by Dani Wyatt
Which, she did. Mewing and protesting, but she left.
“You’re an asshole.”
“You have no idea.” Cameron held her purse outside the front door.
“Do you even know my name—” Trixie’s last words as he cut her off.
“Nope.”
He gave her a soft shove out into the parking lot.
Her heels clacked as she tripped over the curb—hair looking like she’d been on a ride with her head hanging out the car window going 90. Add that to the crazy red lipstick smeared across her face and Cameron couldn’t keep from shaking his head at the cartoon caricature he’d just fucked.
He called her a cab, threw fifty bucks after her and closed the door.
“Thanks! Maybe we can—” Her voice was mercifully cut off by the click of the lock.
That there is a goddamn nightmare. Get in the fucking shower man. Sheets off the bed, empty the trash can where you tossed that cum sac. Where’s the damn bleach?
After his shower, he felt the darkness descend. The steam cleared, and he could see the man in the mirror staring back with dead ice blue eyes. A sinking indifference welled up that left him feeling like he was falling into a soul sucking black hole.
The muscles in his shoulders flexed and rippled the primal black ink designs embedded in his skin. He rocked slowly back and forth, naked, still dripping from the scalding shower, hands gripping the cool porcelain edge of the sink trying to keep his dinner from reappearing.
It happened every time he fucked one of the many that threw themselves in his path. He imagined her face, how she would feel, how it might mean something with her. Only, this time, it was different. He felt her slipping away, her image fading with each passing day and each nameless Trixie he fucked.
Never again. NEVER AGAIN. NEVER AGAIN. NEVER AGAIN,NEVER AGAIN, NEVERAGAIN
The words pounded inside his head until he felt like he could tear the fucking place down.
Who are you? Is this who you want to be for the rest of your fucking life? Why the fuck did you make her your goddamn reason for living for damn near two decades just to run away and then hate-fuck every bitch you could find? Is this the guy she would want? How far down are you going to go before you can’t find your way back?
Cameron glared at the fuck in the mirror. His lips curled back showing off his chipped front tooth and he turned on the cold water, splashing it on his face until his head screamed in pain, and his skin felt like a corpse.
Living death man. Living. Fucking. Death.
He stared back into the eyes in the steamed reflection as the freezing water dripped from his nose and chin.
He spoke to the image that returned his stare, “Never again.”
His words echoed in the small white tiled bathroom as his face splintered into a silver and black spider web.
A sharp pain shot from his knuckles to his shoulder. Cameron’s fist dripped ripe, round spots of crimson onto the stark white porcelain, and he heard the harsh, sharp noise of the mirror hitting the floor around his feet.
Never again.
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Beckett
{10 years old}
“Dad–“
My lungs feel like the flames have moved inside. I hand him my sister in her charcoal-smeared unicorn pajamas.
“Why?” Dad’s voice is raw, his eyes full of hate. “Why didn’t you listen to me? I told you, I told you—” He buries his face into my sister’s tiny body only to raise his eyes and ask me the question I don’t want to answer. “Where is your mother? You didn’t even try, did you? You didn’t even try!” He scans the crowd, desperate, screaming at the men in yellow suits. “My wife’s in there! She’s still in there, please, please God, help her . . . someone . . . please.”
I remember my science fair project is sitting on the kitchen table. I have to turn it in tomorrow. I need him to be proud of me.
Last year, he helped me make an electromagnet—a super, duper one—and he tried to hide the tears when I won the blue ribbon for the best project out of every fourth grader in the Upper Cleveland School District.
Two paramedics rush toward me.
“Get him in the ambulance.” One of them yells as they grab at me, lifting me off my feet then strapping me down. “Call ahead to Children’s Hospital burn unit.”
That was the day I realized the pain that comes from outside is nothing compared to the pain that comes from inside. That was the day my childhood ended.
Beckett
{Eight Years Later}
”Rent is due on the first. But you know there are alternative ways for you to pay.” Denise is more cougar than landlord.
I know, because I fucking hear half the other tenants giving you their ‘rent’ through the paper thin walls. I don’t have that much experience with women, but I think I know enough to know that Denise is loud.
Her dime store, blue eyeshadow and the ever present snapping piece of Wrigley's Spearmint are signatures of my landlord who has not stopped trying to seduce me since I moved in.
She’s Mrs. Robinson with red hair and a tramp stamp.
I’m unfortunately in the room next to hers and the sound of her bed denting the plaster wall must be heard in all seven bedrooms plus the kitchen of this makeshift boarding house on the low rent end of Cleveland’s ass.
I mean, come on. All that noise is distracting as fuck. I have zero interest in her, but I can imagine if you were riding that ride all that fucking noise would be a boner killer.
She’s sitting on my bed thinking that come-hither look might get her what she wants this month. Sorry champ, no can do.
I can’t keep my eyes off the clock.
7:41 AM.
Wrap it up, Mrs. Robinson.
“I’ll have the rent by tomorrow.” I take a step toward the bathroom hoping she will take the hint and get herself gone. I needed my ass in the shower five minutes ago when she let herself into my room in search of her ‘rent’.
“You . . .” She points to me, making that single word sound like an accusation.
Denise is propped up on my threadbare pillows, checking her manicure and snapping on a fresh piece of Wrigley’s. Her tits are motionless, silicone coconuts standing unnaturally high on her torso and half spilling out of her halter top.
Personally, I prefer whatever size mother nature designed. I’ll take a double A true-blue over triple D fakery any day.
“You’re gonna get me in trouble, you know that? I shoulda never rented you this room.”
A touch of her Brooklyn roots comes through.
“How am I going to get you in trouble?” I put one hand on my forehead and one on my chin and jerk my head around. The twist and the pop pop pop as much a part of my morning routine as taking a piss.
I blow out a breath, feeling the momentary pressure-release the neck cracking gives. I’ll do that twenty times today. I have to.
“People talk. And, I don’t even want to know what Leon would do if he thought something was going on. If he found out, we’re both dead. That lady in that back bedroom looks like a bible thumper. She might stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.” Denise’s shrill voice rakes on my nerves. “Everyone sees me come in here.” Denise adjusts her tits and I do my best to not roll my eyes.
“You come in here because you let yourself in here. That doesn’t mean shit. And there’s nothing to find out.” I’m tired of this game, I have places to be but I need to not get my ass evicted either.
“Well, there’s talk. I hear them whispering. That’s just as good as it actually happening, so why don’t we just . . .” She pats a spot on my bed next to her. Now I’m going to have to change the sheets, no way I’m laying myself down where she’s been.
I want to tell her if she didn’t howl lik
e a fucking hyena on a fresh carcass everytime someone fucked her, maybe half the neighborhood wouldn’t know she lets half the residents who rents rooms here know she’s getting boned twice a day and three times on Saturday.
Why I don’t have a better sense of self-preservation, I’m not sure. I should have been an asshole to her right from the get go. I should have seen this coming. I think the only reason she rented me the room was because she had on cock-colored glasses when she saw me.
But, if anything was going on, she’s right about Leon. He would probably kill me first, then kill her with my dead body.
I step into the bathroom and turn on the shower, shutting the door as much as I can because this place is so old and crooked, the door won’t close all the way. But, her mention of her boyfriend leave me with an uneasy feeling.
“You said Leon got picked up last night, right?” I have to yell over the rush of the shower as I stick my hand in to check the temperature. I drop my jeans which I’d slipped into when I got out of bed before Denise decided to make herself at home.
The steam is hanging in clouds and beginning to mist the mirror that is cracked like an old road map. Whoever mounted it must have been on their knees or ten years old. All I can see in it is the bottom of the shiny, textured skin on my left shoulder and the cut of my abs . . . along with the shadows of my ribs.
I need some groceries.
I like this mirror. My face is not my best feature.
I step into the shower trying to keep my thoughts about the day in check.
“Yep, he got picked up at the Diablo’s. That biker bar on 2nd.” I hear her raising her voice and the squeak of the bed springs just when I lean back into the steaming water, squirting shampoo into my hand.
Denise’s sharp voice makes me jump as she pokes her head around the shower curtain, her eyes shamelessly settling down below my waist with a wicked grin.
Fucking crazy woman, get out. I’ve got real life happening today.
“He’s in holding at county.” She glances up over my chest, avoiding my face, then back down. “Two warrants and he won’t see the judge ‘til Monday.” She’s snapping her gum, and each time she does it my neck twitches.
“Do you mind?” She’s never pushed the limits this far and I would never hit a woman but I’m getting fucking pissed.
My twitching is nothing new, but she’s not helping. Today isn’t just another day. It’s when a judge decides what I already know. That I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself without help from the State of Ohio.
Don’t climb in here with me, please.
I lay my head back into the stream of hot water and close my eyes. Luckily, when I look again, her face is gone.
I throw on the one dress shirt I own and a worn pair of khakis. It’s the best I’ve got, and it’s been my standard uniform for the many days I’ve found myself visiting the fifth district court over the years.
One swipe of my fingers through my hair and I’m ready. I can’t see myself in the damn mirror without bending down, but I’m sure I’m as presentable as need be. I grab my backpack, double check my files and sketchbook are inside, then deep breath, and I’m on my way. My hand is on the door, my mind already halfway down the street.
“Do you even know how old I am?” I spin my head around to look at Denise sitting on the edge of the bed. .
I grit my teeth until my jaw pops.
“No.”
Her eyes light on my face then dart away. I’m used to people looking away.
“Well, I’m not telling you.” She flashes me what she thinks is a coy smile, but it comes off as sad. She stands up and takes a step toward me. “But, I’m not too old for you. I could teach you some things.”
Jesus, whatever.
I should tell her she’s beautiful. That’s what she wants. But, I’ve never told anyone that. My mother was beautiful, and I don’t just mean in the physical sense. No woman since has made me think of that word.
“I’m leaving.” I should say something else.
Something nice, less pragmatic. Something nice.
She still won’t look at me, standing there with her silicone double D’s.
“Bye.” She chirps going for cute, and I don’t miss her added eyeroll.
She knows where I’m going, what I have to do today, and she’s pouting?
I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
My neck is aching, and I can’t stop the urge to twist and jerk my head three more times as I pull the door shut behind me.
Half a step down the hall leaving her in my room, but I don’t have shit to steal, so what do I care.
“Hey.” Denise’s voice is softer.
I turn and see her cross her arms over her half covered tits. Her bedroom is on the first floor, and this hallway has three other rented bedrooms besides mine.
“Good luck today.” She forces herself to look me in the eyes. I can see her counting silently, trying to maintain eye contact a few seconds longer than makes her comfortable. What is it about looking at someone’s face that isn’t like all the others that makes humans so uncomfortable?
“Thanks.” I say.
She looks down at the floor after a few seconds, and I make my way toward the back door.
At the end of the hall, I’m already wondering who I’ll be at the end of the day. Will I feel different? Will there be any relief?
“I could fall in love with you, you know.” Her voice knocks me in the back of the head.
Oh, hell no.
I’m not turning around for that. Not now. Not today.
It is ironic that on a day like today when something big is about to happen, I notice more of the small things.
Dimitri that works the metal detector didn’t shave this morning.
I toss my wallet, keys, and cell phone in the little plastic tray. No one needs to tell me what to do.
I also know exactly how much money I have in my wallet. Exactly zero.
Dimitri gives me a full nod with eye contact this morning.
Even he knows.
We’ve never exchanged much more than a few words here and there over the years. Today, I see something else in the movement of his head, the way he takes a deeper breath as I pass.
I fucking hate pity.
I step through the X-ray archway.
With any luck, when I walk out of here, I’ll be legit. On my own, according to the great State of Ohio.
Not that I haven’t been on my own for a long freakin’ time already. But, according to the law, I still need supervision. That shit is hilarious.
I grab my wallet and keys after I’m cleared through the metal detector when I look down and see the dark gray, flattened spot of someone’s discarded gum on the marble floor.
What kind of asshole does that?
I guess some asshole that might not like the way things are going for them. This place is ripe with people who think they’re getting the shitty end of the stick. Most of them sharpened the damn stick themselves and went about doing as much damage with it as they could. Then, they’re surprised when their lives turn into an episode of Cops.
You need a license for almost anything, right?
Want to drive? Well, you need to take a class, then a test, and then you have to abide by a fuck-ton of rules, or they will snatch that precious piece of freedom from you.
You want a dog? Get a license.
You want to burn leaves in the fall? You need a permit.
You want to start a business? Get a shit-ton of licenses, permits, and forms.
You wanna have a kid? Do your thing, nothing else required.
All along the top of the hallway ahead of me, there are slanted white streaks of dusty sunlight filtering through elevated windows. I’ve made this trek so many times.
I see the wide eyes and pinched brows on the people I pass. There is an overwhelming stink of old cigarette smoke when I walk by a forty-something lady with a worn, thick manila envelope clutched in her hand.
; It’s not enough that none of the damn windows open in this catacomb of limestone and marble. You add in too many humans and not enough soap, stir that up with lawyers and the sharp scent of whatever they use to polish the floors, and my stomach is ready to reveal my breakfast.
My boots make a thunk-scrape sound with each step. Thunk-scrape, thunk-scrape.
I dip my right shoulder and put more weight on the right step than the left. For some reason, today I notice the uneven cadence.
Miriam at the information desk has a line of irritated people in front of her, yet she still manages to catch my eye, and I wink.
She tugs her lips to the side in an attempt to squash her smile. In her job, it’s important to stay in character. Just as quickly as I pick up on the rare curve of her lips, I see the same look that Dimitri gave me.
Pity and relief.
People pity me either because they know my past or because they can see the evidence of it on my face.
People feel relieved because whatever has happened to me, hasn’t happened to them.
I notice the way kids stare and adults look away. By now, it’s just an observation. I used to get pissed, now I understand.
I get it.
I catch a reflection in the glass that runs along the mile-long hallway outside the courtroom doors. I tower above most people. My hair isn’t unruly, but it does need a cut. Due to budgetary restrictions, a trip to the barber will have to wait.
The wall of glass is on my right, the heavy doors along my left. I hear the sniffles of a girl before I see her. I look down where she stands next to a bored looking woman with a thick file in her hands.
God damn, how hard would it be just to talk to her? Comfort her? Distract her from whatever bullshit is waiting for her today.
She’s probably six years old. I can’t help but notice she has a huge, unkempt knot in her dirty, blonde hair. She’s wearing a ponytail, a messy one, but no one bothered to brush her fucking hair before she came to court. Really?
On top of that, her socks don’t match, and she’s wearing green sweatpants with a cartoon image of The Hulk on one pant leg. Her oversized, yellow t-shirt hangs off one shoulder, and I can see the jut of her collarbones through her pale skin.