by Jeff Vrolyks
“Fourteen,” he muttered with no small degree of incredulity. Then laughed over her last remark: if they knew what I was about to do to you. “Boyfriend, huh?” He looked over at her with a wry grin.
She didn’t know how to respond to that. She didn’t think one word of that soliloquy through. So she said nothing, let her body do the talking: she mirrored his playful and humored expression.
“We just met and you called me your boyfriend,” Trent marveled.
“I didn’t mean it. I say everything wrong, in case you haven’t noticed yet. Nerves, I suppose.”
“I think you did mean it, Mae. I most definitely think that you did mean it. And I’m not complaining. That doesn’t bother me in the slightest. It has a nice ring to it.”
“I’m glad you think so, because I can think of two people who wouldn’t.”
“As long as you aren’t one of them, I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
Chapter 20
Tag wasn’t surprised to find his roommate still awake at 3:00 A.M. and even less surprised to see that he’d been drinking all night. Kade was a freak of nature. Perhaps the only person on earth who ties-one-on before taking college exams for the purpose of performing better on them. According to Kade, if one drinks while studying, the best way to retrieve that stored information come test time is to replicate the environment in which it was learned.
“You’ve been drinking?” Kade said. “Hell yes, you have. You’re supposed to serve it, not drink it, hombre.”
“That’s the idea. Doesn’t always work out that way.”
“Right-on right-on. Have a beer with me.”
“Pass. I’ve had more than enough. This girl suckered me into taking shot after shot. Then this other chick, who, no joke, looked like Wilson Phillips.”
“Which one? There are three in the band. A fat one and two others.”
“She looked like Wilson Phillips I said. The whole band. She kept buying me drinks.”
“You’ve got to learn how to say no, man.”
“Yes, I know. I should have said no. But she said she’d tip me five bucks on every shot I took: daddy’s girl has a big allowance. When we closed she was waiting in the parking lot for me. What a night. I’m beat.”
“Fat chicks need love too. Don’t be a hater.”
“God bless them. I hope they get plenty of love, so long as it isn’t me giving it to them. The other one was pretty cool. I told her that I write and it turns out that her brother writes for fun, too. She told me of a website, aspiringwriter-dot-com. People post their stuff on it and supposedly other writers read your stuff and review it and give you feedback.”
“I knew you were full of shit when you said you wouldn’t ever let anyone read your stuff again. You can’t let a few dozen rejection letters piss in your Wheaties. Go grab a beer. I ain’t letting you go until you have one with me.”
“Geez. Alright, let’s make it quick then.”
“Quick it is. I’ll pour ‘em in cups and we can race.”
“Whatever.”
In his bedroom Tag changed into sweat-shorts and a tee-shirt. When he returned there were two large green plastic cups filled nearly to the top.
“Ready?”
“That’s a lot of beer. How much beer is this?”
“Just one in each cup. It’s an optical illusion because the cup is green and the beer is amber.”
“That makes no sense, but whatever. Let’s do it.”
They took their cups and on the count of three tossed them back and chugged until empty. Tag gagged. “You asshole, what did you put in that? Vodka?”
Kade laughed. “Just a little. It was mostly beer.”
“Dude, that’s fucked up. I’ve had enough already. I had to drive home taking side-streets.”
“Get the sand out of your vagina, Tagatha. Two shots and a beer is nothing.”
* * *
Tag found the aspiringwriter website and was asked if he wanted to create an account or be an Anonymous Guest. He chose the latter. When he learned that he could only read and review items and not post any, he created an account. Luckily it was free because he had no intention of spending money on this endeavor. For a handle he decided on Tagwrites. First name: Tag. Last name: Baylor. Then he imagined his mother Googling his name and finding what he’d posted; then she’d phone him and convey her disappointment in him for using the F-word fifteen times in the first chapter alone. Tag changed Baylor to Taylor. He clicked on Portfolio and saw that he had ten slots allotted to him for uploading files.
A flutter in his stomach surprised him. Was he really getting excited over this? The thought of like-minded people reading his stuff was indeed exciting.
In the first allotted slot he chose his first novel, titled Red Trouble. It began uploading, then stopped. A notice informed him that the file size exceeded the maximum allowed. Then it offered him a solution: become a platinum member for the bargain price of $59.00 a year and he could then (and only then) upload until the cows came home.
“No thanks.”
He attempted to upload his shorter novel with the same result. “What kind of retarded website is this?” He heard his slurred words and cursed Kade. He was sure he’d have a headache in the morning. Time to employ an ancient Chinese secret that his father had taught him: two aspirin, half a bottle of Pepto Bismol, and chase it with a glass of water with two teaspoons of salt. The room spun when he stood. “Holy crap.” He staggered to the bathroom and took the first two ingredients, followed by a trip to the kitchen for the water and salt.
Before he made it back to his room he found himself smacking his lips and knew damn well what that meant. He dashed to the bathroom, turned the toilet-water pink. Another glass of salt-water, two more aspirin and the other half-bottle of Pepto later, he was back in his chair. “Now where were we?” A notice reminded him that they offered the perfect solution for a small fee. “What seems to be the problem here?—It’s too big. Doesn’t fit. That’s what she said.” He chuckled. “Fuck this website. I didn’t want anyone reading my stupid shit anyway.”
He had an idea: write something just for the site. Genius! A short story about… well, about whatever. True he had a dozen short stories already written, and those wouldn’t be too large to upload (probably) but he didn’t like that idea. Call it drunken spiritedness, but he wanted to create something for the occasion.
“Hmm.” Well it’s got to have Mae Clark as the heroine, that much was a given. He hadn’t shared any adventures with Mae in a while and was proud, intoxicatedly proud, to admit that he missed her. What should it be about? He enjoyed writing relationship-drama, suspense, supernatural, just about anything but sci-fi and fantasy. “How about a romance piece? Hmm, that might be fun.” But nothing too graphic. A little late-night Cinemax material perhaps. Nothing too raunchy. “Just go where it takes you. Easy enough.”
He couldn’t think of a scenario to base the story. Alcohol wasn’t helping matters. He began writing a simple scene of Mae Clark driving a Dodge Ram (Ram would be symbolic) down a rustic country road. A squirrel crossed the street in front of her; she hit the brakes to spare its life, and consequently got rear-ended by a stud in a Corolla. It wasn’t much of an accident, just some creased fenders. The driver was a handsome young lad by the name of… of Tag Baylor, of course. No, scratch that. Tag Taylor. Let’s be consistent here.
His typing went from slow to moderate to incredibly fast. Typos were filling his black and white screen with a flurry of red marks (typo indicators). He’d fix those later. The story was going to be terrible, that was a given. Wouldn’t be the first time, either. When Tag Taylor began kissing Mae Clark, he became strangely aroused. Fully aroused. After Tag had undressed her, he was downright horny. “Are you really that pathetic? Turned on by a story? I swear, the day I masturbate to the thought of Mae I’m checking into a nut-house.”
Chapter 21
Trent dropped Mae off three houses away just before noon on Saturday. She got her lies in order
on the drive home and felt prepared. Breuer greeted her at the curb immediately after Trent drove off. “Have a good time?”
“Yep. Were you there?”
“Believe it or not, I wasn’t. A woman needs her privacy, a certain angel once told me.”
“Aren’t you just the bee’s knees? You were right about Trent. I really like him. A lot.”
“Glad to hear that. I really did avoid you two yesterday, so I’m a little curious how it went. Was he a gentleman? Did he keep his hands to himself unless you granted him permission? Oh, and you should probably stop speaking: we’re getting close.”
It’s hard to say if he was a gentleman or not because there wasn’t really an opportunity for him to be one. I went a little nuts last night. I was the aggressor. Me.
“Minnow, my sweet Maeve, I don’t know if I like this. I thought we agreed on waiting until you were older. Sixteen or seventeen.”
Of all the people who I thought would nag me about this, you were the last one I expected. Can’t you be happy for me? I have a boyfriend whom I really like.
“I am happy for you. I just want what’s best for you, and if you feel this is it, I am indeed happy for you.”
You’re just jealous, admit it. She made a funny face at him. You wanted to be my first, didn’t you?
“Even if I had the proper equipment the answer would still be no. You’re like a daughter to me. Well, more like a sister. I love you too much to want to desecrate you with such a filthy act.”
Filthy? I don’t think it’s filthy.
“Humans usually don’t. But I’ll concede to being jealous. He’s won your affection and that does hurt because I know I’ll be spending less time with you.”
Inside, David was sitting on the couch watching CNN. Rebecca came in from the kitchen with two glasses of iced tea, gave one to David and said, “Did you have a good time, kiddo?”
“Better than you’ll ever know,” Breuer muttered.
Mae struggled to hold back laughter. “Yes, Mom. I know you don’t like me to stay out two nights in a row, but do you think you could make an exception this one time? Lisa’s been having boy trouble and she could really use a friend right now. A shoulder to cry on.”
“Can’t she stay here?”
“She’s more comfortable there. I like it over there, too. They have a trampoline in the backyard. And they have a Playstation 3 and an X-box 360.”
“What do you think, Dad,” Rebecca said to David.
“Sure. Friends are important. I’m happy to see you care for yours as much as you do.”
“Thanks Mom, Dad. I’ll leave here around seven, okay?” They nodded. She went to her room and closed the door.
“Did you tell Trent that your parents make you take crazy-pills?”
Why do you care?
“Just curious.”
Yeah, I mentioned it.
“Was he mad that they would do that?”
He thinks it’s F’d up.
“If you’re adult enough to have sex, you’re adult enough to say fuck, don’t you think?”
I guess. Why do you want to know, Buster? What’s on your mind?
“Just curious.”
You’re being dishonest. She stared at him, contemplated his intentions. Did you think that he might get my parents to stop giving me the pink pills? Is that it?
“You’re growing up so fast,” Breuer said inwardly. “Getting smarter by the day. I may have had a slight agenda in introducing you to Trent. He’s the type who would come to your defense and reason with your folks to stop poisoning your soul with medication that you don’t need.”
And once again, you know everything. He mentioned that he’d like to have a chat with them, to tell them what they’re doing is wrong. But you already knew that, I’m sure.
“I sure as hell did not! But I suspected that might be the case. Excellent. Atta boy, Trent!”
Don’t get your hopes up. He didn’t say he would, only that he’d like to.
“Tell him you’d like him to. Maeve, we need all the help we can get. Speak of the devil, guess who’s coming with your medicine?”
Great. Mae had finished putting together an outfit to wear after her shower when her mom knocked once and opened the door.
“Time for your birth-control pill.”
“If only it were a birth-control pill, eh Mae-Vee? If there’s any medicine that you need, that would be it.”
You’re feisty today, aren’t you? “Okay.”
“I didn’t grind it up. I figure after yesterday we’re past that. Right?”
“Yeah.” She took the pink pill and glass of water. Popped the pill and chased it down with water. She wondered if she should have hid it under her tongue again, but after Rebecca instructed her to open her mouth so she could inspect, she was glad she had. If she could regain her mom’s trust, eventually she could start faking taking the pill again. The time would come, hopefully sooner than later.
Rebecca saw that Mae was preparing to take a shower. “Why don’t you come watch TV with your father and I for a little bit before your shower?”
“I feel gross. I want to take a shower.”
“You can soon enough. Just watch TV for a while first.”
“Oh, I see. You think I’ll throw up the pill in the bathroom.”
“I trust you. But like Ronald Reagan said, ‘Trust but verify.’”
“Do I have to? I hate the news and really want to take a shower. You can listen by the door. If I puke you’ll hear it. Please?”
“Okay, fair enough. I hate having to do this to you, but this is important to me. I know that it won’t take long for you to realize that your birth-control pills don’t harm you and you’ll have no reservations taking them on your own. But for now I’d like to make sure.”
“I don’t understand why it’s so important to you that I’m on birth-control pills. You said they’re so my cramps are less severe. Why is that so important to you? If taking them should be important to anyone, it’s me.”
Rebecca was taken off guard. Breuer was cheering. “I take them too. I know how much they help. Please don’t question me. I’m the parent, not you.”
Mae rolled her eyes and carried her clothes to the bathroom with Rebecca following. She locked the door and turned on the portable stereo. Her second favorite VonFurenz song was playing on the radio.
“No, hun. Turn off the music, please,” Rebecca said from the other side of the door.
Breuer manifested in the bathroom and said, “This woman doesn’t have one iota of trust in you.”
Can you blame her? She giggled.
“I’m glad you find this funny, because I sure don’t. That’s the third pill you’ve taken in as many days. I’m sure they’re well on their way to working.”
Is it possible that you’re wrong about this? Because I don’t feel any differently.
“Because you’re too busy being infatuated with Trent. Plus you’ve only processed two pills. The third pill you can’t count yet. And I hope I’m wrong. I desperately hope I’m wrong. But I’m rarely wrong.”
Never wrong is more like it. I’m praying this is the one time you are. Mae shed her turtleneck sweater. Having Breuer present as she undressed didn’t register in her. She had done it hundreds of times. She saw her reflection in the mirror and blinked. Gawked.
“Maeve, Maeve, Maeve… what the hell?” Breuer stepped to her, frowning at what he discovered. There were two hickies on her neck. Both under the neckline of the sweater she had worn. And those weren’t the worst of it.
Thank God I wore a turtleneck!
“No kidding. You’d better wear one for the next few days.”
This is my only turtleneck. Crap. Do you think Mom will be suspicious if I wear the same sweater today?
“That shrewd woman?—yes. Even if she didn’t, what about the next couple of days?”
I’ll put foundation on them, that should do it. Yeah, I’ll be fine. She won’t see the rest.
“My go
odness, Minnow, he really went to town on you. Look at these.” He pointed to several on her stomach, shoulder, blotches of purple on the arms, even a few on her back. “I’ll never relate or understand the human ritual of mating. This is horrible. I’m afraid to see your bottom half.”
It was worse than what she pretended it to be. But to voice the reality of it would be to rock the pedestal she had placed Trent upon. Bruises heal, anyway. Hickies, that is. She took her pants off watching studiously in the mirror. I didn’t know that what he was doing would leave marks. Her thighs were bruised, but not too badly. There was no sense in calling them hickies. They were somewhat finger shaped, and that did make a little sense. She unhooked her bra.
“I had no idea this man was a freak between the sheets, Maeve. I should’ve—” He froze at the sight of her bare chest. She was as wide-eyed as he.
He’s a little energetic, yeah. I wouldn’t call him a freak.
Breuer’s rotund baby face wasn’t easily made to appear angry or nasty. His pointed eyes, vee’d brow, and tight lips were managing quite well at the moment.
“Honey, what the fuck is this?”
What? Just hickies. What’s the big deal?
“Bullshit. And you know that’s bullshit.” He touched a breast, evoking her to hiss. “The only hickies are the two on your neck! He was hurting you!”
No he wasn’t. He was a little rough but he never intended to hurt me.
“Are these from grabbing, squeezing? Did he hit you?”
Hit me? Breuer, Trent would never hit me! He was holding on to me while we did it, that’s all! Maybe he was holding on a little too tightly, but that’s all! I’ll tell him to take it easy next time, okay?
Breuer crouched down to examine Mae’s lower half: it wasn’t a long trip down. The bruises weren’t nearly as bad as the ones on her chest; glimpsing her chest it was difficult to distinguish between nipples from contusions, where one ended and the next began. “It’s like that fool dipped his hands in purple paint before getting into bed with you.”
I’ll tell him to stop, okay? It won’t happen again.
“It better not. For his sake. Something really bad just might have to happen to him. I wouldn’t hesitate a second in sending him to the afterlife; don’t doubt me for a second.”