Reception

by Kenzie Jennings

  The curiosities never ended. “I thought you were going vegetarian now.”

  Shay’s face went all dreamy soft, her eyes glazed over. “Nathan said I needed to up my iron and B12 intake, and eating red meat was the best way to go.”

  “Aww, girl, I’m so glad you gotta a guy who eat-shames and mansplains such important info for your little girlbrain to take in.”

  “Don’t be like that.”

  “Seriously though, what’s up with that?”

  I’d obviously struck a nerve as Shay suddenly transformed from girl-in-love soft to steel and salt. It had been happening off and on since…well, since Nathan. I didn’t like that version of Shay, that Nathan-influenced, Nathan-can-do-no-wrong version of Shay. Her jaw tightened, her voice chilly. “Nathan cares about me, Shay. Maybe if you had someone in your life who cared as much, you wouldn’t be such a bitter bitch about every little thing that makes other people happy.”

  “I’m not bitter,” I said as I crumpled up the empty bag and then tossed it into the wastebasket. Then I removed the makeshift towel turban from my head, unraveled it, and used it to pat down my damp locks. “Bitch, yes, sometimes. I’ll own that. But ‘bitter,’ no. ‘Bitter’ should be reserved for little girls who long for tiaras and kingdoms but instead wind up with good old-fashioned chauvinists who control their every move. “Bitter’ is the moment when those girls wake up and realize, too late, that everyone else isn’t in the same boat after all because everyone else had enough sense not to take it.”

  Shay slid up on her feet and then loomed over me, trying her best to appear as if she had some semblance of control, but I knew – I always knew – lately, she was often ready for a fight to break out between us. My condition. Always my fault. “At least Nathan didn’t run off with someone else and start a family with her,” she said.

  “Ouch. You’re actually gonna bring out the big guns while I’m out of detox? That’s just mean.”

  “Did you like the brat? You kinda wolfed it down like you hadn’t tasted anything so good in quite awhile there.”

  “Don’t fucking change the subject, Shay. You brought up Simon, so say whatever it is you wanna say.”

  Shay cleared her throat, one hand steady on the door handle, readying her to leave, the other clenching and unclenching as she did when she was trying not to explode. “I just think you should take a good, hard look at yourself and deal with your own issues before you pass judgment on anyone else.”

  “Noted. Duly.”

  Her voice softened, if just a little. “I wanted you to be a part of this. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true.”

  “I guess I have you to thank for getting me out for a couple of days.”

  “Ans. Come on.”

  I let that simmer for a moment, both of us silent. Then I said, “Admit it. You just wanted to see me in a bridesmaid’s dress.”

  “Okay, I wanted to see you in a bridesmaid’s dress.”

  “How much does Dad owe you?”

  “What?”

  “How much did you bet him that I’d agree to wear it? You know he doesn’t think I have it in me. He thinks I live and sleep in shorts and jeans, and it pisses him off. We’re supposed to be ladies after all.”

  Shay couldn’t keep a straight face, and she muffled back a giggle just before she said, “Fifty.”

  “You bet fifty bucks?”

  “Fifty cents.”

  “Fuck the hell right off.”

  She let out a gasp. “Language, Ansley! So unbecoming.”

  “Go suck a lollicock.”

  Shay grinned at that and opened the door. Then she turned back to me once more, her face crinkled in thought before she softly said, “It was Nathan’s idea by the way.”

  “Idea for what?”

  “For the bratwurst,” she said. “He remembered it was your favorite. He knew just where to go in town to get you one.”

  “What’d he do, have them inject it with laxative?”

  “Ansley, seriously.”

  “You should know by now I take any Nathan niceness with a side order of suspicion.”

  “Whatever. I’ll thank him for you since those little meaningless things like manners often elude you.”

  With that, she left. I knew it would take a couple of hours before she cooled down, cleared herself of my annoying habits. Those habits. I’d always been great at getting under one’s skin. Deflective trait probably. I swirled the crushed ice in my soda cup around and around, the tumbling sound of it momentarily blocking the voice that had stilled my heart earlier and had since returned, poking through my thoughts.

  My stomach suddenly went sour. The taste in my mouth, acrid-greasy and cloying. I tossed back some of the dregs of crushed ice left in the cup, crunched them between my teeth, hoping they’d soothe away the acid-churning happening inside of me and the timpani orchestra pounding over and over again in my skull. I’d taken enough ibuprofen to destroy the remainder of my innards earlier, once I’d been able to tear into my luggage. Still, it hadn’t done much in ridding me of my headache. Instead of ice needles and jagged blades stabbing away there, it had merely lessened to an actual throbby ache.

  Then my body went warbly, and the room spun and dipped as soon as I stood up. My knees popped. My eyes watered. I felt shaky and weak. You know that feeling you get when you’re about to throw up, when you know something horrible is about to happen to your body, and the very thought of food makes you feel chilly…? I suddenly felt it up and down all over, the thundering palpitations knocking the air from me. I barely made it to the toilet before all the soda, bratwurst, and fries came pouring out in a hot, gooey torrent, the force of it yanking my jaws wide open.

  Apparently, I hadn’t been hungry after all.

  Even so, my stomach, completely emptied of its contents, loudly disagreed.

  No phone signal. No promised WiFi access, even though the welcome brochure that had greeted me on the dinette table upon arrival had indicated otherwise, so I couldn’t do any further, obsessive research on withdrawal symptoms. The bizarre conflict between stressful stomach and hunger pains had to have been one I’d not experienced until then.

  I felt a cool ribbon of air coming from the bedroom tease along the side of my neck and arms, easing me a little out of my miserable state. I wiped the sour grunge from around my mouth with a piece of toilet paper, crumbled it and tossed it into the toilet bowl with the acrid remains of my menu for the day. My head felt hot and hollow. I needed sounds though. I needed something to distract me from the sickness, so after I brushed the rank tang away around my teeth and tongue, I made my way back into the bedroom and turned on the only bit of decent, working technology, the wide flat-screen TV on the wall in front of the bed. Besides the distraction, I just wanted anything to let me know we weren’t really out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, thirty miles from lights, the sounds of traffic, and people – glorious, noisy, chaotic people. Couldn’t stand to be near them, yet I needed them, all of them.

  The only channels I could access were local stations, and there wasn’t anything worthwhile on aside from one of the many awful singing competition shows that just didn’t know how to die a horrible death and some syndicated sitcoms that were funny in the ’90s, back when they were relevant and still politically incorrect. I didn’t need a laugh track though, so I left it on the local PBS station where some grandmotherly British sleuth was enjoying a spot of tea with the village constable. It was mellow enough to soothe the headache down a bit and noisy enough to fool me into thinking there was some civilization around. I took my nightly benzo bit, washing it down with the last dregs of watery soda.

  Then I climbed into bed and buried myself deep underneath the musty comforter, willing myself to sleep while my brain screamed that it was on fire.

  #

  If it wasn’t the sudden, loud CLICK and griping of the AC that woke me up, it was undoubtedly the last image I had of Simon getting a sledgehammer dead center to the face that did it. There wa
s an explosion of blood, brain and gristle, and then I found myself wrapped in a sweaty tangle of sheet and comforter. My hair felt matted and damp. My mouth, full of cotton and sand. The droning whine in the room, as it turned out, wasn’t a residual sound from my dream but from the TV reminding me that, at 3:15 in the morning, PBS didn’t pull all-nighters.

  My stomach cramped something awful, burning and twisting my insides into hard knots. As soon as I sat up in bed, the room bounced, and I could hear the swishing sound of blood rushing in my ears. I turned off the TV with the remote and sat there in the inky darkness, listening for a moment. I thought I heard someone or something tapping on the door to the suite.

  There was a scratching sound, barely perceptible, coming from the other side of the door. I clicked on the bedside lamp and slowly slid out of the bed. Underneath my bare feet, the concrete floor was chilly and sticky, undoubtedly from condensation. The state was so humid and miserable this time of year, and there didn’t seem to be adequate ventilation in the room whatsoever.

  Whatever it was beyond the door gave it a tap-tap-tap, startling me. It sounded like someone was hammering on it with gentle force.

  “Hello?” I said softly and whistled. “Who’s there?”

  The tapping sound stopped. I waited for an answer, a voice, anything. It would’ve helped had the room had windows. I’d be able to catch a shadow, something out there, even in the dark of the hellish early morning hours. I pressed my ear to the door, listening closely, carefully, trying not to let my imagination and fear run off hand-in-hand with my sanity.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  It sounded like long fingernails clicking against the wood.

  I wasn’t about to run out there without a weapon, so I stalled a bit, bracing myself against the door just in case whatever or whoever was out there tried to ram the door open. “You gonna say something, have a conversation, light chit-chat out there…or you just planning on scaring the shit out of me for the rest of the night?” I said as I stuck my foot out in the direction of my bag that I’d dropped on the floor beside the bed.

  I hooked the bag handle onto my big toe and dragged the bag towards me. Then with one hand still braced against the door, I crouched down and used my free hand to rummage around in my bag for the pepper spray I know damned well I’d brought for the trip. At least, I’d presumed I’d brought it. My hand grasped around something that felt like a pepper spray container, but it revealed itself to be a fancy lipstick case, some retro-cutesy gift from the bridal shower goodie bags awhile ago. I didn’t even use lipstick.

  I tossed the thing back into the depths of my bag and felt around the bottom near the slick liner. Using my back to brace the door, I snatched up my bag and snaked my hand all around the inside of it. A sharp thump to the door caused me to drop the bag and slide right down to the floor, my rear end hitting it hard. Some of the bag’s contents had tumbled out onto the floor. The tube of pepper spray had slid under the bed along with a number of stray coins and some lint-shaggy, butterscotch Life Savers I’d apparently had a family of collecting and growing in my bag. I scooted over to the bed and reached underneath, feeling around for the pepper spray. Once I had it grasped tightly in my hand, I slowly eased myself up, unbolted the door lock, and swung the door wide open.

  The air outside was muggy and stank of rotting vegetation. There were no outside lights on in the exterior edge of the resort where my room was located, but there was a fingernail curve of moonlight that was just bright enough for me to discern the lines of hills and valleys and bowing trees dotted here and there in the distance. The soft light of my room helped as well, acting as a dim searchlight, ready to capture anything scuttling around right outside the room.

  There was no sign of the door scratcher though, nothing out of the ordinary. My heart still rapidly pounded away, undoubtedly unconvinced there was really nothing out there. Fight or flight instinct urged me to avoid the possibility of the former and take on the offer of the latter, but it wasn’t enough for me then. I would’ve rather faced it head-on, whatever “it” was actually, confronted it, made peace with it, if anything, so that I could go back to that blissful sleep I so desperately needed, so I slipped on my sneakers, snatched up my room key and cell phone, and headed out, but not before locking the door behind me. I still didn’t like the thought of whatever it was that was outside getting in and hiding in my room, waiting for me there in the closet or bathroom or a darkened corner. There were lots of places to hide in that gloomy place.

  I walked along a pebbly path, using the flashlight app on my cell as a light. There were no visible signs of life, aside from the waving shadows and buzzing gnats frantically zigzagging in the faint light. When I rounded the corner of the building, the warm glow of lamplight came from somewhere ahead of me, so I switched off the app, shoved the cell down in my shorts’ pocket, and trudged on, heading straight for the light.

  “You lost, little lady?” someone growled right behind me. The hot, acrid stench of meaty breath warmed the back of my neck and curled around me.

  And my eyes went runny, my head went heavy all over, my heart rate thundery.

  I spun around, stumbling, waving my tube of pepper spray around in front of me. I fell backwards and landed smack dab in a bed of something painfully prickly. Needles pierced my skin, poking hot, jagged points through my shirt, my shorts, all over my hands and all down my legs. I flailed about, trying to heave myself up, but every time I put my hand down to brace myself as I tried to get up, I wound up making it worse by attempting to reach around for actual ground. My body went into panic mode, shaking, my breath coming in ragged hitches. I managed to clench my way through the pain and heave myself up off the bed of cacti. Then I wiped frantically at barbs I couldn’t see whatsoever that had stuck through my clothing and into my skin. When I ran a hand into my pocket for my cell just to get my strong light back and check the damage, shine it on whoever was out there with me, my pocket turned out to be empty. The cell had apparently slipped from it into the cacti bed.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I muttered as I patted myself down, if anything, to be absolutely certain it had fallen out. And as my luck would have it, it wasn’t there at all.

  I wasn’t about to try and get the thing when I couldn’t easily see it down in the cacti bed, but I couldn’t get back to my room in the darkness, not with whoever was out there, teasing me, scaring the hell out of me. I would’ve certainly used the pepper spray had I had a clear view of my tormentor.

  Bile formed in my throat. My body trembled all over. These weren’t withdrawal symptoms; this was fight or flight, fight or flight. If I high-tailed it back to my room, I’d not be able to feasibly “high-tail” it because I’d have to feel around, letting the buildings, any physical landmarks guide me somehow in the dark. If I made my way closer to the lighted area of the resort, I’d still risk running into whoever it was out there with me, but at least there’d be some sense of civilization, and I’d be able to see him clearly (face him, make peace with him, STUPID) than if I were heading back in the darkness.

  Also, there was the off-chance I could find someone out in the creepy hours of the early morning who could help me get my phone. Off-chance, barely a possibility, but there had to be a few employees around. Mom had mentioned something about staff not being around, apart from some cooks or something, but she was prone to exaggerating details sometimes. Hell, what kind of a resort doesn’t have a front desk worker on duty at the very least?

  Right when I started for the dimly lighted area of the resort, someone grasped my upper arm. I screamed, cutting the dark, and a voice went “Shhhhh.”

  I turned right into a tall figure as I once again held out my pepper spray. A flashlight clicked on, its beam right underneath the chin of a man’s grinning face.

  “Soooo…whatcha doing out here at hella clock in the morning?” said the man with a chortle.

  And I sprayed him right in his eyes, the fucker.

  THREE
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br />   The guy howled, dropping his flashlight on the ground. “What the fuck?” He pawed at his eyes, balling his hands and rubbing frantically.

  I shoved him while he was unsteady, and he fell backwards, landing right on his ass. At least he hadn’t tripped into the cacti bed. Small favor for him.

  “Goddamn, girl, what is wrong with you?” he said with a groan.

  I picked up his flashlight and waved its beam in his direction, if anything, to get a closer look at the creep.

  He must’ve been in his 40’s or so. It was often hard to tell middle-aged men’s ages precisely as they all seemed to dress as if the grunge era had never really left the building. He had dark, ruffled hair and five o’clock shadow attempting to be a weak beard. Solid build. Etched scowl. He looked like he’d both inflicted and taken a few swings in the past couple of decades.

  Yeah, he fit right in with the locale.

  I dropped to a crouch right beside him, waving his flashlight beam right at his face. “I’m sorry, what’s wrong with me? Really? No, no. What is wrong with you, not me,” I said. “Not me. I was out looking for the prick who kept scratching at my bedroom door, that same prick who scared the holy fuck out of me a few minutes ago…and the same prick who caused me to fall onto a cactus and lose my cell.”

  He sniffed, wiping his wet, red-rimmed eyes with the back of his hand. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you, but I swear I wasn’t trying to do that to you. That isn’t me. I mean, hell, look where it got me. Eyes on fire. Ass broken in half.” He scrambled up to his feet, rubbing at his sore backside. “I have chronic insomnia, so I just walk around until I get tired and my thoughts go quiet. Runs in my family. Well, my father’s side. Mom and her kin could sleep if there was a Cat. 5 hurricane happening outside.”

  “So you really weren’t the guy who crept up on me and said, ‘You lost, little lady’? Because that was something I don’t want to relive ever again.”