Psycho Bitch: A Love Story

by AJ Rico

  "Used to?" he prompted. His entire attention was focused on me and I felt stripped and exposed. I didn't enjoy that at all.

  Too tired to protest, I nodded and proceeded to do something I rarely do … I told the absolute truth about one of my most painful memories. I never give people that kind of power over me. All they ever do is turn it against you, but all my usual defenses seemed to have deserted me. By the time I was done, my eyes were once again dry, and I was back in control. I looked at my watch and faked surprise.

  "I have to go. I'm late."

  The lie was like a ratty pair of sweat pants—comfortable but shameful. Gathering up my things, I started for the door. A warm palm on my arm stopped me.

  "You did the right thing, Charlotte."

  Refusing to meet his eyes, I said, "Fat lot of good that will do me if they kill him. It'll be a wasted effort."

  "Helping someone or, in this case, something is never wrong."

  I didn't answer, I shrugged off his hand and left. One thing my life had proven was that putting yourself out and caring only made you vulnerable to being knocked on your ass. It was a mistake I rarely made.

  I should have called Animal Control and left. Cursing my stupidity, I went home and did my best to forget the whole thing.

  * * *

  Blog Post: Why I Don’t Have Pets

  Life Inside the Echo Chamber

  Pardon me readers, as I need to get something off my chest. If you're looking for my usual wit and snark, you should skip this. You see, I tried to help a dog today. It was probably a complete waste of time. The Animal Control guy didn't seem hopeful. I wonder if his attitude would have been different if it had been a poodle instead of a pit bull.

  The entire exchanged dredged up memories I'd buried a long time ago. I remembered my puppy, Corky, whom I haven't thought about since the day my mother told me he died. I actually cried in front of a stranger after spilling my guts to him! This is why, as a general rule, I stay out of things. It totally exposes you.

  I've been thinking about Corky all day. I mentioned it to my S.O.— the memory, not the conversation or the pit bull. He thinks I'm processing grief that I never let myself actually feel before. He may be right, because it's not just Corky. Other memories have been popping up too.

  Sam, the stray tabby cat I brought home and cared for. My father took him and left him by the side of the road one day with no warning. Said he didn't want another animal to feed in the house.

  What's that saying … fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. Well, they should add fool me three times, you get what you deserve.

  I didn't learn my lesson with Sam. It took Bandit to teach me good and hard. I rescued Bandit from my grandmother who was old school, farm stock and believed there was nothing wrong with drowning an unwanted litter of kittens, but everything wrong with messing with nature by spaying her barn cat.

  I found the litter in the hay loft and put each and every kitten down my shirt, tied it up tight, and carried them down out of the barn. I was scratched to hell, but didn't care. I begged my grandmother to give me time to find them homes. I did, too. My mother even consented to let me have Bandit.

  He slept on my lap the entire eight hours it took for us to get from West Virginia back to D.C. He was gorgeous, with long, white fur and a black mask and paws like they'd been dipped in ink. That's not why I called him Bandit, though. He got his name when I discovered he was stealing things and stashing them under the downstairs couch. I forget what it was that I'd lost, but I remember I found it with the rest of his stash and started calling him a little bandit. The name stuck.

  I had him for three years. He was my companion and friend. Then I left for college. I asked my parents not to let him out. That was it. We lived on a busy road and I didn't want him out of the house.

  They ignored me.

  He was hit by a car and died. They didn't even tell me when it happened. I called home randomly because it was finals week and I needed to ensure I had a ride home for the Christmas break.

  My dad was the only one home. He answered the phone and told me with no preamble. I remember going numb, hanging up the phone, then seeking out the guy I'd been casually dating and screwing him.

  I learned my lesson with Bandit. I've never had another pet. I wouldn't even let their memories live in my brain. Now, one random encounter with a pit bull and my mind is stuck. I feel like I'm burning everywhere.

  6. What About Me?

  "YOU OKAY?"

  I pulled out of Adam's arms and shrugged as I continued scraping dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. I was cleaning up from our Thai takeout rather than snuggle with him as he'd wanted.

  "Yeah, why?"

  "You've seemed preoccupied all night. What's up?"

  "Nothing," I shrugged, refusing to look at him. "I'm tired. It was a long day."

  Technically, this was true. However, the reality was that I was angry with him but couldn't bring myself to voice it. Instead, I was freezing him out which was supposed to broadcast my feelings to him so he would ask me about it, like he was doing now.

  "Okay," he kissed me on the cheek and grabbed a Guinness from the fridge before sprawling on the couch and turning on Family Guy reruns.

  My anger cranked up a notch. That was his cue to ask again, not abandon the conversation. How else was I supposed to know for sure he was going to pay attention? He had to ask, insist almost, so I knew it was safe to share my anger. But, he never did, which only made me angrier.

  I was still reeling over what he had shared with me earlier. He wasn't getting the vice president position. In and of itself, that's not such a big deal. People get passed over for promotions all the time. No, what had set me off was that Adam hadn't even applied for it.

  When we had talked about that position, I'd come away from the conversation certain not only that he was going to go for it, but that it was practically his already. The CEO loved him. It was an open secret that he considered Adam his protégé.

  When Adam came home, he told me that Duncan Clark, a man twice his age who wouldn't know creative thinking if it slapped him on the ass, got the job instead. When I reminded Adam of our talk, he responded with a nonchalance that made me want to punch him.

  "I said I'd think about it," he had shrugged. "I never promised to apply and I did think about it."

  "But, Adam, an opportunity like this … it almost never happens for someone your age. I can't believe you let that slip through your fingers."

  By this time, he had his head in the refrigerator looking for something to eat. Adam always snacked as soon as he came home. Over his shoulder, he said, "I don't want to work non-stop. It's bad enough I regularly put in sixty hour weeks." Sighing, he continued, "I've already told you all of this, Char."

  "But, Adam, vice president! Do you realize how much money you passed up?"

  He turned and faced me, a tub of lunch meat and a bottle of mustard in hand. With a wing-tip clad foot, he shut the door. Shrugging, he said, "I can guess, but it doesn't matter. I realized something recently. I give too much of my life to that place. The work doesn't make me happy, and that is a hell of a lot more important than money."

  To him maybe, but my fantasies of the perfect home office were going up in smoke. I was angry and feeling betrayed, but all I said was, "I guess you did what was right for you."

  Adam never looked up from the sandwich he was preparing. He merely shrugged and said, "Exactly."

  That was four hours ago, and I still hadn't been able to let it go. Anger surged under my skin in slow waves, making my teeth clench and turning every interaction with Adam into one of pure irritation. His very presence was like having sandpaper rubbed across my skin.

  I was spoiling for a fight and trying to provoke one so I could unleash all this rage with impunity.

  Sitting on the couch, I said, "Do we have to watch this?"

  I felt Adam tense beside me. He hated it when I complained about the shows he watched. I t
hought his choices were inane and imbecilic. He thought the dramas I liked were depressing and maudlin.

  "Yes," he gritted out. "That's why it's on. Because I am watching it."

  I huffed out a long-suffering “Fine” and picked up my Kindle.

  After several moments, he said, "Why do you do that?"

  "Do what?" I murmured as I scrolled through my library looking for a title to jump out at me.

  "Give me a hard time about what I want to watch."

  A small wave of pleasure at pissing him off bloomed in my chest. Good or bad, I always get what I want. I raised my eyebrow and adopted a haughty expression before replying.

  "First and foremost, you hassle me constantly about my shows and second, all I said was 'fine'."

  "It was how you said it."

  "Really?" It came out like a sneer. "And how was that?"

  He imitated me perfectly in reply, but I wasn't going to give him that, so I shrugged and said, "What's wrong with that?"

  He was facing me head on now and scowling. I could see the argument building inside him, and my own anger morphed into a weird excitement.

  "Are you being serious right now?" He looked honestly confounded, but I wouldn't relent.

  "Yes," was all I said.

  "Charlotte, you are being really stupid right now. Why don't we cut to the chase and you tell me what's bothering you?”

  Any possibility of reasonable conversation went out the window with those words. Calling me stupid was a guaranteed way to make me lose it.

  "Stupid?" I practically hollered. "You're calling me stupid? I'm not the one who passed up a promotion and a raise over some ridiculous ideology that no one gives a damn about. That was stupid!"

  He looked like I'd slapped him. "I thought you supported me in this."

  "Support you in what?" I slapped my Kindle down on the coffee table and faced him. "You promised me you'd go for that job. We made plans. Now all that is gone, all because you don't want more responsibility."

  "I never promised you anything. I said I'd think about it, and I did," his voice was rising.

  Adam almost never raised his voice. That small bloom of pleasure grew as he lost control. This was what I had wanted, permission to let loose with both barrels blazing.

  "What about the plans we made, huh? The trip to the Virgin Islands? My home office? The new car? What about those things?"

  I was full on shouting now, and Adam looked positively stupefied.

  "Have you lost your mind? We talked, sure, but it was like fantasizing about what you'd do if you won the lottery. It's talk, that's it. You don't spend money you don't have."

  "Don't you condescend to me, dammit."

  "Well, you're acting stupid. So, I'm treating you the way you're acting."

  He was shouting now. I almost laughed, but it would have put him over the edge.

  "It's not stupid to want nice things. It's not stupid to expect my boyfriend to keep his promises."

  "For god's sake!" he shouted so loud it hit me like a physical wave of sound, "I didn't promise you a fucking thing. If you say that one more time, I'm going to totally fucking lose it. Drop it, god damn it."

  He turned back to the television, his chest visibly heaving as he sought to calm down. I returned to my Kindle, still angry but much more relaxed than before. He had too promised, and I didn't appreciate this turn of events.

  We remained silent for the duration of both Family Guy and The Boondocks before Adam said quietly, "Char, I don't want to spend my life in a job I hate. I want to do something I'm proud of."

  I still wasn't in any kind of charitable mood after our previous exchange. "Feeling good doesn't pay the bills. Next, you'll be telling me you're taking that marketing job at the shelter."

  He went still beside me and I lost it. "You'd better not even think about it, Adam!" I screamed so loudly my throat hurt.

  Standing up, I tossed down my Kindle and put my hands on my hips as I hovered over him. I was so furious I could barely get the words out. My body was shaking from adrenaline. I wanted to pound him. He wasn't allowed to do this to me. I hadn't signed up to struggle.

  I glared at him saying, "That job is a pay cut of at least thirty thousand dollars. You think we can keep all this on that? Now isn't the time for you to be turning all granola on me. You already broke one promise, Adam, you better not even think about taking that job."

  He leapt up off the couch angrier than I'd ever seen him, but I didn't care. It felt good to yell. The feeling of ants crawling under my skin that was a near constant companion with me was slowly receding. My hands itched, I wanted to hit something. I wanted to rend, tear, and destroy anything opposing me, including Adam.

  Some corner of my mind understood that my reaction was disproportionate and that Adam actually had the high ground in this argument, but none of that mattered. I was enjoying wallowing in my tantrum.

  "What about what I want?" there was a stillness about Adam that I would later recognize as the calm that comes when a huge decision is finally made. However, in the moment, it didn't even register.

  "What about it?" I snapped.

  "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

  Rather than say what actually went through my head, which was “no, not really if I'm being totally honest,” I said, "We don't always get what we want, Adam."

  For several long moments, he stared at me. For once, I was unable to read his expression at all. His face was completely closed. Right as I was about to break the silence, he said, "Forget it. I'm done."

  Without a backward glance, I left and took a long, relaxing shower. When I came out of the bathroom, the living room was empty, and Adam was snoring in bed. Satisfied that he wouldn't be bothering me for sex, I lay down and fell instantly asleep.

  7. No Big Deal

  THE NEXT MORNING, ADAM WAS already gone when I woke up. In and of itself, this was not unusual. He was usually gone by the time I finally got out of bed. What was out of the ordinary was that he didn't wake me to say goodbye.

  Truthfully, I was glad. That particular habit of his always got on my nerves. When I'm asleep, leave me alone. You would think this would be a "duh" moment, right? But, every morning before he left, he'd come in smelling of soap and the citrusy cologne he wore. He'd stretch out on the bed beside me and kiss me awake to say goodbye.

  I mean, who does that?

  You're waking me up to say goodbye and then leaving me to struggle to get back to sleep after that? I'm not one of those people who can sleep anytime, anywhere. Nope, the minute I wake up, my brain races and that's it. If I wake up in the middle of the night, it can be hours before I get back to sleep.

  Adam can fall asleep in seconds. Even if I wake him up for something—which I rarely do because I hate it so much—he's right back asleep. I've explained this to him, but like everything else I've explained about myself, he ignored me. He says I should be more open to affection. I usually tell him, “what good is affection if you piss me off in the process?”

  What I don't tell him is how, after a minute or so of cuddling, I begin to feel claustrophobic. Or, how I panic that his cuddling is going to turn amorous, and then he'll touch me with an expectation of sex, but I don't have the energy when I first wake up to fake it with him.

  I've told Adam about my childhood. How I was never hugged or shown affection. How no one talked in my home. We orbited one another in silence until something triggered a violent outburst, usually my sister and me fighting since my parents were rarely in the same room with one another. But, I downplayed it. Put it firmly in the no-big-deal category. I couldn't have Adam thinking I was a freak or he wouldn't have dated me.

  Weirdly, I've never understood this aspect of my personality. I mean, when I first meet a man, it's intense. I want to be with them all the time. I even want to have sex and can tolerate them touching me. Like clockwork, everything I thought was so cute originally ends up plucking my last nerve like a banjo player, and I cringe at the idea of being touched.


  I've tried to figure this out, but I can't remember being any other way. Adam was no different in this one regard. I stayed with him because he was stable and predictable, and he taught me about the finer things.

  It's funny when you think about it. My family was lower class, but not poor. My father worked in a factory, and my mother was a housewife. We had the basics, but they were from discount or thrift stores. Everything was second-hand and mediocre. Adam was straight up poor. I mean trailer park, welfare check, food stamp, you're lucky if you eat three squares poor, but he's the one who taught me never to settle for just anything. To be patient and get the best of what you can afford. He taught me that investing in quality was better than buying cheap because, when you went for cheap, it cost you more having to replace it again and again.

  I took those lessons to heart. When I met Adam I was a dollar store, Kmart kind of shopper who only cared about quantity. I'd hated how cheap everything was growing up, but I hadn't realized how much I'd internalized the message to settle until I met Adam.

  Despite what I've gained from Adam, there were some things that hadn't changed and now, this many years in, I hated feeling as if I had no choice but to acquiesce when it came to sex. The walls felt like they were closing in on me along with his arms. But, even I was smart enough to know that an asexual relationship with no physical contact would be a deal-breaker for him, and I liked everything else about my life too much to push it.

  Nevertheless, I was relieved that he seemed to have finally taken the hint on this one thing and let me sleep. Maybe, he was coming around after all.

  * * *

  "What do you mean?" I demanded from the disembodied, bored female voice on the other end of the line.

  There was a long-suffering sigh, and then she began speaking slowly as if I were stupid. That only served to piss me off, but I kept myself in check. Snapping at her would have been counterproductive. I wanted her to give me something, so I need to play the game of civility.

  "Ma'am, as I've already explained, if you are not the owner, I cannot give you any further information beyond what I've already shared."

  "But that doesn't tell me anything," my voice was shriller than I wanted, but I barely contained my frustration.