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Where the road to perdition starts
She always found herself in the same kind of place, sitting in a booth where the plastic seats used to be a darker color and without any cracks. The plastic sign hangs cracked and says "Op'n" instead of beckoning passersby to come in.
She always ended up in one of these places. She didn't know why, but for some reason, it made her comfortable - safe even. The noise of the place lulled her into some semblance of security: it was the waitress looking bored, sighing her weary away; the cooks at back, laughing at some sexist joke; the after party kids coming to sober up before they got home and got grounded for being out way past their curfew. It was constant, never changing and always the same. It was such a comfort because it's not like her life right now - well, if you count that phone call. That phone call is probably the only thing that's constant in her world right now.
It's not that she doesn't have a life, it's just centered around making herself available for him when he needs her. That requires her to be awake when the moon is high in the sky. She waits for his call and it always comes in like clockwork.
***
The first time was awkward, as all first times are. He called and said he was at some two bit bar that has seen better days and better customers. It was full of noisy angry customers and even angrier drunks. Of course, it was natural for him to fall under the angry drunk category.
She took him by the sleeve of his jacket after paying for his exorbitant tab and dragged him to the car. He was breathing vapors and expletives. She let out a low growl, something about "common sense", "cirrhosis", "displaced" and "neanderthal" and other impressively naughty words; sounding cultured and restrained mixed in with her presumably ten dollar jargon that would make a seasoned whore blush.
There, in the safety of his hotel room, he yelled at her, blamed her for his situation, accused her of manipulating him and not caring enough to be honest with him. He cursed her and all she did was to stand there and to take it all in. He ranted until he was tired and passed out. She quietly fixed the mess that used to be called a man, cleaned up and stayed for a while until she was sure he was breathing normally and won't choke on his own vomit.
The next time it happened, he was in a better mood. He called her and politely asked her to pick him up from another bar. He climbed in the passenger seat and didn't say anything but she knew he was two shots away from being 80 proof. She drove him home and he even managed to mumble a 'thank you' before he closed the door.
***
This time, he called from his house, asking her to come over. She drove a little slowly, not really in a hurry to see what she'd have to clean up after. She had to contain her shock when he opened the door to let her in. He was just inebriated but was coherent. He let her in and she jested that he might even let her drink with him. He smiled and downed three fingers of his neat scotch.
"Are you going to let me see the entire process and not just the end result tonight?"
He said nothing and just smiled bitterly. She let out a tired sigh. "Might as well get the coffee started..."
"Sit with me." It's even surprising to hear that softness to his voice, almost like he was pleading. She follows like an obedient puppy.
There is violence in silence, and whatever isn't said between them is bound to come out and will hit them at a velocity that will make them regret not saying anything, thus making them bleed - making their heart bleed. She finally spoke, her words were soft but firm.
"I had to kill her. She was a job. She was making you weak. I had to do my job."
"What if I was the job? Would you have done your job?"
"I don't know..."
"Would you?!"
"I DON'T KNOW!" She stood up and prepared to take her leave when his hand wrapped itself around her wrist.
"Do you know why I'm drinking myself half to death almost every night? Do you have any idea why?"
"I get it okay? You drink to forget. You want to forget the pain. You want to forget that you miss her and you want to forget that you hate me."
"You don't know anything..." He pulls her dangerously close. "I drink to forget that I feel happy that she's gone. I drink so I can easily accuse you of making me feel miserable when the truth is, I feel relieved and grateful that you did what I couldn't do. I drink to have an excuse to have you near, to have you to touch me because that's the only time you do."
He then grabs the back of her neck and kisses her. She's too shocked to respond so he takes this opportunity to deepen the kiss. That's when she pushes him away. She instantly puts up her tough bitch persona.
"You drink so you'll have an excuse to kiss me? That's so fucking twisted even for you. What's next, you drink so you can fuck me without regretting it? You sure know how to sweep a woman off her feet."
He looks at her with hurt in his eyes. She does not back down. "C'mon Romeo...You've had too much moonshine. Time for bed"
***
She gets him under the covers without a fight. He closes her eyes and says a sincere word of gratitude. It's then and there that she has her epiphany.
She wanted that kiss. She wanted him to kiss her, to hold her, to screw her, to fuck her and to make love to her. She wanted it all but he was drunk and that made all the difference.
She wanted that possibility - love, laughter and maybe even happiness. But happiness wasn't available for people like her. Monsters and murderers aren't allowed to be happy.
So, as she walked away from that broken sleeping man, with his drunken whispers and scotch flavored kisses trailing behind her, she thinks. Maybe if the circumstances were different she could be happy.
Maybe even with him.
She always ended up in one of these places. She didn't know why, but for some reason, it made her comfortable - safe even. The noise of the place lulled her into some semblance of security: it was the waitress looking bored, sighing her weary away; the cooks at back, laughing at some sexist joke; the after party kids coming to sober up before they got home and got grounded for being out way past their curfew. It was constant, never changing and always the same. It was such a comfort because it's not like her life right now - well, if you count that phone call. That phone call is probably the only thing that's constant in her world right now.
It's not that she doesn't have a life, it's just centered around making herself available for him when he needs her. That requires her to be awake when the moon is high in the sky. She waits for his call and it always comes in like clockwork.
***
The first time was awkward, as all first times are. He called and said he was at some two bit bar that has seen better days and better customers. It was full of noisy angry customers and even angrier drunks. Of course, it was natural for him to fall under the angry drunk category.
She took him by the sleeve of his jacket after paying for his exorbitant tab and dragged him to the car. He was breathing vapors and expletives. She let out a low growl, something about "common sense", "cirrhosis", "displaced" and "neanderthal" and other impressively naughty words; sounding cultured and restrained mixed in with her presumably ten dollar jargon that would make a seasoned whore blush.
There, in the safety of his hotel room, he yelled at her, blamed her for his situation, accused her of manipulating him and not caring enough to be honest with him. He cursed her and all she did was to stand there and to take it all in. He ranted until he was tired and passed out. She quietly fixed the mess that used to be called a man, cleaned up and stayed for a while until she was sure he was breathing normally and won't choke on his own vomit.
The next time it happened, he was in a better mood. He called her and politely asked her to pick him up from another bar. He climbed in the passenger seat and didn't say anything but she knew he was two shots away from being 80 proof. She drove him home and he even managed to mumble a 'thank you' before he closed the door.
***
This time, he called from his house, asking her to come over. She drove a little slowly, not really in a hurry to see what she'd have to clean up after. She had to contain her shock when he opened the door to let her in. He was just inebriated but was coherent. He let her in and she jested that he might even let her drink with him. He smiled and downed three fingers of his neat scotch.
"Are you going to let me see the entire process and not just the end result tonight?"
He said nothing and just smiled bitterly. She let out a tired sigh. "Might as well get the coffee started..."
"Sit with me." It's even surprising to hear that softness to his voice, almost like he was pleading. She follows like an obedient puppy.
There is violence in silence, and whatever isn't said between them is bound to come out and will hit them at a velocity that will make them regret not saying anything, thus making them bleed - making their heart bleed. She finally spoke, her words were soft but firm.
"I had to kill her. She was a job. She was making you weak. I had to do my job."
"What if I was the job? Would you have done your job?"
"I don't know..."
"Would you?!"
"I DON'T KNOW!" She stood up and prepared to take her leave when his hand wrapped itself around her wrist.
"Do you know why I'm drinking myself half to death almost every night? Do you have any idea why?"
"I get it okay? You drink to forget. You want to forget the pain. You want to forget that you miss her and you want to forget that you hate me."
"You don't know anything..." He pulls her dangerously close. "I drink to forget that I feel happy that she's gone. I drink so I can easily accuse you of making me feel miserable when the truth is, I feel relieved and grateful that you did what I couldn't do. I drink to have an excuse to have you near, to have you to touch me because that's the only time you do."
He then grabs the back of her neck and kisses her. She's too shocked to respond so he takes this opportunity to deepen the kiss. That's when she pushes him away. She instantly puts up her tough bitch persona.
"You drink so you'll have an excuse to kiss me? That's so fucking twisted even for you. What's next, you drink so you can fuck me without regretting it? You sure know how to sweep a woman off her feet."
He looks at her with hurt in his eyes. She does not back down. "C'mon Romeo...You've had too much moonshine. Time for bed"
***
She gets him under the covers without a fight. He closes her eyes and says a sincere word of gratitude. It's then and there that she has her epiphany.
She wanted that kiss. She wanted him to kiss her, to hold her, to screw her, to fuck her and to make love to her. She wanted it all but he was drunk and that made all the difference.
She wanted that possibility - love, laughter and maybe even happiness. But happiness wasn't available for people like her. Monsters and murderers aren't allowed to be happy.
So, as she walked away from that broken sleeping man, with his drunken whispers and scotch flavored kisses trailing behind her, she thinks. Maybe if the circumstances were different she could be happy.
Maybe even with him.
