“You leaving?” He crossed the room, sat beside her. Still naked, his cock still hard. Marta wished he would at least put some boxers on.
“I’m tired. ” She cleared her throat, pulled her shirt on, tied her hair up and held it there with a bobby pin she had pulled from her pocket.
“Well you can just stay here. I can cook you something.” He reached into her lap and grabbed her hand, and though Marta wanted to yank it away, she forced herself not to. “Come on, don’t run off. I’ve got some wine. We can have a few glasses, then maybe get back in bed? I won’t stop til you cum twice, all right?”
Now she did pull her hand away. “Oh god.” She stood, backed away from him. “I’ll…I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She walked past the bed and toward the bedroom door. His apartment was small, so she was at the front door in seconds. The place was clean-too clean for a guy. Always smelled like cinnamon. Just as her hand wrapped around the door knob, she realized she had left her keys on his dresser. She sighed, scratched her scalp, and hurried back.
He sat in the same spot, head hanging. Looked fucking pathetic like that. Another turn off.
The muscles in his arms rippled as he clutched the mattress, and when she crossed the room toward his dresser, trying to sneak in so he wouldn’t notice her, she heard him mutter something under his breath. She didn’t quite catch it, but heard the word fucking…
She grabbed her keys and they jangled and he turned to look at her. His frown exploded into a smile at the sight of her, as if he thought she had changed her mind and was going to stay after all, was going to strip back down and climb right back onto his dick…which was still hard.
“Forgot my keys.” Even Marta had to admit her tone was heartless, way too bitchy even for her own taste. You like him, you fucking idiot. Stop treating him like dog shit. She walked toward him, grabbed him gently by the chin, and kissed him. No tongue, just a soft, gentle kiss. He kissed back, pressed a little too hard, but she pulled away, smiled, fingers still under his chin. “I’m just tired, okay? Don’t freak out on me. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ve got lots to do.”
His body relaxed and he smiled. “Yeah, it’s cool. Tomorrow then.” He pulled her in, gripping the back of her thighs and massaging them. “Breakfast?”
She shoved him away by the shoulders, but playfully. “Yeah, sure. But I want donuts. And not that grocery store shit. Real donuts.”
“Donuts it is.” He lifted himself up, puckered his lips.
Marta forced herself not to roll her eyes as she kissed him again. “See you later.” And then she escaped, got free of the cinnamon-scented apartment, strolled quickly through the small parking lot to her rusted ‘89 Beetle.
There was a half-drank Sprite Zero in the cup holder, and even though it was warm, she took a long swig. She studied herself in the rearview, stuck her tongue out at her reflection. She jammed the key into the ignition, but before turning it she glanced back across the parking lot toward Felix’s door, paused there for a moment.
Go home, Marta.
She started the car, turned the volume down on the radio before it had a chance to spit sounds at her. Her head throbbed and she thought a little silence might do her good. So much to think about. Her mind raced, full of uncertainties as to what was to come in the next couple of nights. Even though she had her doubts, her fears, she knew there was no way around it, knew it had to be done. Years of planning, and it was finally going to happen.
She couldn’t tell which emotion was the strongest-fear or excitement.
The drive home was a blur, and before she knew it, she was parked at the curb in front of her duplex. The people on side B were partying again, bass pounding from their side, rap lyrics muffled by the walls. Marta thought about calling the cops, but it never did her any good in the past, so she just clenched her teeth and walked quickly to her door.
Her place smelled of mildew, the same dirty towel scent she had grown used to. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the smell was coming from or what was causing it. And never got around to calling the landlord to fix it. She stepped over discarded, soiled clothing and food boxes until she reached her desk. Leaned down and powered up the computer. The computer was old, took a while to start up. Marta leaned back in the green plastic lawn chair, massaged her temples. Her thigh vibrated, and she pulled out her cell phone, clicked her tongue as she glared at the display.
Felix: U sure u don’t wanna stay? I miss you already.
“Uhhh!” She nearly tossed her phone, but couldn’t risk breaking it, set it down on a pile of papers. The bass from next door rattled her wall, and she saw that the one photo she had hung up was already knocked over, lying face down on the carpet. “Motherfuckers.”
The computer was still struggling to turn on, and she slapped the monitor before trudging across the living room toward the photo. She picked it up, sighed with relief that the glass hadn’t broken. She ran her fingertip across the faces of her mother and father. This is when the tears usually started. But not now, not today. Today she felt something else as she stared at her parents: anger.
There were only snippets of memories of either one of them. Her mother more than her father, though she thought she could remember his smile. He wasn’t smiling in the picture. He looked more confused than anything, as if whoever took this photo took him by surprise.
But she remembered how her mother would hold her, kiss the top of her head, scratch the back of her neck. She hadn’t seen either one of them in over twenty years. Nobody had.
***
Felix downed the rest of his beer as he pulled a fresh one from the fridge. He slammed the empty bottle on the counter and slid it toward the others. The bottle hit them, knocked them over like brown, glass dominoes, two of them falling off the counter and shattering.
“Fuck.” He chugged half of the beer in his hand before grabbing the hand broom and dust pan under his sink. His eyes darted to his cell phone again, but the display was still blank. Still no response from Marta. It was only a few hours ago she was hugged up on him, kissing him, giggling and flirty. She was the one who initiated the sex. So what the fuck is her problem?
He swept up the glass, tossed it tinkling into the plastic trash can, then wiped up the tiny puddles of beer. The bottle of wine still sat untouched. Marta’s favorite Rosé.
He had cleaned up the apartment for her as he always did, sprayed some air freshener. Forced himself not to drink a drop the whole day in preparation for their plans. Even hid his liquor bottles under the sink so she wouldn’t ask why he had so goddamn many of them.
His eyes landed on the cell phone again, and he couldn’t resist picking it up on his way to the couch. He could still feel her warm flesh engulfing him, could still taste her on his lips, his tongue. No woman he had ever been with had ever tasted so sweet, and he wanted her again so badly he could punch a hole in the wall.
Marta and her fucking mood swings. One minute she’s a sweetheart, unable to keep her hands off him, smiling at him, snuggling up to him. And the next, she’s distant, irritable, like she wants nothing more than for Felix to just fall off the face of the fucking Earth. But she’d never been that way after sex. She usually saved that attitude for the next morning. So when she started pulling her clothes on quicker than Felix could dry his dick off, he couldn’t help but get a little pissed at her. Of course, he didn’t want her to know he was pissed because that would only push her further away, would only ruin his chance to get her soft, warm body back in his bed.
But every time he looked at the cell phone display and saw it blank, his anger intensified. He opened his messages just to make sure he hadn’t missed it somehow, but his text message sat alone with no reply to accompany it.
Is she okay? What if something happened to her on her way home?
He knew she didn’t live in the best neighborhood, and though his apartment complex was no Wayne Manor, he still always felt better when she stayed over.
He squeezed the phone and t
yped in the message: At least just let me know you’re okay and that you made it home all right.
He purposely spelled everything out instead of doing the normal text abbreviations, just to show her he was serious, but his thumb hovered over the send icon. You’re just being paranoid, he thought. Just Relax. He didn’t want to come off as desperate, but that’s exactly how he felt, and his thumb landed on the touch screen and the message was sent. Regret pulsed through him immediately.
He sipped his beer, stood up, and paced the apartment. Found himself in his bedroom, opening his sock drawer. The velvet jewelry box was buried deep, and he pulled it out, finished his beer, and sat on the bed. The sheets were still ruffled and tossed about, and Felix stared at the wet spot in the middle of the bed for a minute.
Why did you have to cum so quick, Felix? He had been thinking about the time he had gotten so drunk that he crashed his car into a tree. His body had been thrown over the hood and his shoulder collided with the hard wood. The worst pain he had ever felt. And as Marta had been fucking him, her perfect breasts bouncing and her face contorted into a mask of ecstasy, he had tried reliving that pain in his mind. Anything to keep himself from cumming. But she just felt so goddamn good.
And then she left.
She had a lot on her mind, and he knew it. But hell, so did he. They were doing this thing together, and even though Felix was only coming along to keep her safe-something he would never come out and say-he was still going to go through with it.
He cracked open the box and stared at the ring. Fourteen karat yellow gold with one big square diamond sitting on top. It was the nicest ring he could afford, and he told himself that the wedding band that goes along with it would really make the diamond pop. He knew he would be in debt for the next five years-at least-but she was worth it. Marta was worth every penny and more.
Just thinking about actually asking her, getting on his knee and peering up into her eyes as she ogled the ring sliding down her finger sent tremors of anxiety through his flesh. He knew he had to pick the right moment, had to find a time when she was in one of her good moods, when she was being especially cuddly. Though a lifetime of Marta’s mood swings worried him, the good vastly outweighed the bad in his mind.
But when would the right time be? She’s probably stressed out of her skull right now.
Felix had put a lot of thought into that. He wondered if his timing was a bad idea. As dangerous as the next few days were sure to be, he had convinced himself he had to do this now. There was no telling what could happen, and he wanted her to know how he felt just in case he never again got the chance.
His cell phone vibrated.
His heart fell into his stomach. His palms seeped moisture as he grabbed the phone off his dresser, and it nearly slipped from his grasp. A smile stretched across his face, and he bit his lip as he opened the message.
Marta: Seriously?
Felix sighed, stared at the text for a few minutes before tossing the phone across the room onto his bed. He nearly crushed the jewelry box in his shaking fist.
“Well fuck you too!” He growled as he paced back and forth, fighting the urge to send a message back to her. Any message he sent at that moment he would regret, he knew that for sure. Always walking on egg shells with her, never able to express his true emotions in fear of scaring her off.
“Shit…”
He took a deep breath, placed the jewelry box back in his drawer. On the dresser, lying on its side, was her chapstick. The beeswax kind with peppermint oil. He opened it, slathered his lips in it. Every time he kissed her, his lips had that peppermint burn afterward, just a slight tingling sensation. It calmed him down, and he smiled as he slid his sock drawer shut.
The cork popped free and he drank the wine straight from the bottle, leaning against the counter.
“I love you, Marta. Even if you can be a crazy bitch sometimes.” He laughed at himself, then realized he was drunker than he thought he was.
Tomorrow, he thought. I’ll ask her tomorrow, before it all starts.
2
Felix squeezed the steering wheel with sweaty palms as he drove toward Marta’s place. He had picked up donuts, just like she’d asked for. Hot and fresh, their smell filling his mouth with saliva and turning his stomach into a boiling cauldron. He sipped coffee, but the caffeine did nothing for the throbbing headache. He woke up on the living room floor that morning, already late, the empty bottle of Rosé leaning on his neck. His mouth tasted like vomit, though he didn’t remember throwing up and found no evidence of it anywhere in the apartment.
He had to lean his head against the tile as he showered, moaning as his brain slammed itself against the wall of his skull over and over again, punishing him for killing so many of its cells the night before. The toothpaste tasted sour, but he brushed his teeth three times. The duffel bag had been packed earlier the previous day, so he pulled it out of the closet, double checked it. Everything seemed to be in order: old clothes he had bought at Goodwill, a few bottles of water, some protein bars, and most importantly, the necklace and cross pendant. The cross was a little big, but it was the smallest he could find. He was still impressed that they could fit a camera inside of it.
He had zipped up the bag, grabbed his laptop case from the bedside table, and headed out. Just outside of his bedroom, he stopped, snapped his fingers, and doubled back, pulled the jewelry box from his drawer and shoved it to the bottom of his bag.
When he pulled up to the curb in front of Marta’s duplex, it was already near noon, and he just sat there for a minute, loathing the look she would give him once she saw him. Now that Felix could think clearly, he knew his text message was a stupid idea. He was coming off as pathetic, and he just knew it was only a matter of time before Marta would pick up on it and dump his ass. Not that they were a couple. What they had going had no labels. Fuck buddies came to mind, but it was more than that. At least to Felix it was.
He had been staring blankly out the windshield, lost in his own thoughts when the knock at the window nearly made him spill the hot coffee over his lap.
“Where’s my donuts, bitch?” Marta smiled wide at him, puckered her lips and arched her eyebrows. She always made that face when she was trying to be silly, and Felix loved it.
A calm swept over him as he realized she was in one of her good moods, and he hit the unlock button, then stepped out of the car to help her with her bag. He tried his best to hide the discomfort of his pounding head, and he grabbed the bag from her, wrapped his arm around her, and hugged her. “Sorry I’m late.” He leaned in for a kiss, but she pulled away.
“It’s not a big deal. Today’s all about getting there. We won’t actually start until tomorrow anyway.”
But Felix was still only thinking about that kiss she pulled away from.
Relax. Don’t let that fuck up your mood.
His chest tightened, and a hot embarrassment glided over him, but he popped the trunk, tossed her bag in. When he looked back toward her, she was leaned against the car, mouth full of donut, the other half of it clamped between her fingers. She smiled, spoke through the chewed up dough. “These are so good. Sinfully yummy.”
“I made sure the neon sign was lit. Got hot coffee in there for you too.”
“My hero.”
She slid into the car, and Felix jogged over so he could shut the door for her. Her hair was wet as if she just stepped out of the shower, and the smell of lavender soap swirled off her. The rest of her donut was stuffed into her mouth, very unlady like, and as she chewed, her cheeks bulging, she was already reaching for another. Felix also loved that about her. Never worried about what others thought about her, especially Felix. He knew her signature belches were in his near future.
“So,” he said as they drove out of the neighborhood. “You ready for this?”
Her eyebrows lowered as she took another hefty bite from her donut, licked the glaze flakes from her lips. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m getting pretty
goddamn nervous. I mean, I’m ready for it, but aren’t you at least a little scared?”
“Shit,” she said as she pulled her lips away from the coffee. “That shit’s hot.” She wiped her mouth, crossed her arms, eyes forward. “Of course I am. But that doesn’t matter. You know I have to do this, you know what this means to me. Look, if you want-”
“Don’t even start. I’m not going anywhere.” He clenched his teeth as a painful throb ignited in his head. “And honestly, you haven’t really told me much. All I know is we’re driving eight hours toward the border to make a documentary about the Border Patrol. That’s all you’ve told me. It’s like any time I ask about it, you change the subject.”
He could see right away that whatever good mood she’d been clinging to was dissolving quickly. It didn’t take much, and though he was risking a long awkward drive, Felix pressed on.
“No matter what, I’ve got your back. Know that. But don’t you think maybe I should know what it is we’re really doing? Marta, dressing up like illegals and getting caught on purpose sounds pretty fucking crazy when I don’t have any details. Why is this so important to you?”
She blew on her coffee, sipped it. Turned to face Felix. “You’re right. You of all people deserve to know. I don’t know why I act the way I do sometimes, I just…” She chuckled. “I’m just a crazy bitch, I guess.”
Felix smiled. “Well, I’d say you got that about half right.”
Her jaw dropped, but she held her smile. “The crazy part or the bitch part?”
“I think I’ve said enough.”
She punched him in the shoulder and snorted. Burped and patted her chest.
Muerte Con Carne Page 2