HOPE TRILOGY: Sacred Sinners- Texas Chapter

by Cummings, Bink

  “Were you?” I grind my jaw, the hairs on the back of my neck standing attention, my agitation at an all-time high.

  Silence.

  Fuck. Him.

  “You know what? Keep him!” I snarl, release the leash and pat Pretzel’s head while I wink at him. Then, with a stern face, I sling my leg over my bike, turn her over and not once do I look at him. Not once, do I register any of the words that keep flying from his pissed off mouth as I peel out of the parking lot, heading not home but to the bar. The bar I go to when I don’t want to be found.

  “Bink, what’ll it be? Another?” Manny, my favorite bartender, asks, leaning his elbows on the bar in front of me. A whoosh of air from the front door blows my way, thanks to the storm that has suddenly settled in the sky. From the looks of the radar, it’s not going anywhere fast.

  Grreeeaaatttt.

  It’s eight, and I’ve been here for hours, drinking, eating, chatting, drinking some more, getting hit on, and the list rattles so on and so forth. See, I told you my life was in utter disarray. I don’t even have my fuckin’ dog anymore. What a stupid bitch am I? Do I think Big Dick will put pups in the ground? No, not at all; he called him cute.

  A snicker follows that thought. Fuckin Big. Uhh!!! I can’t stand that sexy, infuriating man.

  “What’s wrong, princess?” A man in a blue business suit glides onto the bar stool next to mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him bang my brains out, with a determined expression on his face. Big tits, that’s all he sees. My mom was right. ‘One big tit.’

  I ignore him.

  “What’s wrong?” His hand lands on mine, which is sprawled unladylike on the bar, and I jerk it away.

  “Men,” I incoherently grumble, down another shot of whiskey, and slam my empty glass back on the bar with a loud thud.

  Ahhh…yes…that good belly burn… Just what I needed.

  Tapping my finger on the edge of the shot glass, Manny doesn’t ask; he just pours and keeps the whiskey within arm’s reach for my next refill.

  “We’re not all bad, princess.”

  Does this doofus really think the princess line is sexy? I’d rather be called a bitch. That would surely make me wetter than some depiction of being a princess, like the fuckin’ Little Mermaid. Note: Women do not, I repeat, do NOT like to be called princess. The whole tiara, prissy bitch thing. Nope, not sexy. It comes off as weak and needy. I’m the furthest from both.

  My phone buzzes for the umpteenth time. I roll my eyes, exasperated, and pull it from between my legs, dropping it onto the bar. Sliding open the screen, I’m assaulted with message after message. Fuck. Me. Sideways. I don’t wanna hear all this shit. I’m a grown ass woman. I don’t need some dudes barking orders at me. The dickwad already took my goddamn dog. What the fuck else could he possibly want?

  Big: You crazy bitch! What the fuck are you thinkin’? Rollin up outta here on your Prez like that. You know that’s a punishable offense, right? Punishable by lockin’ your ass up at the club and whipping your ass kinda punishment. Hit me up now, or I’m pullin’ rank.

  Big: I’m not fuckin’ tellin’ you again. I’ll kill this dog just to spite your mouthy good for nothin’ ass.

  Big: Bye-bye, Fido. Dumpin’ his dead ass in the river now. You did this shit to yourself.

  Tears… Big hot tears well in my eyes, coating the world in watery bleariness.

  Big: I’ve got his collar if you want it. If not, I’ll burn it.

  The tears fall, streaming rapidly down my cheeks. He killed my dog! He killed Pretzel, and it’s all my fault!

  Manny slides a tissue box in front of me, and I solemnly grin my appreciation.

  “It’s on the house.” Another fill to my shot glass, I down it, and he refills. Then another goes down the hatchet.

  Me: I don’t want his collar. I don’t want to see you. I’m not comin’ round the club no more. I’m out. Peace.

  I sit, staring into the empty shot glass, running my finger slowly around the rim, drowning in my own sorrows, crying like the bitch I am.

  Big: Where you at?

  Why does it matter? I turn off my phone, and I lay my head on the bar. The cool varnished wood helps numb the pain that has curled itself into my soul and locked itself there. My. Life. Sucks!

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