Dodger

by Dan Gallagher

17

  WE LAY NEXT TO EACH other, sweating, sated, satisfied. My orgasm's left me seeing stars. The endorphins surge rampant through my body as I stare at the ceiling, trying to process what's just occurred.

  A revenge bang.

  Ha.

  This was so much better than killing her.

  At the last second I couldn't do it. Even drunk and charged up, I couldn't do it. Murder isn't in my lineage. The concept isn't even remotely attractive to me. Plus, Paiger's going to be a successful human, so she should stay around for awhile. Maybe I'll be the only person she ever fucks over and from now on she'll use her powers for good, for writing books that mean something, for telling stories that can actually help people.

  One can hope, anyway.

  And as for my suicide... eh.

  I kind of want to see what happens next.

  I yawn, and Paiger rolls over onto my chest, kissing it softly. Sleep ensues, drunk orgasm sleep, and the stars orbit around my head as I drift into oblivion.

  Mmm.

  As we bask nakedly in the moonlight I don't hear the key in the lock, so when the lights go on in the living room I sit up like I've been tazed. Only one person has a key to my place, and it's the only person that would be coming to see me at three in the morning. Paiger sits up, looks at me. She knows who it is, too.

  I slither out of bed, throw on my boxers, poke my head into the living room.

  And there she is.

  Kara.

  She's sitting on the couch, staring at the glass Paiger drank out of, the lipstick on the rim a dead giveaway that I haven't been drinking alone. Our first layers of clothing are also strewn about, Paiger's blue blouse and my Organ Donor shirt, and the look on Kara's face could shrivel the testicles of a man with elephantiasis. I ignore the fact I'm just in boxers and come out, closing the door behind me.

  “Uh... hi.”

  She looks at me, and I can see the hurt in her eyes. I let down. Again. I hurt her. Again.

  This time for the last time.

  “Who is she?”

  I sigh, grab my empty glass, head for the fridge. “You want a drink?”

  “Is it someone I know? Is it someone from the show?”

  “No.”

  “Then who?”

  “No one.”

  “How long?”

  I fill my glass with more ice, more vodka, more Gatorade. Fuck it. “This is the only time it happened, Kara. Trust me, I would never cheat on you without a valid reason.”

  “Oh, this should be good.”

  I sip. “It is. Okay, well, the truth is...” I trail off, unsure what to say or how to say it. This situation is too fucked up for words, I'd paint a picture but it'd be grotesque, I'd quote a sonnet but it'd be super lame.

  Finally I give up.

  “Ah, hell. Paiger!”

  Kara's mouth drops open, and as Paiger emerges from the bedroom, she gives a small wave to Kara and shrugs. I take a nice long drink.

  “And now... for the truth.”

  We work as a team trying to explain the whole thing to Kara, the novel, the plan, the deception, the sex, et cetera. She's dumbfounded and shell shocked and starts to cry midway through, at least it feels like midway through, and I start crying because of something horrible I did, then Paiger starts crying because she feels guilty about something she did, and before we know it all three of us are crying like a bunch of idiots, poster children for self created drama, damn fools, three stooges. Paiger joins Kara on the couch and attempts consolation, which she surprisingly accepts. I sit in my writing chair wiping my eyes, drinking my drink. This isn't going too bad, I think. Maybe, just maybe, Kara will forgive me.

  Then she speaks.

  “Okay,” she starts. “Okay, okay. You used Paige and she used you and you both used me. You're both guilty.” She sighs. “Well, thank God. I couldn't be more relieved, because now I can finally be honest too.”

  Paiger and I exchange glances, raise eyebrows. This can't be good.

  “I was cheating on you, Jim. Pretty much the whole time we were together. And you didn't have a clue. So, there it is. And now... now you two can go fuck yourselves.”

  She gets up and starts for the door. My mouth hangs from my face like a monkey from a tree.

  “Kara!”

  She turns. I shake my head, which is still spinning.

  “What the hell? Didn't you love me?”

  She shrugs. “I think so.”

  “Then why?”

  She sighs. “It's what I do, Jim. It's my pattern. I get bored really easily in relationships, you know that. And you just... started boring me. What else can I say? We ran our course. Obviously you felt the same way if you cheated, too.” She opens the door. “See ya around.”

  And then she's gone, out of my life as quick as she came into it, my first true love, truly horrible and truly sick, massive cranial damage, tied up and twisted and not in a good way. Our poisonous nature toward each other couldn't be extinguished, only glossed over and put to rest, waiting to be awakened like a sleeping demonic beast.

  What a fucking bitch.

  I want another drink, I want another cigarette, I want to smoke ten joints. I want to have dinner with my parents and tell them all the things that have happened to me since they died. I want to lay my head against Kara's breasts one last time and fall asleep to her scent while pretending I'm in a meadow.

  Most of all, I want to stand in front of that bullet again and this time let it hit me, let it claim me, let it earn its incarnation as a death enforcer and pierce the soft flesh of my human habitat, once and for all ending my existence and making damn sure none of this godforsaken Dodger business ever happens.

  But alas, no time machine.

  And time machines are everything.

  Instead I just sigh, rise from my writing chair, start for the bedroom. Paiger, who's been silent since Kara's exit, finally clears her throat.

  “I told you you were too good for her.”

  I stop. Her eyes, wet with mascara from tears and sweat, almost seem to beg for forgiveness, and her mouth, usually curled upward, couldn't be bent into a smile with a crowbar.

  Just what she deserves.

  “You know, I finally figured it out,” I say. “Your eyes. I finally figured out why they remind me so much of Kara's.”

  She wipes away a tear. “Why?”

  I inhale. “They're the eyes of betrayal. You betrayed me, both of you. And I'm a sucker for it.” I go into the bedroom and grab her clothes, throw them at her. “Get out, Paige.”

  I slam the door behind me, and as I lay with a pillow over my head I pretend not to hear the crying, the absolute wailing, of the one and only Paige Scott, broken and breaking in my living room, finally feeling, hopefully healing, hopefully leaving.

  It's all behind us now.

  I rise again as the sun does and sit up, head spinning. What a surprise, I feel like shit. I go to the door, part of me wanting her to be there so badly, another part so badly wanting her not to be.

  I open it.

  Gone.

  And just like that, my life's empty.