I stood there, speechless. What the hell did this dyke know, anyway? Anything that happened between my girlfriend and me should stay that way.
Lezz Dess gave me what was probably supposed to be a scary smile. "Who's the bitch now?"
I picked up a waiting-room chair just so I could slam it back on the floor loudly. I heard a few people mutter, but I was too focused to care. I couldn't leave like that, not with this stranger thinking she'd won. "This isn't over, bitch," I mumbled. "You're going to pay for this." To my sweetheart I said, "Morgan, I'll call you later. I wanted to bring you home today, but I see you're confused and hired yourself a bitch bodyguard. Don't worry. I'm not mad. We have a lot to discuss about our future." I gave Lezz Dess my toughest gaze and walked out of the lobby.
"Sorry, we don't have enough money to feed your drug habit," Lezz Dess called loudly after me.
That pissed me right off. Now everyone in the lobby thought I was some kind of junkie. Not only that, but my Grade-A plan got sabotaged, and I would be going home alone. Furious, I ran back across the street to my SUV, not pausing to look for cars, which earned me a few angry honks and tire screeches. I opened my car and looked in the backseat, hoping to find something I could use. Ah, there it was, on the floor behind the driver's seat. A pocketknife. I grabbed it and opened it, walking over to the car parked in front of me. Without hesitation, I jabbed the pocketknife into the car's rear tires.
That was sort of satisfying.
I started to get in my SUV but had another Grade-A thought. I threw the entire knife at the car and watched with satisfaction as the rear window smashed to pieces, causing the car alarm to go off.
Now, that was incredibly satisfying.
I drove to my apartment, stopping by a market to pick up a frozen breakfast. I parked carefully in my designated spot and closed my door softly, clicking my car alarm on with my key fob.
I took—and exhaled—a deep breath, somewhat pleased with the day's proceedings, considering I didn't get what I'd set out to retrieve—my girlfriend. I opened my apartment building's front door with one of my keys and noticed an old lady approaching me with a paper bag of groceries. I moved to the side and held the door open for her, giving her one of my most charming smiles.
This would make her day. She'd probably be thinking and fantasizing about me for a week.
She started to walk through the door without glancing at me, so I moved slightly in her way while holding the door open. When she looked up at me, I said politely, "Are you having a good day, ma'am?"
She smiled a little bit and nodded, saying, "It's a little too hot for my tastes. I wish it would rain. Thank you, young man."
"Oh, no, please don't mention it," I responded. I saw two women walking by on the street, so I pretended to give the old lady all my attention, laughing a lot louder than I needed to and turning a little bit so the two passing women would get to see my face.
After the old lady passed through the door and was gone, I went inside the building as well, closing the door softly behind me. I didn't look back to notice if the two passing women were still looking at me or perhaps trying to follow me in.
Always leave 'em wanting more.
I opened my front door, went through, and locked it behind me, secretly hoping I'd be getting a knock on my door from one of my new admirers who was so taken by me that she'd find a way in the building. Of course, they might have to stand by the door waiting for hours until another tenant arrived or left. That was fine. I wouldn't mind if they finally tracked me down hours or even days from now. The important thing is that they were that dedicated to me. Good for them. It's nice to not only have a dream but be dedicated to it. Maybe if they stalked me enough, I'd go out with them and screw both their brains out at once, just to prove I was man enough to handle it all. I wouldn't have to worry about Morgan forgiving me because first of all, she would never know. Secondly, it wouldn't really be cheating because it would be a charity lay, and that's a totally different category.
I didn't want a relationship with any of my admirers. I just wanted them to keep chasing me, and you gotta give a little to get a little, right?
I carefully placed my car keys on top of the microwave in the kitchen and heated up the frozen breakfast according to the package directions. While it cooked, I removed a soda from the fridge. It was too early for a beer, even for me. I set up everything on my living room glass coffee table neatly.
The table took me to a recollection.
Morgan had wanted to try the E.
I had smiled then. I smiled now.
She'd needed no further coaching. She'd taken all the pills I'd left for her, and she learned how to prepare some coke for me on this very table. I loved sharing that part of my life with her. She was a natural with it.
Although it was true that Morgan deserved to pay dearly, we were still together. I loved her, and she loved me. I'm nice enough to let bygones be bygones, as long as she really heeded me from now on.
Yes. I would forgive her. But first, I needed to beat fear into her and show her that I was in charge. She needed a man like me, someone to instruct her how to live her life. She was lucky that I loved her so much.
I sat on my couch and watched the recap of last night's game on the morning news, digging into my eggs, sausage, and soda. I smiled at the TV, my mind whirling and creating a Grade-A plan.
Yes. I'd show her. And I'd show her how I can make anything happen in her life.
It was time for Morgan's first lesson.
I leaned back and reached down my slacks pocket for my phone, going through the list of contacts. I found the number I needed and called it.
When he answered the phone, I said, "Hey. It's me."
A man of my greatness needed no introduction.
Fortunately for him, he knew. "Yes, Adim?"
I liked that, answering the phone ready to serve. "Call her boss. Do you have the number?"
"Let me see… Yes, I do."
"Good. Call her and tell her Morgan's on drugs. You can elaborate if you want. The main thing is that you convince her boss to call her immediately and demand a drug test. Then hang up before she can ask any questions."
There was a pause.
"Hello? Did you hear me?" I asked. I was getting pissed off again, could feel the heat rising above my collar.
I heard him sigh. "Okay, yeah, sure, Adim."
"Are you being sarcastic with me? I am paying you, you know."
"And I don't care anymore. This doesn't feel right."
"I didn't ask you to fucking feel, did I, you buttfuck?"
A louder sigh this time. This moron had no brain or balls at all. It was a good thing I'd recently recruited someone else. I didn't entirely trust this jerk, but I fervently trusted that his microbrain could handle one fucking phone call. I gave him some more instructions and hung up, shaking my head to myself. It was so difficult to keep people in line lately.
I shook my head and got out some luscious white powder to align in sexy, perfect lines on my glass table next to my plate. I remembered how much Morgan had loved cutting up this shit, and I smiled at the memory. I did the lines quickly and lay back on my couch, closing my eyes. I had to get my hands on some more ecstasy, and find some bitch to enjoy it with—just while Morgan was still brainwashed. After I get her back, I'll be good.
For the most part.
I looked at the picture of Morgan and me that still hung in a frame in the hallway, remembering how, whenever I had a hot chick at my place, I'd say that Morgan was my cousin who was currently living in a halfway house, trying to get her act together. I laughed and allowed myself to reminisce with these delicious memories several minutes longer.
Seriously, everything that I did, I did to protect her, did to keep everyone else from finding out about her.
People just shouldn't trust the God Generation—angels, demons, gods, or human helpers.
Except for me, of course. I was the only trustworthy demon in this universe.
&nb
sp; Chapter 8
"Morgan? Are you there?"
Anny's words echoed through my cell phone as I stared off into space, not with the purpose of helping anybody assemble or organize their mind room, but rather to recover from shock.
"Morgan? Hello?"
"What? A drug test?" I managed to ask, coming back to reality. "Anny, that's not—I'm not—I don't think that's a good idea." My thoughts reverted to the ecstasy that I'd taken not one week ago. How long did ecstasy stay in your system? These are things they don't teach you at the Little Miss Drug Addict's Finishing School.
"Are you refusing to take the test, Morgan? I've got to say, this doesn't look good."
"No, Anny. You don't understand. It's hard to explain." I pressed my hand to my temple and tried to think of something fast that she'd believe.
"Morgan, will you or will you not take a drug test for me?" she demanded, sounding a lot like my mother. "All I need is a yes or no answer."
I briefly considered taking the test and throwing caution to the wind. Maybe I'd show up clean.
But then the devil's advocate part of my brain took over and thought about what would happen if I did show that I was positive for ecstasy. I would be fired, naturally, added to the fact that it would be recorded publicly that I'd had illegal drugs in my system. Then, every person who wanted to hire me from this day forth would know that. It would follow me all the way to retirement.
Ugh! Can't I ever have a day off from crap like this?
"Morgan! I need an answer RIGHT NOW," Anny demanded again, sounding bitchier than I ever thought possible.
"I—no," I blurted out before I could think.
There was a brief silence on the line. Right when I was about to say something to make sure she was still there, she declared coldly, "Then you've answered all my questions for me. Stop by today to clear out your locker and to get your final check."
"I'll ask Dess to do all that, Anny," I croaked out, my voice quivering. God, if I cried while I was on the phone with her, I'd never forgive myself.
"Fine. Have it your way. I'll give Dess your belongings and your check."
"She can clear out my locker too," I said quickly. The thought of my now ex-boss going touching my perfume and boxes of tampons made me feel uneasy. What else did I have in there? Stick-figure drawings of a fat, cranky lady with a bad dye job getting her head stuck in the oven? I couldn't remember.
"Suit yourself. Goodbye." Click.
Wow. What a warm, loving individual.
"What the hell?" Dess asked, emerging from the bathroom. We were at the adorable, cozy, 2-bedroom 1-bath house she rented in Lynnwood. As a result of the oddest sequence of reasoning, Dess had set up her little desk and chair in the living room, placed behind the couch to create a truly chaotic living room, yet her spare bedroom had dozens of unopened moving boxes, forming a rather complex labyrinth.
I loved her house, though. It made me wonder why I never thought of renting a house instead of suffering at the hands of an apartment building with nosy neighbors who called 911 when they heard you scream, sufficiently ruining your chances of bleeding to death.
It was Friday, almost a week after my wonderful wrist-cutting incident. Earlier this morning, Dr. Hearse came by to tell me that I was required to see him once a week at his clinic in Lynnwood, not too far from where I lived. I was a little disappointed that he got to my hospital room before Dess did. I would have loved to watch him squirm and get flustered, staring at Dess' legs or boobs as he tried to remember baseball statistics.
Dess had arrived in my room about 15 minutes or so after Dr. Hearse had left. She'd taken the day off to bring me home and, even though I didn't ask her, she'd brought over a set of clothes for me to wear home and, although they were a little different than the sporty clothes I usually wore, I had taken them gratefully.
I had also begun to discuss with Dess everything I'd been thinking about ever since she dropped this God Generation crap on me. But just as I had brought up the subject, a nurse had come in to check my vitals one last time, so I had to zip my lip. Dess and I had exchanged knowing looks when we saw that Erica wouldn't be there. We'd pretty much expected as much. The new nurse, Maria, didn't seem to know or care about Dess' sexuality.
Focusing back on the present in Dess' kitchen, I rubbed my temples and sighed. "That was Anny. I just got fired."
"That's what I thought I heard. What the hell? I don't understand. Where'd this come from?"
I walked through her kitchen and sat down on Dess' L-shaped sofa in the living room, lying back a little. "This is probably one of the worst days of my life."
We didn't mention Adim at all during our 20-minute ride in Dess' car. We had taken advantage of our uninterrupted time by having a more sane conversation about the God Generation, one that we continued now in her living room. I told her I would definitely help her organize her mind room once I completely understood how the hell to do it. She didn't give me details yet about the god-life dreams she had, but she did give me a general idea about them. I knew a little bit about world history due to my love of art history, but the piddly knowledge I did have was pretty limited. I made a mental note to borrow or buy some books on the subject, or at the very least do some internet research so I could help her better.
She said she knew someone who had some limited knowledge about the subject, and she told me about something called the Unveiling. This was when a person discovered which particular god they used to be. I was amazed to learn that there were more ex-gods running around everywhere. Did I know any of them? Did they have powers? There was so much we both didn't understand, but we would have to be patient for now. When I was feeling better emotionally and thought I had a grip on the subject, I'd help her organize her mind room. I had my doubts at first, but as I fell asleep last night, I realized that organizing her thoughts could definitely help her Unveil. All her god dreams and memories were there in her mind somewhere, in files and on bookshelves, and I just had to help her find them.
Dess looked at me pensively while she bit her lip. She sat down slowly on a worn, comfy-looking tan ottoman, perched at its edge like a cat. "Maybe you'd like to talk about our run-in with your ex first?" she asked quietly.
I sighed, deciding Adim was the easier—if not less stressful—of the two topics for now. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, ruffle-man," I told her. "I'm just as confused as you are. I mean, why was he even there?"
"I was kinda under the impression that you two had already broken up."
"That's the thing! We are. We have been." I sighed again and shook my head. "I have seen him react to our breakups in many ways, but I've never seen him so incredibly delusional before. I'm actually getting a little scared. He might… I don't know, have a mental breakdown and be completely psychotic."
"What's Mr. Dreamboat's name?" Dess asked.
"Adim. Adim Garritty."
"He's the rudest son of a bitch I've ever met," she said without hesitation.
"I know. And you know what's really weird about it? He used to only be like that around me. He doesn't normally act out in public like this."
"You do know a couple of people who were there called the police, right? After he broke that car window?"
I sighed and nodded. I hadn't really been paying attention, but I remember hearing the loud crash, followed by a car alarm. It didn't surprise me that Adim had caused it all.
I sat up and looked at Dess. I felt bad that she had to be verbally abused by this psycho when all she did was stand up for me, and she didn't even know the real story behind my relationship with him. I realized that it was impossible for Dess to truly comprehend the intensity of today's encounter without knowing everything.
So I told her. I told her everything I could think of, starting from our first date at the bowling alley to every possible incident I could remember, occasionally rattling off in another direction on a semi-related topic. She remained completely silent and sat there listening, her ears and mind open.
> My story was raw and uncensored. I told her about the drugs. I even told her a little bit about my parents, right after I relayed to her how Adim had never introduced me to his family the entire time we'd been together. She finally spoke up, asking me if I ever introduced Adim to my own family. I avoided her eyes and admitted that my relationship with my parents was not that much better than my relationship with Adim.
It made me feel like such a loser.
Finally, I got to a point where I felt I'd said enough. I stopped and checked the little clock above Dess' TV. I'd been talking for over an hour and a half. I was suddenly so tired of talking and hearing my own voice, and my vocal chords actually hurt. I don't know if I've ever talked so much—especially about something so personal—to anyone in my adult life, or maybe in my entire life, period. Except for Friend, maybe. But Dess was the first real person to experience all this. I peered over at her guiltily, wondering if I'd just scared off the first real friend I ever had.
As if she knew what I was thinking, she gave me a reassuring smile, got up, and gave me a long, comforting hug. I accepted it gladly, leaning my head on her shoulder and taking a deep breath. I was not going to cry, I told myself. I was done crying. I'd cried enough rivers, and I was done feeling sorry for myself.
"Morgue?"
"Yeah?"
"You need to do something about this."
"About what? Adim?"
She nodded, forehead furrowed with concern. "Morgue, I know you've been a victim of his for a long time." She paused as I flinched and avoided her eyes. "But you need to do something. Show that you're strong and won't accept anybody treating you that way. Did you see how he acted at the hospital? It was like you were his property and that you had no say in the matter. Was he apologetic or even sympathetic to how you were feeling? Of course not, because he views you as being an extension of himself, a thing that he owns."
I sat down and pulled my feet up, my arms wrapping around my knees. "What am I supposed to do?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to think about this right now.
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