by Ward, H. M.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. I thought you were the woman who was in love with my deranged brother. The older one. You’re a bit too old for Jonathan.”
“Don’t talk to me like that! I’m not some little tramp that was following Sean around Long Island, because I had nothing better to do. I do love him! I still love him, but he doesn’t want me. Why the hell would I chase after a guy who walked out on me?”
“Because he loves you and he’s too damn proud to come back here after walking away. Because one of you has to be the grown-up here and get over yourself. Life’s too short to live this way.” Peter runs his hand over his hair. “Listen, in twenty years, when you look back, you’ll know damn well that you could have gone after him, but you didn’t. A lot of relationships end this way, but it didn’t have to be yours. It takes two idiots to do this much damage. Just sayin’.”
Can you say verbal bitch-slap? Holy shit, is this the same shy guy that sat at the dinner table the other night. I can’t believe he’s talking to me like this. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know a damn thing about me. I’m bristling as he speaks, ready to assault him with a slew of sentences meant to cut his balls off, but Peter smiles and walks away before I open my mouth.
He calls back over his shoulder. “Don’t be such a pussy, Avery. God knows you have balls if you can put up with Sean.”
My mouth is hanging open. I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult. Mel is trying hard not to make a sound next to me. Her lips are caught between her teeth as she tries not to smile.
I glare at her. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. Just the best hooker in New York City, and apparently she has legendary brass balls.” Mel’s lips are twisted into a half grin. She looks ridiculous.
“He ruined my night.”
“Uh-huh.” Mel says, knocking back another shot.
“I don’t need Sean.”
“You don’t.”
My fingers clench into fists at my sides. I want to throw something. “Why’d he have to do that? Why’d his fucking brother have to show up and say that to me? Sean left me. We agreed to part ways. We don’t want the same things.”
“Nope, you don’t.”
“I’m better off without him.”
Mel laughs and nods in agreement. “You are. You don’t know him. He’s a dick.”
“Totally, he is. I don’t need him at all. I don’t…”
Mel slips off the stool and walks over next to me. She bumps into my shoulder, as she glances after Peter with me. “You think Mr. Twisted knows his brother told you all that shit?”
“No, Sean would hate that.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
I turn to her and press my fingers to my heart, laughing lightly. “What, are you serious? You think I should go after Sean? Are you crazy? I don’t want to be his mistress. Why would I go after him?” I stare at Mel like she’s lost her mind.
A cat-like smile crosses her face. I swear to God, feathers are poking out of her lips when she says it, because she knows my reaction is going to be so incredibly bad. With her arms folded over her chest, tapping her glittery black nails, she says, “To ask him to marry you.”
23
I laugh. It’s not real mirth—I’m so far from happy that I can’t even describe the chronic meltdown that’s occurring inside my mind. Take a polar ice cap and stick it in the microwave with some tin foil wrapped around it. That’s what’s going on inside my head. It’s not just brains melting out of my ears that renders me speechless, it’s the arcing—the frying of brain tissue—that actually prevents me from speaking. My eyes are dinner plates as my jaw shifts between tense and slack. I open it a few times while Mel knocks back her last drink and pays.
I swear to God, if I don’t say something soon I’m going to lose my mind. The words that come out are a hodgepodge of sentences that are strung together rather incoherently. “That’s a misconceived…so idiotic…array of insanity...” I press my lips together as my hands float up like I’m going to strangle something about waist-high. My hands tense, fingers flexing over and over again like I’m mental.
“Oh shit. I broke her.” Mel laughs once and shakes her head at me. When I try to speak again and can’t, she gives me a look. “I can’t wait around for this shit, and I’m sure as hell not hanging out with you if you’re going to be talking all fucked up like that. You sound like one of them people wandering around South Oaks.” I scrunch up my face and glare at her – I’m not a mental patient. “Fine, be like that, but since our evening of fine conversation is obviously over, I’m heading home.”
The car ride back to the dorm is quiet. The same thought goes through my mind over and over again. I can’t ask Sean to marry me. I can’t. I’m pretty sure that I haven’t blinked for a while because my eyes sting.
Damn Peter, had to show up and say those things. It’s not like things are easy for me. It’s not like I can just stop school and skip work and go find Sean and propose. I can see the look on his face—that placid smile. He’d think I was joking and I couldn’t stand that.
At the same time that thought bounces around in my head, another counters it. It’s Peter’s voice, saying that I’ll regret it in twenty years—that I could fix this, if I tried.
Is that really what happened here? I didn’t try hard enough? That’s total shit. I did try. I never tried so hard to be with anyone in my life, and after everything that happened, it didn’t matter because we aren’t together anyway.
Sean needs randoms, a different woman to fuck every night. He doesn’t need me.
Mel finally gets me talking by mentioning work. “I heard Black has a new dude picked out for you. The word from the herd is that he’s a cowboy, decked out in all that Western shit. I bet he tries to ride you like a horse.”
I smirk and glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “That would be a good night for me. Haven’t you noticed? All my clients are insane? I’m starting to think Black is doing it on purpose. If this guy tries to brand me, I’ll cut his balls off. Then Gabe can shove me in the trunk and drop me in the East River with cement shoes.”
Mel snorts as she trudges up the stairs. “Gabe isn’t the kind of guy that takes the time to make cement shoes. He does it with a bat and pushes you off a balcony. I bet you he covers his ass pretty good. No one can tell your brains were turned to pancake batter after they get scrambled on the sidewalk. Oh man, I’d kill for a Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity Stack right now.”
“Nice segue. Disturbing and delicious.”
She laughs as we stop in front of my door. I reach for the knob and flick my eyes up to hers. “Why’d you say it?” She had to know what it would do to me—how suggesting that I propose to Sean would commandeer every other thought in my head.
“Because you should. Play the whole game ‘til the end. No regrets are at the end of that and you could use some steady right now. You second-guess yourself too much. You have no idea how fucked up your life has gotten and that nut-job is the only guy that’s turned your head, like ever.
“The question is, what kind of woman are you? Are you the kind to wait for some sappy guy to get down on his knee and ask for your hand in marriage? Because I don’t think you are. I think you’d tell that guy no. I think you need the head-case as much as he needs you. You’re both too stupid to admit it. Okay, I’m done playing Dr. Phil. My feet are killing me.” Mel leans in suddenly and bangs her fist on the door. She shouts, “Get your sorry ass out of there right now, you pasty pastry or I’ll bust your—”
The door flies open and Naked Guy gives me a sheepish look. He managed to pull his jeans on. A pair of boxers and a shirt dangle from his hand. He avoids Mel’s gaze entirely and darts down the hall.
“You better run!” Mel yells after him. Then she looks at me and smiles. “Rodent removal complete. Unless you want me to throw your roommate out on her ass too?”
“I can hear you!” Amber shouts from inside the room.
“I don’t give a shit, slut-bag!” Mel’s gaze narrows on the door, which I’m holding in my hand, half-opened, half-closed.
“Thanks, Mel. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
But I don’t see her on Thursday or Friday. I avoid Mel and Marty. I can’t think and I have to figure this out on my own. The way I left things with Sean was good, well, it sucked but we were still on speaking terms. If I try to find him and propose, I risk messing that up and I don’t know if I can bear it when he says no.
I fall asleep that night after tossing and turning way too long. Dreams come and are filled with storms and seawater that fills my lungs. Waves pummel me, but no one saves me. I drown and drift under the waves, with my lifeless body, into blackness.
24
Saturday night comes and Mel knocks on my door while I’m getting ready for my new client—the cowboy. God, I hope he’s not crazy. I’ve had enough mentally unstable men to last a lifetime. When I signed the contract, Miss Black was updating her files so I didn’t see his picture, but I don’t care. This doesn’t matter. It’s a means to an end. One more client, one more night of letting someone I don’t care about use my body.
The weird thing is, since I saw Peter, I feel numb all over. I don’t care about tonight or the guy. It’s like someone dropped my sucky life into a vat of gel. Everything congealed and slowed.
The past few days feel like years. I’ve spent every free moment at my parent’s grave, talking to a headstone. I wish my mother was here. I wish I could ask her what to do. Did she have to chase Daddy? Did they break up and get back together again? Is Peter right? I don’t know and no matter how long I sit there, picking at the dead lawn and talking to her, there is no clarity.
Maybe I am a coward.
Mel doesn’t wait for me to open the door. She busts into my room as I’m shimmying my dress over my head. It slips over my hair and I see her standing there, decked out for her client. “Ready to bang this guy?” She grins at me and hands me a white plastic bag.
I take it from her, after I zip my dress, and look inside. “Really?” There’s a toy cap gun in there—the kind the Lone Ranger used, the kind you can’t buy anymore. “Where’d you get these?”
“Antique shop.”
“Shit, that makes me feel old. I played with these when I was a kid.”
“Yeah, they’re the real thing—asbestos and lead paint. They’re metal, baby. Perfect for straddling some strapping young man.” Mel grabs the guns and poses like Charlie’s Angels before doing her Yosemite Sam routine.
My lips curl into a smile as I watch her. “You seriously need to keep those. I’ve never seen you so happy over some toy.”
“I’ve got other toys that make me happy. We just don’t share those. It’s nasty.”
“Mel!” I make a face and slip my heels on. “You’re so gross.”
“So, you got a new bracelet from Black?” I nod. “And you have no intention of skipping out on work and going after Love Buns?”
“No,” I say, not meeting her gaze. “It’s over. Just leave it alone.”
“Fine. Well, have a fun fuck tonight. Use the guns in creative ways.” She waggles her eyebrows at me.
I shove the guns back at her. “Seriously, keep them. You seem to have more uses in mind than I do, anyway.”
She shrugs, “Fine by me. I have that kinky guy tonight. He’ll love these.”
* * *
By the time Gabe drops me off at the hotel, it’s late. This client requested that I show up at his room at 9:00 pm with a bottle of wine in hand. I approach the door in a daze. My heart doesn’t even feel like it’s beating anymore. Apathy has consumed me. I’m going to fuck this guy’s brains out and go home.
I won’t see Sean again.
It won’t matter what I do with anyone else. It won’t change the fact that I’m a hooker. It won’t give me a chance with Sean. That’s over. It’s gone.
Raising my hand, I knock on the door and wait. Usually the guy is eager and the door flies open, but this guy makes me wait. I shift my weight to the other hip and consider knocking again, when I hear the metallic scrape of the lock. When the guy pulls the door open, he’s standing in shadow. The lights in his room are off, except one that is directly behind him. He’s taller than me, and well built. His sandy hair is tucked under a felt cowboy hat. The brim covers his face as he looks down at his boots.
“Hey,” I say, not really looking past his clothing.
But when he speaks, I recognize him immediately. My stomach flips as I look up into those familiar brown eyes. “Hey yourself, little lady.”
“Marty?
* * *
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25
After blinking several times, as if my eyes are broken, my brain finally catches up with the situation. My gaze narrows while I step towards Marty with malice in my eyes. Too many emotions clash together too fast. I can’t fathom what he’s done, what it means. My hands want to ball up into fists and find his face for ruining the fragile relationship we had left. I need him, and he goes and does something like this. Marty’s friendship is important to me and the guy’s flushed it away like a goddamn goldfish. Add to that the issues I’m having with Miss Black and my mind shorts out. There’s a big spray of mental sparks before my vision turns red.
Marty’s confident expression washes away. The smug smile on his face is gone as he steps back, holding up his hands—palms toward me—in a classic don’t-kill-me pose. “Avery, wait a second—”
“How could you?” I jam my finger into his chest as I advance. The door clicks shut behind me after I step into the room.
Marty’s voice is nearly shrill. It has that freaked out airy sound that people have when they’re about to get a stiletto shoved up their ass. “I didn’t! It’s not what you think. Give me a chance—”
“I already gave you another chance. I already did this with you! You couldn’t just leave it alone! You couldn’t just—” An aggravated sound tears from the back of my throat as my palms slam down on his chest as hard as possible. My hands go flying, smacking and punching, without thought. I hate that he did this. I hate his stupid stringy tie and dumbass cowboy hat. I rip the hat off his head and throw it to the ground before snatching the bolo from his neck.
“Avery! Listen to me!” He has that nervous laugh he gets when something goes horribly wrong. Pleading, he smiles at me, and tries to explain. “You see, there were things, and none of them worked, so I—”
I’m not listening. I swear to God that I try. More than anything, I want this to make sense, but Marty buying me for a night and pretending to be the cowboy client makes me think he had plans to ride me all night. My jaw feels like it’s going to pop out of place, because the muscle is way too tense.
There are moments that make sense when they happen, and it makes perfect sense to me now. I have to punch a card with Black so she doesn’t skin my ass and hang it on her wall, and I have to manage to sleep with a guy—who I thought was my best friend. It’s not a problem. Of course not. “You want me so bad you’d buy me? Well, fine.” I laugh like I belong in a mental institution. My smile is too bright and my voice is too high. Arms spread wide, I say, “Here I am.”
Marty blinks at me. When he opens his mouth again, I don’t want to hear what he wants to say. I advance on him, tugging at his shirt, and ripping the front open. My foot stomps on his hat as I tear the shirt off his body. My foot crushes the felt and Marty stands there appalled.
“I think you have the wrong idea. Hey!” He tries to keep his shirt, but I grab hold of it and tug. Marty is talking, but it sounds like buzzing. This can’t be my life. It can’t be. There are so many things that I’d thought I’d be, s
o many things I thought I’d do, but none of them included screwing my best friend for cash. I jab, punch, and shove him as I rip his shirt off and toss it to the floor. I hurt so much. Sobs bubble up from my throat in an incoherent rage. “Avery, stop! This isn’t what you think! You’re too upset to see it now, but—” He tries to grab my shoulders, but I twist away.
“You don’t know what you’ve done! Do you know what she’ll do to me if I walk out of here right now? I can’t do this, but I have to.” Tears glitter in my eyes as I start laughing again. I can’t think. I know what I have to do even though I don’t want to. What else is new? I’ve been living a life that I’ve hated for the past few years. What’s another day?
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. I can fuck him and leave. That’s what he wants. That’s what he paid for. Do it and leave. The words repeat over and over again, drowning out everything, including Marty’s girly screams and bitchslaps.
Marty is bare-chested, standing in front of me in jeans and boots. His hair is a mess and his eyes flash with fear. He sucks in a jagged breath and works his jaw as his fingers flex at his sides. “This isn’t what you think. If you’d stop—”
I laugh, but it feels like someone drove a lance through the center of my chest. I want to fall face down on the bed and cry until I pass out, but I can’t. There’s no one left to pick up the pieces and I sure as hell won’t let Marty see me fall apart. Looking crazy is fine, but turning into a ball of slobbering snot will never happen.
I snatch at his belt buckle, doing everything in my power to force myself forward. The god-ugly thing is a big piece of brass with a bird on it that connects to a black leather belt. I have to do this. I have no choice. He left me no choice… I’m snapping like a piece of balsa wood. I can’t even form sentences any more. I’m saying things to him, half crying, slapping him and hugging him.
