Clay. He could barely make out her face because of the
afternoon sun streaming in, but he could guess the expression. She
said, “I hope you rot in hell, Jet Smith, and if you see two middle
fingers up at a concert, you’ll know they belong to me. Have a
great life, fucker.”
He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He almost
invited her back in to share a Tombstone pizza and flat Pepsi but
thought better of it. Better for her to leave like a bandage ripped
off a wound—quickly and, therefore, as painlessly as
possible—rather than drawing it out like a woman in labor. It had
been excruciating enough.
Still, part of him had to try to end it on a
nice note. “Have a nice life.” He wished he could remember her
name. Maybe he really was a grade A asshole.
She paused and considered him. Oh, no. The
jig was up. “You don’t even remember my name, do you?”
He sucked in a deep breath. “What makes you
say that?”
She walked back in the door a few steps,
leaving it open, and Clay could feel the warm air breezing in.
“Okay, then, what’s my name?”
Aw, shit. Well, maybe the first name that
came to mind was the right one. “Uh…Carmen sounds about right.”
“You motherfucker.”
He panicked. “Lucia? Anja!”
“It’s Tatiana, you cocksucker!” She grabbed
the doorknob but turned around, glaring. “You know what? You fuck
like a girl!”
She turned around again and slammed the door
behind her. He felt his brow furrow as he tried to decide if her
last sentence had been meant to be an insult. Exactly how would a
person fuck like a girl? What exactly was that supposed to
mean?
He wasn’t about to follow her outside to find
out.
Less than a minute later, he heard her car
backing out of his driveway. He hadn’t remembered how they’d gotten
to his place last night, because he frequently called a cab when he
was as fucked up as he’d been the night before. He walked over to
the door and locked it, then leaned his back against it and let out
a long breath of air. His shoulders relaxed, but his cheek still
stung where she’d slapped him. He could especially feel the bite of
the metal of her rings.
A small price to pay. At least she was
gone.
He ran his palms down his chest and stomach.
He was torn. Did he want to shower first or get something to
eat?
The decision wasn’t too difficult. Much as
he’d enjoyed the evening before, it was now leaving a bad taste in
his mouth, just as many encounters did anymore. A shower would
signal a fresh start and then he might have an appetite. He walked
back through the living room to his bedroom. He stopped at the long
dresser where his stereo sat next to stacks of CDs. He’d put in
some music and crank it first so he could hear it in the master
bathroom while he showered.
Part of him really wanted to listen to the
old Judas Priest CD Screaming for Vengeance , since that was
the album that had the song that was rolling through his mind, but
he’d have to go through his larger collection in his music room,
but because there was no order to the chaos in there, he didn’t
even want to attempt it. He’d always wanted to arrange the CDs in
alphabetical order but would get distracted every time he tried,
wanting to listen to each one he picked up. Maybe he could sweet
talk Mary into doing it sometime.
Instead, he looked through the stack of CDs
next to the stereo. These were newer purchases and albums he hadn’t
grown used to yet. He picked the top one of the stack, the latest
by Avenged Sevenfold, and put it in the stereo. Once it started
playing, he turned it up loud and made his way to the bathroom.
When he got there and took his jeans off, he set them on the
counter, considering he’d only worn them for a few minutes.
But then he changed his mind. He needed to
wash all of Tatiana off him, and new jeans and new bedding were in
order. Seeing her in the morning coupled with her foulness made him
realize he had to stop doing this.
He turned on the water in the