by Red Hammond
What could he say? I’m sorry. I tried. I hurt myself trying. I hate myself. I’d do anything to make it right. I’d do anything. Please don’t make me go away. Don’t cut me out.
Don’t stop loving me. Not for one second.
Hopper screaming all this inside his pounding head, hating himself for being so fucking selfish in the face of things.
Give her space? He never wanted to leave her side again.
Unfortunately, it was becoming obvious to him, as the hours ticked by, the silence more deliberate, that in D’s eyes, Hopper was a reminder of bad things and always would be.
A very long flight for both of them.
When they arrived at her dorm room after one in the morning, Divinity crawled into bed, balled tightly. Emily stirred in the bed next to them. Hopper expected something, maybe a whispered “good night” or D asking him to stay until sunrise, but she said nothing. Couldn’t tell if she was asleep or awake. Hopper sat on the edge of her bed, arms across his knees, bent like he was cramping. Actually, he was.
Emily finally eased herself onto an elbow, hand smushing her cheek, and asked, “Is she okay? Is she sick?”
Hopper said, “I can’t tell you. Sorry.”
“You guys fighting?”
“No, nothing like that.” He didn’t believe himself, but D didn’t correct him. “You don’t mind me sitting here, do you?”
A sleepy grin. Without her glasses, the geeky side of her gave way to something sensual. As if the hard candy-coating of smarts and plainness came off at night. “I don’t mind. Makes me feel safer, too.”
“Okay.”
Emily turned her eyes to Divinity. “She’s asleep. I know how she breathes when she’s out. I hope she’s okay.”
“She’s a tough cookie.”
“You think so? When I see her, and I mean when she’s not with you or talking to other guys, she’s very quiet. Almost sad. Like the rest is all an act.”
“We all need alone time.”
Emily shrugged, yawned. The yawn was faked, he was sure. An excuse for her to stretch her arms wide and arch her back, giving him a peek of the skin under her clothes. Yeah, she was wearing a thin spaghetti-strapped nightgown, like something from Grease. Hopper couldn’t help but stare at the brief glimpse of nipple on her pale breast, pale underarms, delicate. It made him angry. If Emily knew D had been raped, maybe she would stop the flirting. Maybe he should have told her to anyway.
She eased back onto her pillow, eyes watching him and then going droopy after a few minutes before closing and not opening. Another fifteen minutes crawled by. Hopper felt Divinity stir, her feet under the covers straining a little when they bumped him. She sat up suddenly, dead still, taking in a deep breath.
He watched, waited. She looked at him, through him. Finally saying, “You don’t have to stay.”
“It’s no problem. I don’t mind.”
Another long pause. Then she said, “I don’t want you here now, please. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“You need to go home.”
He nodded. His legs didn’t work. “You going to be okay?”
“No, I’m not. Not tonight. Sitting here won’t help. Go home, Hopper. Please. Don’t sit here, and don’t sit in the parking lot all night. And don’t come by early in the morning. I know you care, but go away right now.”
It took him too much effort to keep quiet. He let the tears roll, let the gasping sound creep into his throat. He swallowed it. Stood up.
“Good night.”
Divinity was already curled back into her ball.
Hopper walked out and felt something he’d never felt before—like a reverse orgasm. Something died. Literally, physically, emotionally died. He felt it. He hoped for its resurrection, but that wasn’t up to him.
His next stop should have been his apartment. A lonely bed. Quiet.
Instead, he drove to his sister’s house.
She was still awake, still fully dressed. Hopper had caught her on one of those evenings when she pulled an all-nighter to make progress on a novel. Luckily, the romances she wrote were heavy on formula and Sister could pull off fifty pages on a binge like this. When she met him at the door, big cozy grin on her face, he saw over her shoulder that her computer was up and running, surrounded by candles and Diet Coke and beef jerky and cheese slices. Her breath was strong, but for once it seemed her demeanor didn’t match. Black jeans, black suede boots, black satin shirt with split sleeves. Her eyes lined with dark mascara, lips dark reddish-brown.
“If I’m interrupting—”
“God no,” Sister said. “I needed a break anyway. Come in and tell me about the trip.”
Hopper limped towards the couch, the pain in his ass not as constant but still aching with every step. He eased himself down and Sister sat beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Everything about her was soft focus, Hopper lucky to catch her in the Goth Romantic mood swing hopefully for the full hour or so he planned to stay, in order to spill what he needed to about Divinity and the rapes and the beatings and the consequences of leaving Liam and Ivana with Ernie Depp and Porn Star Gary.
First thing he said: “I’ve fallen in love with her, and now I’ve failed her, so it’s over. I don’t want it to be over.”
Her fingers played with the hair on his neck. “Sometimes it just is, though. It’s better to face that and let her come back if and when she wants. In the meantime, don’t torture yourself.”
“It was on track, though. I never wanted to put her in danger, never thought she’d be blamed for something I did. What the fuck am I doing?” He leaned forward on the couch, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. A catch in his throat, like he wanted to throw up. Sister patted his back like he was a sick child.
“You could go back to school, figure it out along the way. I’ll pay the tuition, and you can stay here if you wanted.”
“My apartment is paid for. I inherited it.”
“Hey, if you’re happy wasting away over there….look, I’m worried about where you’re headed. Maybe it’s time to let me steer for a little while.”
Hopper’s face flushed. She’d taken advantage while he was weak. It was her typical play, and if it didn’t work the next step would be the belittling. The insulting. The acid.
Not this time. Whatever his troubles, Hopper liked his freedom. That’s why he got into the private eye game—to escape Sister’s control, shake himself loose from schedules, paychecks, overtime, arbitrary authority (“Wear a tie” or “That’s not the properly formatted form”), and of course sexual harassment. If he couldn’t keep the women at bay and couldn’t keep his cock in his pants, what chance did he have in corporate America?
“Thanks. That’s not going to help.”
“You could try. Jesus, everyone else has to do it. Or do you want to end up like Colin, out on a goddamn oil rig for weeks on end. Worse, eventually you’ll end up at a fast food joint.”
“I’m good at what I do.”
“Anyone can be good at that. Look at the two losers who trained you. You admire them? Think they didn’t have any regrets?”
He scooted forward, ready to leave. All a front, the nice act of hers. He fell right in. “Maybe I should go.”
“So it’s my fault now? I don’t say the right things or give you the right type of shoulder to cry on, and you put this on me? Real mature, boyo.”
“I’m sorry. It’s me, not you.”
“Fake, fake, fake. You’re lying. Tell me how you really feel. We’re not going to make any progress until we do.” She leaned closer, got in his face. “We’re going to talk this out. I’m not letting you end it like a pussy.”
Hopper was on his feet, Sister right behind him. She started to say something else, but he turned and they bumped foreheads. Hopper said, “I’m not the sick one. I’m not the one keeping her brother like a caged pet, pulling me out to play with me whenever you want.”
“Oh, don’t even put that on me. You’re the
one with the hard dick. You’re the one who runs when I ask you to, and if it comes down to a court of law, watch me turn on the ‘My little brother has been raping me for years. I’m too weak to defend myself.’ And the tears. The jury will look at you, Mr. Muscles, and believe every word.”
“You don’t know what it means to be raped.”
“That’s right, but you do, don’t you? You obviously like it. It doesn’t just happen to people two, three times. It isn’t some mental intimidation that keeps you in my bed or fucking mechanics or bartenders or….is that what happened this time? You got raped again? Or Divinity? And you’d rather live in that world than let me help you with school?”
“You don’t understand—”
“No, I don’t! Tell me why? What is wrong with you? What the holy fuck is wrong with you that you waltz around out there in perv world and then not give a shit about my feelings when I say you might have knocked me up?”
“Well, what’s wrong with you that you can’t tell me if I did or not?”
The grin spread wide, wide, lines on the face crinkling, the mascara narrowing her eyes to slits. “You want it, you’ve got to work for it.”
Hopper reached behind Sister, grabbed her hair close to her scalp and yanked back hard. She cried out, clamped her fingernails on top of his fist.
“Work like this? Let me show you how I like it for once. How about that?”
She seethed, then relaxed. “Get rough. I can take whatever you dish. Want revenge? Fuck me up the ass like the mechanic did you. Bust my lip open and ride me, baby.”
“I think I will.”
“Go on, I’m waiting. Right in the mouth.”
He did. Popped his hand hard and fast and felt her teeth as they sunk into her flesh, the dark lipstick smearing on her chin and cheek, the blood right behind it, streaming down her neck.”
“Jesus Shit! What the hell—”
Hopper held onto her hair and pulled her down the hall to the bathroom. He flipped the light, harsh and cold, and braced Sister against the sink like he was a cop getting ready to frisk her. She put her hands on either side of the medicine cabinet, breathing hard, having to watch her bloodied face while Hopper kicked her legs apart. He reached around to unbuckle her, unzip her, whispering in her ear, “If you’re not pregnant, maybe this one will do the trick. I’m going so far away you’ll never find me to help raised whatever retard comes out of you. That’s all on you, my precious big sister. Sweet, innocent Violet.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Violet, Violet, Violet. I’m going to fuck you hard, Violet. Your brother’s got a grudge to settle.”
The blood and spit was dripping into the sink. Through her teeth Sister said, “Go for it. Give it to me. This won’t break me. Fuck me.”
He let go of her hair and yanked hard on her jeans, hearing the denim rip as Sister sucked in a hard breath. Pushed them down as far as they would go, right under her ass. Then he pulled hard on her panties, the elastic cutting into her skin, until the band snapped. He tore the fabric away. He had wanted to terrorize her, mentally stomp on her, but Sister was soaked, so ready for him, the manhandling exciting her even if she didn’t enjoy being the dominated one as much.
Hopper pressed against her, bit her shoulder, enjoyed the cry of pain and pleasure, grunting like animals. He reached to unzip his khakis.
In all the excitement he had not noticed that he was limp as a noodle.
Absolutely nothing stirring down there at all.
Sister slapped her hand against the wall one two three and said “Come on. Hurry up. Fuck me. Fuck me. Oh shit. I said hurry. Come on.”
Hopper put his hands on her waist, squeezed hard, concentrated on her naked ass, willed himself towards a raging, pulsing, brutal hard-on. Nothing. Not a damn thing. No movement, no growth, nothing. Damn it to hell.
“What the fuck are you waiting for? You wanted this, so do it, do it, fuck me now.”
Hopper wanted to hit her with his fist again. Wanted to thock her head into the medicine cabinet mirror, her lips curling, a bloody-toothed smile. She said, “You’re kidding. Seriously, you’re joking, right?” She tried to turn her head, look down at his junk.
He let go and stalked down the hall, zipping up, fumbling, almost tripping. Sister was on his heels, a jittery laugh punctuating the taunts—“You’re not tough. You’re a pussy. I’ve got more of a cock than you. I know it’s not me. It’s all you, baby.”
“Shut up.”
“Bust me up, and now that’s all you’ve got left? ‘Shut up.’ Am I hurting your feelings?”
Stalking towards the front door, determined that Sister was out of his life after this. He’d taken all he could. He would cut her out and win Divinity back and get them both out of this awful sewer of a city. He’d find a real job. He’d figure out how to keep the women from falling all over him. Thinking if this were the Fifties, if he were Mike Hammer, there would be all the innuendo and hints but none of the flesh and bodily fluids and smells and sounds. Back then flirting wasn’t an invitation for a no-strings-attached fuck.
His thoughts were interrupted when Sister grabbed the back of his shirt, flung her leg out in front of him, and shoved him down. His knees skid on the hardwood floor, his face smacked and radiated pain.
Sister said, “You thought that would get you off, beating on me? How about now?”
She stepped on his thigh, the boot heel cratering, cutting his skin.
“Please,” he said.
“I’ll tell you what gets you off. I know. I do. You like aggressive women, and you like the fact that I’m the one who’s always been there for you. That gets you stiff and there’s nothing you can do about it. That’s the vibe you put off—women want to own you. Control you. They want to satisfy the scared little boy inside the big man’s body.”
Hopper pushed himself up, reached back and grabbed Sister’s leg. He lifted it like a fallen tree and tossed it aside, sending her to the ground beside him. She was clawing at his pants as he scooted away, kicking her arms, and he kept going. Back on track for the front door.
“Wait!”
Three more steps. Hand on the doorknob, no need to listen to one more goddamn word she had to say. But he waited. After all…maybe she’d tell him. The news he was waiting for.
Hopper turned his head. Sister sat Indian-style on the floor, calm in spite of the blood around her mouth. She smoothed her hair, ran her fingers through the tangles. “You’ll be back, and you’ll apologize. Because you still don’t know if I’m carrying your child. Imagine that, our son and our nephew, all rolled into one.”
Hopper tried to think of a good response. He didn’t have one, so he opened the door. “Goodbye Violet.”
Whatever she screamed at him as he closed the door behind him was lost in the wind.
He still wasn’t ready to go home.
The Pub was as busy as Hopper had ever seen it, meaning about ten patrons total—two playing pool, one playing video poker, and the rest slumming at the bar or trying to pick up the bartender. Hopper was hoping, praying, that it would be Georgia. She was nowhere to be seen. Instead, another possibility—the skinny biker chick fuckbuddy, as plain and hot as usual. Seeing her, the action downstairs tingled. He decided to play it out, see where it led. Goddamn it, he couldn’t grieve anymore tonight without fucking somebody.
He sat at the end of the bar and waited, watched over the poker player’s shoulder rather than stare down the bartender and appear desperate. He finally felt her presence in front of him, so he turned his head expecting to find his usual shot of tequila and a Sprite.
Instead, an empty coaster.
He looked at the bartender. Hands on her hips, no smile. Like she didn’t know him. No, in that case she’d do fake friendly. This was a mad face.
He said, “Shot of tequila and a Sprite.”
The bartender let out a puff of air and shook her head slowly. “Unbelievable. I can’t believe you’d show your face in here.”
&
nbsp; “I don’t understand.”
“After what you did.”
What, she was jealous? Over Georgia? Shocked the hell out of Hopper. He thought the fucking between them was the non-committed type, just what two people attracted to each other did to get through the day.
Hopper grinned at her, doing the sheepish act. “You know how it is with me.”
She leaned into his face. “You hurt that girl. I mean, you fucking devastated her. I’m not just talking emotions here. You really hurt her. Like, emergency room hurt.”
Hopper stopped breathing for a minute. “She’s okay? God, is she okay? I never—”
“Some kind of infection, I don’t know. Using that oil in her ass? Plus, she said she only let you off the hook because she knew you’d come back for her. She was heartbroken.”
Hopper’s chest hurt. He wanted to fall off his stool. “I didn’t know.”
“Like you ever do. You’re an animal, a stud dog, and it doesn’t mean anything to you.”
“I don’t go looking for it.”
“That’s bullshit. Maybe you don’t say it. Your body advertises. Every goddamn smile or wink someone tosses at you isn’t an invite, but you pursue it until she gives it up.”
Hopper balled his fists. Stared at the copper-topped bar. All this time, no one had ever accused him this way, as if he were taking advantage of weak-willed innocents instead of simply responding to what they wanted. Yeah, how convenient. Bad Hopper as the bad guy, the women never taking responsibility for their own actions.
Good. Good justification. If that were so, then why did he feel so lousy?
He said quietly, “Tell me how to get in touch with her. Let me make it right.”
She laughed hard, a bird squawking, and spat the words. “In. Your. Dreams.”
“But—”
“Leave her alone. In fact, leave me alone. I’d prefer if you honor my request that you no longer drink here.”
He didn’t answer. One of the drinkers down the way whistled and held up an empty pint glass. The bartender turned to leave. Hopper grabbed her wrist, held it against the bar.