both. This time it’s the right one.

  “I dunno what you’re hearing, bro. I barely know what the fuck I’m saying.”

  There’s a long pause. I sip my coffee. It’s not very good. Then…

  “What are you going to do?” That’s Evan.

  “About what?” That’s me.

  “With the rest of your life, man?”

  I take a beat. Then I answer as honestly as I can: “Dunno. If I’m lucky, I may not have to worry about it much longer.”

  Evan closes his eyes. He kind of laughs a little. Which I appreciate. I’m funny as fuck. Everybody says so.

  “Why did you come home?” It’s weird that he’s never asked me in all these months.

  “Where else am I gonna go?”

  “You never have to worry about money again. You could go anywhere. You could travel the world—”

  “Seen it.” I cut him off. He bows his head and raises his hands.

  “Fair enough. But, just, I dunno, man. I love you and I’m glad you’re here—if for no other reason than so that I can keep a fuckin’ eye on you, but…“ He smiles. I smile a little too. Son of a bitch actually means it.

  I take a breath. “I dunno, dude. I mean, I kind of do. I’ve tried to, y’know, do good. Y’know? With my life. I really have. But everything and everyone I try to help or get close to just gets blown the fuck to smithereens. No pun intended.”

  Evan smiles. I did intend it a little.

  I go on, “So whatever. It seems like I just wind up fucking up everything I come near, so rather than go someplace new and leave a smoldering heap of wreckage in my wake, I thought, ‘Well, it’s Vegas, I know it, it’s already a churning cesspool of sin anyway, what’s the worst I can do?’ I mean… this is where I’m from. This place made me. So I feel like it’s the one place that might actually be able to stand up to the battering ram of catastrophe that is Tyler Morgan.”

  It feels a little weird to use my inside-my-head voice on the outside in such a vocal way, but shit, it’s Evan.

  After a moment he says, “I’m still here.”

  “Dude—” I start.

  “No, no. You say you’re this amazing force of nature. You blow up everything and everyone you come near. Well… You haven’t blown me up. I’m still here.”

  “Whatever. You’re sturdy.” I pause now, debating whether or not I want to say the next thing we both know is coming. “Scotty wasn’t.” (I decide I do want to say it.)

  And then Evan stares at me for what feels like five minutes even though it’s probably five seconds.

  And finally he says, “Scotty wasn’t your fault.”

  And that’s it. That’s all he says. Which is both annoying and perfect. Just like Evan. He stands to leave. This time I let him go.

  “OK. I gotta get to work. I’ll call later. Pick up. Or don’t. Do you, bro.”

  He pats me on the shoulder. Crosses to the door.

  “Hey,” he says, “I know you’re done helping people and are just here to set the town on fire and watch it burn or whatever, but we’re doing the Haunted Firehouse fundraiser thing for Halloween. If you feel like coming by, that’d be cool. There’ll be kids and stuff. You can teach ’em how to… I dunno… be an asshole.”

  “Halloween?” I ask.

  “I know,” he says. “I know. It’s his Yahrzeit. That’s why you should come.”

  “Fuck’s a Yahrzeit?”

  “It’s Hebrew. Just means the anniversary of someone’s passing.”

  “The Jews have a word for everything.”

  “We’re chosen for a reason,” he says. “You’ll come?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I say. And then, “Hey. Ev…?” I start.

  “Yeah?” He turns around.

  There’s a lot I want to say. I want to say, ‘Thank you.’ I want to say ‘I love you, bro.’ I want to say, ‘Dude, I’m fucking scared.’ But instead what comes out is, “Do you really think I have a nice dick?”

  He drops his head and smiles. Then, “See you later. If you come next week, you should bring the stripper with you. There’s a big pole in the middle of the room. She’ll feel right at home. Peace.”

  He winks at me, closes the door, and I take another sip of bitter coffee.

  Chapter Nine - Maddie

  I’m just minding my own business, walking past the living room to the laundry room on the other side of the house to grab a clean t-shirt so I can jet out of here and be early for work instead of late—for once—when I see Annie pacing outside in the front yard.

  Well… front yard is a stretch. You don’t have grass in Nevada unless it’s fake or you’re super-rich because it’s the fucking desert and trying to grow grass in the desert is just stupid.

  But it’s a yard. And Annie is walking back and forth, talking on her phone. Then she starts screaming. You know, the kind of phone screaming that involves holding it at arm’s length you so can blast the person on the other end with your anger.

  What the hell is going on?

  Then she does that poke thing to end the call—hanging up on people was so much more satisfying in the old movies, right? You get to slam that handset down with a bang. But now it’s just a poke. She looks up at the sky, hands balled into fists, and screams at it.

  God, maybe. She’s probably screaming at God.

  She comes inside and since I’m still standing in front of the window, she quickly realizes her little temper tantrum didn’t go unnoticed.

  “What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

  “Fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, fuck the world, fuck Caroline, fuck Diane, and most all fuc
k…” She stops. “Whoever’s left.”

  She stomps past me and is about to reach for the handle on her bedroom door when she whirls. “You know what I don’t understand?”

  Annie doesn’t lose her shit often. But this is the second time in as many weeks that I’ve seen her falling down. And even though I’m not really interested in her personal life, I’ve fallen down myself. Plenty of times. And I know where it can lead if you don’t pull yourself back up real fucking fast. So I say, “What?” and actually mean it.

  “What’s the point?”

  “Of…?” I’m confused.

  “Life, Maddie. What. Is. The fucking point?”

  “Ummm…” I have to stop and consider this for a moment. Because I think we all know, there is no point, right? You’re just here. You do shit. And then you’re not here. “Get rich?” I say.

  She frowns, then busts into a laugh I didn’t expect. “Get rich,” she repeats. “It’s as good a goal as any, right?”

  I shrug. “Why not? I mean, at least when you’re rich you can stop worrying about stupid things like rent.”

  “And new tires for your car,” Annie adds.

  “And food.”

  “And how to pay back your pimp.” She sighs.

  I walk over to her and take her hand. “Is that what this is about? You owe Kimberly money?”

  Annie swallows hard and shakes her head. “No. Not Kimberly.”

  “You have another pimp?” I ask.

  “It was supposed to be a step up, right? This guy, he runs some really high-class girls in all the best hotels. I just figured… at least I wouldn’t end up at the edge of town calling you to come pick me up, right? It would be safer. And swankier. And sweeter.”

  I make a face at that last part.

  “Kimberly set me up with him.”

  “What? How’s that work? I mean, do pimps lend out their girls like that?” I’m not really up on hooker etiquette.

  “These two do. That’s the whole reason I took the job with Kimberly in the first place. It was as a stepping stone. I didn’t really lie when I told you I was a high-class call girl. I just… fast-forwarded my life a little.”

  I’m so out of my league right now. There are stepping stones in the prostitute business. Who knew? “So what happened?”

  “I have to pay him rent, right?”

  “Oh, like me and the stage fee. Sure, I get it.”

  “Well, I walked out on a customer a few nights ago, so they docked me that night and gave me a penalty.”

  “Penalty? Is that legal?”

  “Who gives a fuck if it’s legal? I owe them two grand and I don’t have it.”

  She sighs heavily and then disappears into her room. Not with the slam she surely intended before her little impromptu confession. Just a small, sad click.

  My angel pops up on my shoulder.

  I know right where this is headed.

  You should give her that money, Scarlett. She needs it.

  “I need it,” I say back. “And stop fucking calling me Scarlett.”

  You need it more than she does, Maddie, my little devil says. You earned it, chick. You sucked—

  “Yeah,” I say, brushing them both away and walking towards the laundry room to get my t-shirt. “I did earn it. And I do need it. So both of you can just shut the fuck up.”

  But the whole time I’m getting ready for work I’m thinking about that money. Like… it’s far from the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but it has consumed my thoughts. Taken over my week. And made me think about that guy—a fucking customer, for Christ’s sake—to the point of distraction.

  And at the same time, it did save my ass. I paid my rent to Raven and my rent to Annie. I don’t even have two grand left, ya know? I bought groceries, and gas, and—

  And now you have what you need, my angel says. So give the rest to Annie. Because she needs it or bad things might happen to her.

  Bad things? My devil laughs. She’s a fucking whore. Of course bad things are gonna happen to her. And it’s not like she can’t get another job. She’s an engineer, right? If she doesn’t want to have sex for money, she doesn’t have to. Just go be an engineer.

  The angel and the devil are now arguing past me. Like I’m not even here. Little bastards.

  She barely graduated, says the angel.

  So we’re supposed to give a fuck, just because she’s stupid? the devil says.

  I interrupt, “She’s not stupid, she—” The angel ignores me and continues.

  She has the degree, but not the skills, or the contacts, or the résumé.

  Yeah, the devil says, and whose fucking fault is that? Dumbass Annie’s. Maddie here was the goddamn salutatorian of her high-school class! Probably coulda come outta college summa cum laude—or at least magna! But life fucked her right in the ass! And not in the good way! None of the shit that’s happened is her fault! So why should she have to pay for someone else’s fuckup?

  “Guys,” I try to interrupt.

  You’re cruel, says the angel.

  Yeah, no fucking shit, you ignorant twat, I’m a devil. Christ. You’re as stupid as that cunt, Annie.

  “Hey—” I try again. But they’re on a roll.

  Have you no compassion? Annie has had to prostitute herself to survive, sings the angel.

  Oh, boo fucking hoo, the devil chimes in. Life’s been so hard for poor fucking Annie the Whore. She’s stupid and her pussy hurts. Wah, wah, wah. Fuck her. If that’s the worst thing she ever has to deal with—

  It’s not a competition! the angel shouts.

  It better not be! screams the devil. ’Cause if it was, chick standing right here would smoke that bitch! Ain’t nobody more tragic than poor, sad, lonely fucking Maddie!

  “Shut up!” I shout.

  Then I open up my sock drawer and fish around for my cash. I find it, pull it out, count it up. Eleven hundred and seventy-two dollars.

  I stare at it.

  I did shameful things for this money. Things I never thought I’d do. Things that make me feel bad about myself. Things that would make my parents wonder where they went wrong and how it’s all their fault I have failed at everything.

  It’s not their fault. Everything that has happened to me is because I fell down. Fell hard. Hit my head on the way down that dark rabbit hole of grief and despair and fucked my brain up. And then I just… turned into this. It’s not. It’s not their fault. It’s nobody’s fault but mine.

  I sigh, feeling sad, and lonely, and really, really wishing I had it in me to give up.

  But I don’t. I’m just one of those fighters. One of those people who loves to punish themselves and keep going. The kind of person who makes it to the top of Mount Everest on tenacity alone, but loses all ten fingers to frostbite.

  I take the money and walk across the house to Annie’s room.

  That’s right, my angel says. Good for you, Scarlett. Annie isn’t like you. Annie is falling down and she won’t get back up. She’ll stay down in that dark hole forever. You’re doing the right thing. I’m proud of you.

  “Go fuck yourself,” I say.

  I approach Annie’s door and knock quietly. “Annie?”

  “Go away,” she says. I can tell she’s crying. She’s making those little hiccupy sounds.

  I turn the handle, find it unlocked, and open the door. “I have some extra money,” I say, holding out my handful of cash. “It’s only eleven hundred, but you can have it.”

  She wipes the tears from her eyes and stares at me. Then she shakes her head and starts crying again. “I can’t take it. I’d hate myself if I took your money, Maddie. I know you don’t have any extra. You’re lying. You need it and I did this and—”

  I toss the cash onto her bed. “I don’t want it,” I say. “I did something I’m not proud of to get it and I can’t keep it. Not if I want to live with myself. So please, just take it. Use it to pay back whoever this guy is. And then don’t get in that situation again, OK? I worry about you,
Annie. I know we’ve never been that close. You and Diane and Caroline have been friends forever and I’m just some new girl who fills up a spare room in your house. But I like you. So take it.”

  Annie stares at me. Tears blurring her blue eyes. Filling them up over and over again as long streams run down her cheeks. “He’s engaged,” she finally says.

  “Who?”

  She waves her hand in the air, like she’s trying to erase that last statement, and then cries harder.

  “Who’s engaged?” I ask again.

  “My high-school boyfriend.”

  “Oh,” I say. And suddenly the big picture comes into focus. “Back in Nebraska.”

  “Iowa.” She sniffs.

  “Right,” I say. “Iowa. So that’s why you’re so down?” I ask.

  She nods, wiping wildly at her tear-stained face. “He called to tell me. He wanted me to know because…” She draws in a deep breath. “Because we dated for four years. I was gonna marry him. But then I decided to go to UNLV for college and he wanted to stay in Iowa, so I left. And we tried to make it work that first semester, ya know? The long-distance thing. But I found another guy, so I broke it off. It wasn’t even him who left me, Maddie. It was me who left him. Twice! What the fuck was I thinking?”

  I don’t know what to say. I mean, I do. I want to pat myself on the back. Congratulate myself for not fucking things up with love. But that won’t be helpful to Annie. So I say, “I’ve never been in love. Not true love, at least.”

  “Really?” she asks, looking up at me all snotty and blotched, weird hope in her eyes. Misery loves company.

  “Yeah. Really. I mean when I was younger I had this—” I sigh, because that’s a long, sad story for another time. “Doesn’t matter. But look, I know loss. Y’know? Like really know loss, so I get it, Annie. Maybe you should just go home one last time and tell him how you feel?”

  “Don’t you think I want to?” she says. “But then I’d be the horrible other woman out to ruin his marriage. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. So I’m just gonna stay here in Vegas and deal with the life I’ve made for myself. That’s all we’re doing, right? Me, you, Caroline, Diane. We’re just a bunch of fuckups who have to deal with what we’ve done.”