|
"I got what you need, sir."
Satin sequence disease sparkled in her eyes. "Is that right?" His gaze peered down over his cigar totin smirk. "That's right sweetie." Ruby and diamond dotted fingers combed back through her slinky hair. "I take care of men." His cigar lowered as his head bent down. He leaned in close, gently stroked her hair off of her shoulder and whispered soft, but hard enough to make the dangling diamonds hear and feel every breath... "I don't need taken care of."
0 Comments
I never would have taken a ride from him, not on a normal day. But today was not a normal day, and it was raining buckets outside. For bullshit reasons beyond my immediate control, I found myself having to walk home from the library, in the cold October evening rain. If only I had bought that piece of shit car when I had the chance, I would not have had to deal with him. Now, don’t get me wrong; on any other day I would have taken sugar plumb joy in my actions, but today I was wet and I was not wearing my usual attire. My neighbor John had drove by at just the right moment and offered me a ride home. I succumbed to my miserable state when I climbed into the passenger seat of his Durango. I’ve always known John to be creepy, in the most dangerous of ways. He was the kind of creepy that most adults failed to notice; the kind of creepy that camouflaged itself behind a friendly smile and a neatly groomed lawn. My own parents never minded John, and my Dad befriended him some time ago. But I knew better. John was smart, and hid his seether well, but I was also smart and I hid mine better. I usually planned the outings of my inner demon child with more precise timing and well-marked longitude and latitude. I almost always plotted out my devious courses with scrutiny, like a detailed mental map or atlas, complete with a color-coded legend, and a plan B and C just in case. But John threw me a curve ball, and took advantage of my drenched and discombobulated lack of preparation. God damn him! Of course he offered to give me a ride home; what kind-hearted, God-fearing, upright neighbor wouldn’t? I, the teenage neighbor girl and daughter of his fishing buddy; walking in the torrential rain while cold and shivering appeared to be in need. He asked me where my parents were, which was ridiculously stupid on his part. I already knew that he had been invited to join my folks on their fishing trip up north, of which he declined. I played along anyway and told him that they were out of town and wouldn’t return till tomorrow. I could have called him out on his bullshit, but I didn’t because as they say: when life hands you lemons.. He glanced over at me with a smile and said “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” He wasn’t sorry, he was elated, or at least his seether was. I could tell by that far off and hungry look in his eyes, and I knew at that moment that I was going to have to play ball with this jackoff. I had already given John a pass because my Dad was so fond of him, and he hadn’t attempted to enact his festering lust out on anyone that I knew of. John wasn’t even on my radar yet, but I suppose when life hands you lemons; you make dead lemons. As we pulled onto our tree lined street, John asked if we could just stop off at his house for a second. He said he was coming home from the vet with his dog’s insulin, and the mutt desperately needed its shot. He told me I could come in, and he would get me a towel. I could have drenched myself again and made a dash to my house down the block, but I hate the rain. I nodded at him and thought: sure, let’s go ahead and do this. We pulled into his attached garage and it smelled like a mix of oil and lust. I was relieved when he shut the overhead door; I didn’t want anyone to see us, or more importantly, me. I instantly scanned his kitchen when I walked in. I wanted to make sure the knives were still on the counter, and they were! When John walked down the hall to the bathroom I realized the dog was not making an appearance for some reason, and then I remembered that he had put his dog down a few weeks ago, I had heard my parents talk about it. I slipped a small paring knife out of the butcher block and slid it into the back pocket of my semi-soaked jeans. I knew this disdain pervert was up to no good, it was the same as smelling a fart in a car for me. A moment later, John returned from the bathroom holding a syringe in his hand. His zipper was undone, and I could make out fleshy tones in the gap. I hid my glance by peering through my wet strands of hair; I didn’t want him to know that I knew. He had other plans with that syringe, but so did I. “Jessica, I’m going to run downstairs to get a towel out of the dryer. Can you come down too? I could use a hand holding Bandit down while I give him his shot.” Those were John’s last words. Well, his last real words. I followed him down those stairs, but he darted around the corner pretty quick. When I took the last step onto his concrete, yet freshly lacquered basement floor and turned to follow him, I already had that paring knife in my hand. John came at me like a ravaged and caged animal. His member was fully erect and poking out of the zipper gap in his khaki pants. When he tried to grab my hair, I darted and grabbed his junk instead. Then with one clean jab of that knife, he was on the floor and blubbered like a fool. I was fast. I yanked that syringe away from him and lodged it into his neck. Before a drop of crimson touched the floor, I had grabbed that towel we came down for and choked the living shit right out of him. He never knew what happened. He had it coming, I mean really. I had actually wanted to add a notch to my belt of sinful things for some time, but just not today. Oh well, my Mom always said that things happened for a reason, and I am fairly certain that I just did the world a favor. Now, I look at this mess on his floor and I am pissed off and happy at the same time. I have to discard of this tampon of a man in a manner that will not cast shadows of guilt upon me. Ha! Who am I kidding? It is thundering like crazy outside and the whole neighborhood is shuttered in their houses watching football and drinking beer. How wonderful that John happens to have a chipper shredder in his workshop out back! Plus, this shiny floor and nearby drain make for good clean-up. I guess I’ll just wipe my prints off this syringe and place it in his hand, and then I’ll act all disgusted, sad and surprised when I hear about that drug addiction he had that no one really knew about. After all, accidents do happen. One should never use a chipper shredder while all gorped out on, well, whatever was in that syringe. She felt like chopped liver
sitting in a plush leather chair, the color of tree bark, after a good rain. Chatterings flitted by; all around her really. No one seemed to mind the rudeness of ignoring her. She was an adornment, a prop in the background. A painting on the wall covered in bits of conversation that did not care for her thoughts. The plush leather chair felt smooth and welcomed all of her bits with ease. It aimed to please. Just a sweep across
his wrinkled brow with her gaze settled his anxiety. His world was shaken, a storm embattled buoy in the flannels of a man. Anything he could stand came in the form of a bottle... In a mug, or a glass, or still in the confinements of its original vessel... it all went down the same. And when his stoopers gave way to morning light, he'd whisper her name like he knew it. As though he owned it like he stole it, and wished for her peaceful, all-seeing gaze that never judged him. If he could just hang on. She was stripped down.
All of her fabrics removed. As the cotton deteriorated, it snagged her skin to the floor. Engulfed in a nakedness that chilled every disappearing freckle of her boney body. Arms flailing in protest... or so she thought, but no... she was statue still. Stripped down and forced to see her imperfect beauty. For a lifetime it was this way. Bare. And she hated her translucent cosplay, until her knuckles reached through the dirt. You don't know me.
A stranger peering through your blinds at night. I see you rustle with your blankets. The blue diamond pattern that never covers your crooked toes. The chill never wakes you, but you struggle with it. A mess of restless legs that want to run. I'd run with you... but you don't know me. Your hair loses its sheen while stifled under pillows. Breath becomes shallow while I wait. What's done is done and the gravel road that comes up from behind will never settle us straight. You don't know me. I'm just some phantom foaming at the mouth... waiting. Richard James didn’t
care much for his wife. Sure, he liked her when she was fresh, young, and ripe. He liked her when she had no voice, and when she cleaned his sullied house, and when she kept the children quiet. But these present days were poles apart from the moist tart she used to be. Richard James just didn’t think she was pliable enough for him now. Gravity had gotten the best of her. Feminism ruined her skin. She kept leaving to meet her friends for coffee, like some yuppie Aristocrat who needed a name. He wasn’t about to play some attention game with her. Especially when that young thing at his office wears those low-cut blouses for the Monday night meetings. That sugar-bottom makes him feel like a King. He crashed into her.
A rogue wave of tsunami proportions that tilted her world of mundane things on to a razor-sharp axis of would be, could be and should have done. The heat of friction bubbled up from toes to belly. Satanic skin of sensations muddled into jelly before her very eyes. The tempting thoughts trickled down her thighs in a quiver of embarrassed pride that she could not contain. The mundane of dishes and dirty laundry, manners and dinners, homework on Monday nights sound asleep with the TV light buzzing in her brain… None of it compared to the rogue wave that mangled her womanly core. She wanted more, and more, until she said “Fuck it, I’m done.” "How did you know I'd be here?" she asked him, surprised and content at the same time.
"Honey, I brought you. We rode here together." He finished removing his dark overcoat and slid into the booth, facing her from across their shared table. "You most certainly did not! Why, I drove myself here, in my own car!. I have a Cadillac, you know. Its powder yellow, almost like a canary." She paused, and then said "I think I'm going to have the Swiss steak, its the lunch special today." she fumbled with the menu. "Swiss steak sounds delicious dear. I can't quite make up my mind just yet." He stated. "Dear? What kind of a lady do you think I am anyway? Why I have half a mind to telephone my husband this instant, but, he wouldn't be home I suppose. He is never home when I need him to be. Just once, it would be nice if that man could get home at a reasonable hour and help me put those children of his to bed! Do you know how busy and frustrating it can be to get four children to bed on time?" "Mm hmm, I do know. I think I'll order the Two Egg Breakfast, with hash browns and a side of fruit. The melon should be in season right now. This place used to get their melons fresh from Ole Doc down the road. I wonder how he's doing these days, haven't seen him in a good long while." He stared out the window. "Ole Doc? Ole Doc Hodges? Oh, I remember him...we went to the dance together back in high school...or was that the one year when the fair was in town? Anyway, his first name is Milford. What an odd first name, I would never name a child that. Milford Hodges, it just sounds horrible!" She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. He chuckled and reached for her wrinkled hands. "I love you" he said to her. "I love you too dear" she replied, "but we can't tell my husband!" Rita James admired her cup
full of plaid from a safe distance of arms length. any closer and she just wouldn't have the strength to abstain from stealing it home with her. What would her imaginary, possibly soon-to-be ex-husband have to say about that? Rita James could never escape over the wall, across the hall, or downtown to where her cup of plaid coffee called home. Rita James had to use the in-betweens to get her fill of caffeine from that gorgeous stein of plaid "Make her moan like the woman she had been in her twenties" coffee. She asked for his hand,
so he gave her a bloody stump wrapped in a shiny yet tattered package of prima donna wishes. "There ya go" he smirked as he got up and walked out of their rigor mortis, decomposed, whatever the fuck was left relationship. Staring at the messy tendrils left behind, she sighed and chucked his stump at the undeserving door. What happened to the
laughing eyes? At one time, not so long ago, they boomed a piercing blue-green. Blue as the sky in a fitful summer cry. Like lovers lost amongst us, they're not laughing anymore. The clouds parted ways and slammed the damn door shut. But...I remember the life in those blue-green eyes like it was a moment ago. Rita James quietly
quenched her thirst for new coffee. She sipped many samples of denim, cotton tee, blazer, polo, and bare chested flavors. Rita James sat at her desk mulling over which Taster's Choice she favored best and finally decided Plaid. |
AuthorMolly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw. Categories |
RSS Feed
