by Jenn Cooksey
Challenge accepted, I square my shoulders and pick it up. So far so good. My eyes close and I gulp down another huge breath before opening it, the creaking of tight-fitted hinges ricocheting off my bones and echoing throughout my whole, empty body. Girding myself for what I’m sure will be enormously painful and next to impossible to live through just looking at it, I open my eyes. The monstrous sight before me immediately replaces deep-welling melancholy with outraged fury that saturates every fiber of my being…
22
“Chalk Outline”
—Cole—
Erica: Ready to FT?
Figures. The one time I’m not ready, she’s right on schedule. Already buck-ass naked and thanking God I invested a ridiculous amount of money in a life proof phone case, I test the temperature of my motel room’s shower and step into the steamy enclosure with my phone in hand. I don’t make a habit out of talking to Erica or anyone else when I’m in the bathroom, honestly, but she has a tendency of catching me with my pants down. I work my ass off as a bar-back at a pool in one of the Vegas hotels, and normally I would put off cleansing myself of the filth and grime that comes with spending ten or more hours with obnoxious, drunk guests, and bartenders who are mostly either cocksuckers or hellbitches depending on gender, until after Erica and I hang up or end our FaceTime chats. However, scrubbing the repulsiveness of last night off of me can’t wait another second. Raising the temperature of my shower to a level of scalding sterilization, I reply and give her a heads up.
Me: Sure, but you should know you’ll be taking a shower with me via FaceTime. :-P
Erica: How about speakerphone? LOL
Me: That works. And sorry for not answering last night. I have something to tell you though.
Erica: Ditto.
Standing under the sanitizing water, I congratulate myself in that there’s no way on God’s green Earth that whatever she has to tell me will outdo what I have to tell her. And that’s not even counting that I have two somethings to tell her because both will win hands down on their own. Still undecided about whether to lead with the fact that I’m taking this shower in Oregon about five miles from her, or whether to first tell her about the night I had that prompted me to jump in my car and drive all night and day to get here, which entailed being hounded by some of the guys I work with to go to a strip club with them only to be hit on by my own fucking mother, I place my phone on the narrow fiberglass shelf next to me and then lean forward on the shower wall. With my head resting on my crossed arms, I blow out a breath, feeling exhausted as fuck after being in the car for fourteen hours combined with no sleep for more than twenty-four hours now. Although, after two months of living with only phone and video calls to satisfy the void I let her leave in me, I’m also inordinately wired about getting to actually see Erica in person.
I fucking shit you not, though. My own mom hit on me. Like my phone case, a fake ID declaring me to be hardly more than six months older than I actually am was procured and invested in almost upon arriving in Vegas. It enabled me to go out for a beer after working a job that’s harder than anything I’ve ever done before with more cash from one day than I’ve ever made in a week. Last night was the twenty-first birthday of one of my fellow underage employee friends and we went out and had a fake ID burning party for him. At the end of the night we ended up at this sleazy strip joint off the main drag and that’s where it all came full circle for me.
One of my buddies was getting a lap dance from one stripper who, from the looks of her, shouldn’t have ever gotten on the pole in the first place, and this, actually, kind of attractive older chick solicits me for one. At first I was tempted, but then I remembered my origins and got skeeved out. She was all over me though; touching me in places and in ways a person should never feel as comfortable as she did with a complete stranger.
She was also saying shit like how I remind her of someone she remembers being a lot of fun, how much she loves the color of my eyes, that people don’t see eyes like mine very often, and that they make her hot…blah blah blah. I mean come on; my eyes are fucking brown. They’re not exactly exotic or even an unusual shade of brown. They’re the same color as my dad’s and probably something like seventy percent of everyone else’s living on planet Earth—just normal, plain, every day brown. Sort of similar to the color of my wallet, which at the time I was sure was the only reason she was even trying to get into my pants in the first place. Whatever.
Then when we’re leaving and I was halfway through the door, I felt an arm snake around my waist and something placed in my hand as this now somewhat familiar voice purred in my ear from behind me. “I know I’m probably old enough to be your mother, but just think about it,” she said, and left me standing there with my mouth hanging open staring at a napkin with disturbingly familiar handwriting on it. Her napkin note read, I get off at 2, come back if you want to as well. It has the woman’s phone number on it and her name. Fucking Candi with a goddamned heart in place of the dot over the i.
While this unwelcome and totally warped sense of pride filled me—having put two and two together with her really awful, but...kinda honest pick-up lines, all bringing me to the conclusion that my dad was clearly a good enough lay to leave a lasting impression—I still hurled. At least I made it to the garbage bins outside to do it though.
From there, I see I missed Erica’s call at some point during the utmost profane and dehumanizing of nights, and it’s a no-brainer for me to get right in my car, call in sick for the following day, buckle up, and drive straight through the night and most of the next day to Oregon, intending to surprise Erica for the weekend and see what I can do about wiping the degradation from myself while ridding her of the loneliness that was clearly evident in the message she left me. I didn’t even pack a bag. Although now, I’m sort of kicking myself for not packing up altogether and getting out of town for good. I don’t know where I want to go or if it’s a good time to move here, but I ain’t staying in Vegas and chancing another run-in with my cougar mommy. Fuck. That. Uh-uh.
The sound of my phone makes me jump and I realize I’d been on the verge of falling asleep. Our proximity to one another though and knowing how soon I’ll get to hug her gives me a boost that no energy drink can even fathom bottling.
“Hey, you go first,” I tell her and grab the soap, thinking that if I go first, I probably won’t ever hear her news because she’ll be too busy squealing with happiness.
She’s been pretty miserable if I’m any decent judge. I’ve kept every trace of I told you so from our conversations though, and I’ve been better than good about letting her figure out her mistake in coming here on her own. Even when that included me literally biting my tongue until it bled when she told me she was going to the first home football game. Afterwards when she called with her status report, she said she made it through the whole game without crying; however, it took everything in me to not jump on a plane right then so I could get here in time to either hold her while she bawled after the fact, or stop her from doing it at all because, well… Having to endure listening to Erica cry on the phone and not being able to do jack shit about it is the single worst thing about playing the waiting game with any degree of patience.
All lathered up, I realize a grin wider than the Grand Canyon has spread across my face with the knowledge that once she tells me whatever it is she has to say, I get to tell her my story and then follow it up by inviting her to dinner, live, not like when we make dinner plans and eat takeout together on FaceTime.
“Holden was gonna ask me to marry him.” The smile on my lips all but vanishes in an instant. “He even bought a ring. His parents gave it to my grandma with some pictures and a letter for me explaining that they’ve sold their house and everything they own, and are planning on traveling the world for the foreseeable future. I guess we inspired them to do it with our road trip. My grandma sent the ring and letter in a care package the other day… I just opened it last night.”
Oh my fucking God. Of course,
THAT’S the one phone call you miss.
I pull a hand over my mouth, dragging my jaw open only to leave it hanging there collecting hot water without any words or even sound forthcoming.
“He bought a fucking ring, Cole. Did you know? Did he tell you he was gonna propose?”
I blow out a careful breath. “Yeah. I did. He showed it to me when he was home at Christmas.”
“What did you say?”
“Um, about what? The ring or about asking you to marry him?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can I honestly admit to her that I made a very small attempt at dissuading the guy she’s in love with from asking her to marry him? I didn’t know it at the time, although now I think I was so affronted by the idea because I knew she’d say yes without thought or question. And I absolutely didn’t want her to. Because I wanted her for myself. I wanted her for myself and I was pissed off and in denial that I’d handed her over to Holden on a silver platter without even realizing that’s what I’d done.
I even think that’s why I never showed up to Erica’s New Year’s Eve party and spent the rest of Holden’s life avoiding the two of them. I’d slowly been backing way off from both of them because I wasn’t ready or willing, or maybe both, to acknowledge my feelings for her because I knew they would never be reciprocated with Holden in the picture, and I didn’t have it in me to even try to win her away from someone I considered my best friend. I still don’t.
“The ring, Cole. What did you say about this ring?”
Shiiit. “Um, I think I told him you’d love it?”
“Are you kidding me?” Huh. She sounds kind of pissed, not sad. “Does anyone fucking know me at all?” Definitely not sad…
“Uh…why do you think no one knows you?”
“I would never wear this thing, Cole. I mean, I would, because he bought it and I would’ve been elated and everything, but…I would never pick out something this…this…ostentatious. I mean, it’s hideous. Really.”
Oh, thank God…
“Sooo…yeah. That was pretty much my thought exactly when I saw it, but I, uh…didn’t tell him that.”
“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t have mattered. You can’t return engagement rings, especially ones that have been engraved.”
Engraved? I don’t remember anything about it being engraved.
“It was engraved?”
“Yeah, and get this, he goes through the effort of having them engrave it with our anniversary, but doesn’t bother to check that they got it right. Either that, or he got our anniversary wrong in the first place!”
“Wasn’t your guys’ anniversary October twenty-third?”
“YES!”
“What’s on the ring?”
“The twenty-seventh! Wait, how do you remember my anniversary and my own fucking boyfriend who wanted to marry me clearly didn’t?”
Uh-oh. Well, it certainly isn’t because I vividly remember the day Holden asked me if I would be cool with him asking Erica to be his girlfriend and almost choking on my answer of, “Sure, just don’t be a dick to her or I’ll eradicate your very existence,” when my first impulse was an emphatic, “When Hell freezes over.” I think I convinced myself though that I was being protective of her like a big brother would’ve been, and everyone around me knew it. Like they all were aware no one would’ve ever been good enough for her in my eyes, and if they were lucky enough to be granted my permission to try to be, everyone knew I would’ve blown a fucking gasket if I’d found out anyone ever screwed her over, or, screwed her literally. Although after they’d been together for what seemed like forever and a day, I think I got used to the idea that he made her happy, and so I just quietly bowed out.
Mmhm, that’s what you did alright. Nice going. And uh, pretty sick shit, considering the circumstances and your more recent brotherly protective behavior that essentially landed your dick in her mouth.
Oh my God, I hate you so very much sometimes…
I clear my throat and then straight up lie. Er…partially lie. “It was his passcode on his computer. I started at ten-zero-one and worked my way up until I got it right.”
“Oh. Then it must’ve been the jeweler’s mistake I guess. But still…that just makes last night worse.” Her voice takes a turn, alerting me to the fact that she’s moving past being angry and into something I can’t quite put my finger on, but her tone sends a chill down my spine. “I was so pissed off at him and myself and just everything last night, Cole…I was just…so done and I did something incredibly stupid because of it.”
If I were her, I would’ve chucked the ring through a window and not given a shit how much money it could probably get from a pawn shop, so, unless that’s what she did, she needs to let up on herself a little.
“It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Yeah, well, it was. I—God, I don’t even know if I should say this…”
“Say what?” Even through the water beating down on and around me, I can hear her starting to sniffle, and suddenly with the passing of every second she doesn’t answer, I get the very distinct feeling I shouldn’t have asked.
“Well, first let me preface this with saying that after a night of feeling unbelievably despondent, then more angry than I’ve ever been in my life at someone I love, and drinking entirely way too much, all I really have to show for myself is an incredible hangover and absolutely no dignity whatsoever. But I mean, honestly though, what did I expect to accomplish or prove to him by getting hammered and having sex with fucking Captain America?!”
Before I left for Las Vegas, Wyatt had told me how everyone had been clued into Erica’s and my little secret and that Chad was steering way clear of me because of it. I didn’t understand why until Wyatt explained that people like me make Chad nervous because we’re too cool until it’s too late. I still didn’t quite get it so he further explained that I’m what Chad calls a lethally slow burner. It takes a while to get my fuse to do its thing once it’s lit, although once the spark finally reaches the dynamite, KABOOM. But because it takes so long for me to even ignite let alone to explode, people are lulled into a false sense of security and might think it’s safe to get close when in actuality, the second they take what they think is a danger-free step towards me, I go off and they’re completely annihilated. Chad had felt the negative energy I was putting off from jump before he even knew Erica was only eighteen, and once he understood where it actually originated from and that he’d put himself in my line of fire however unknowingly, he was keeping a respectfully safe distance.
Hearing Erica admit not only openly and out loud, but almost casually that after everything…everything I’ve put myself through and practically sold my soul for a chance at having with her…she chose to get drunk and with no regard whatsoever, she just…threw herself and her virginity away like both were nothing, like neither meant a goddamned solitary thing to anyone except the fucking corpse of her rotting would’ve-been husband… Well, it isn’t a simple stick of dynamite I feel about to go off inside me finally.
Despite the heat and thick steam from my shower, killing coldness sweeps over me to permeate the crypt where my deadened heart now dwells; it having for once and finally given up the ghost in trying to beat at all, even for myself. My mind races for fuel or a weapon I can use to inflict as much injury and hurt as I’m filled with, and I become apocalyptically radioactive latching onto and deciding upon the one thing I know will cut her open and make her bleed out, because draining her life’s spirit to empty as much as what her actions of last night have done to me is the only way I can ensure a new era…one where I’ll never be vulnerable to being slaughtered by her hand like this again. Once is enough.
Deafening silence comes from me though because to do it right; to grind her completely into nothing but dust, I have to once again bide my time and patiently wait my turn…
23
“Words”
—Erica—
Truthfully, I was relieved as all hell when Cole agreed to talk on the phone instead o
f through FaceTime. I wanted to see his face in addition to hearing his voice; however, I really wasn’t looking forward to him seeing mine when I told him about my night of drunken debauchery with a complete stranger. Shit, I didn’t even want to say it out loud to myself, let alone to anyone else. And I know it’s Cole and I can tell him anything and everything, but still. I mean I became a living, breathing, drinking, college cliché last night and to think anyone will applaud me for sticking it to my dead, almost fiancé like I did is an even more ludicrous thought than thinking Holden would in some way show me he still loves me, like chucking a lightning bolt at Captain America’s head or mine. Yet, when the only sound coming from the other end of the line is the hard spattering of water hitting the walls of a shower, I begin to feel even more disgrace than I did doing the walk of shame this morning with a pounding head, bloodshot eyes, and dragging my cave woman club on the ground behind me.
“Are you there?” I ask and then hear the shower stop and, I’m guessing from the rattling sound of metal rings clanking together, Cole pulling the curtain back to get out.
“Yep, just grabbing a towel. So, tell me, how was it?”
How was it? I don’t even know what to say to that except now, I suddenly really want to vent. “Truth? I mean, you really wanna know?”
“Sure, why not. Hit me.”
“It sucked. I mean it didn’t just suck…from what I remember, which isn’t a lot truth be told, it felt like a steel-toed boot was being rammed into me at first, but that was only after he managed to find where he was supposed to be in the first place after fumbling around for I don’t even know how long because he was even more hammered than I was. And that was a lot. Either that or he just has no clue where the female genitalia are located.