Two separate trusts,
broken.
I mean, Brad accepts that
I’ve got a major thing for
Trey. But will Brad accept
the fact that Trey has climbed
into
the bed we shared last night?
Will sharing a bed, sharing
someone they love, blow
their closeness into distant
pieces?
Brad Stirs
I’m not sure I’m ready to test
his reaction, so I push back against
Trey, shove him gently out of bed.
He goes into the bathroom and I
follow, turn on the shower, climb
inside, hoping the noise doesn’t
wake Brad, but knowing it will.
At least we won’t be a sandwich.
I’m shaky. Scared. Is this the end?
I put my arms around Trey’s neck,
lean my head into his chest. “I’m
sorry. I didn’t mean…”
It’s okay, Kristina. We never
made any promises. Anyway,
I know Brad’s lonely.
I look up, hook his eyes. “I’m
lonely too. And that’s all this is.
I love you. But you aren’t here.”
I want to ask if he’s been with other
girls. [Don’t.] Need to ask. [No.]
Have to know. [No, you don’t.]
He tells me anyway. I love you,
too. But I can’t tell you I haven’t
been with other girls.
[See? You didn’t want to know.]
Anger scalds, hot and white. But
why? And what can I say?
Now I want to know who. [No,
you don’t.] Need to know if it’s
Robyn. [No, damnit, you don’t.]
He tells me anyway. Not Robyn,
in case you’re wondering. Guess she
left school. Her apartment is empty.
“So who is it, then?” [Not that it’s
any of your business.] “That girl
you told me about?”
She’s one. But there have been
others. Nothing serious. Sex
only. I love you. No one else.
White heat stings my eyes. Not fair!
[Sure it is.] Shut up! [What comes
around goes around.] Shut up!
My heart does wind sprints. My
brain somersaults. The tub is slippery
and I start to fall. Fall. Fa…
Where Am I?
Everything is dark. Mostly dark.
There’s light somewhere,
like at the end of a tunnel.
Am I dead?
Someone is talking. Calling.
Calling my name.
Kristina? Kristina!
Trey? Is he dead too?
My head hurts. There’s a
thumping. A noisy thrumming
against the lining of my skull.
Can you hurt
when you’re dead?
Wait! I don’t want to be dead.
Don’t want to walk in darkness—
semidarkness—alone.
Death is lonely.
Lonely? Lonely. Why is lonely
familiar? I know Brad is lonely.
It’s getting lighter. Light.
Maybe I’m not dead.
But I still can’t move. Don’t
dare move because it hurts.
My head hurts. My back hurts.
Maybe I do wish I
were dead.
Are my eyes open? It’s light
but I still can’t see. Kristina?
Look at me, Kristina.
I don’t want to look at Trey.
If I do, I’ll really wish
I was dead.
His Face
Materializes, wraithlike.
“What happened? Am I dead?”
Don’t even say that. You
slipped and fell, that’s all.
No wonder my head hurts. I reach
up, touch the gestating lump.
I start to sit up, but my head spins
and I fumble back against the floor.
Trey strokes my cheek, moves
my hair from my eyes. Stay still.
Stay? Like a dog? Monstrous
anger grips me, shakes me.
Are you cold? He jumps to his
feet, runs into the bedroom.
I use the time to try my legs,
which refuse to cooperate.
Back comes Trey, blanket in hand.
Please don’t move, Kristina.
grab her strength. “Leave me alone.”
Flip onto my belly. Push to my knees.
I’m shaky. But damnit, I’ll stand.
Trey steadies me best as he can.
You are so fucking stubborn.
Stubborn. Aching. Straight out
pissed and the worst thing is,
I have zero reason to be. Well,
other than the fact that the monster
coldcocked me and I feel like
a steaming pile of manure.
Brad Has Vacated the Room
Trey helps me across the
endless
stretch of carpet, to the
empty,
tousled bed. A soft
cloud
of pillow lures me toward
dreamless
sleep. As I sink closer to
oblivion
I breathe Trey in, desperate
inhalation.
I want him beneath my skin,
held
fast by my bones,
absorbed
by my body like
oxygen.
“Please don’t go.” A slow
exhalation.
I won’t. He is tender,
warm.
And I believe him.
But of Course
He has to go.
I wake, knowing this.
He is sitting by the bed.
“I don’t want you to go.”
I know. But I’ll be back
in a couple of weeks.
I have to think why.
Oh yes, spring break.
I talked to Brad and told
him I’m okay with you two.
I’m not okay with any
of it. “Why is it okay?”
Because it has to be.
School will be out in less
than three months….
“I can wait three months
for you, if you just tell
me you want me to.”
He takes my hand, kisses
it gently. Let’s play it by
ear, okay? No worries.
No worries? “How can
I not worry about you?
I love you, remember?”
Now he pulls me from bed,
into his lap, cinches me with
his arms. Kristina, I love you,
too, really I do…
Okay, there’s a major
“but” coming. [Yeah, like,
But I’m a major player,
and want to play around.]
…but this is totally new
territory. I’ve always loved
girls for what they could give
me, not for who they are.
I understand what he
means, but still don’t get
where this is headed. “So,
what are you saying?”
I’m asking for some time
to figure out if I love you
for what you’re giving me,
or for who you are.
Over a Week
Since Trey went off
to decide why [you mean if]
he loves me. Messed up!
Brad and I have kept
our thoughts regarding th
at
night to ourselves, not
easy to do when you’re
spun, and we have been spun
on an ongoing basis.
It’s maintenance spun
now, not really enjoyable spun.
I can nibble soft foods,
sleep fitfully, brain
begging to shut all the way
down. But I’m scared
to shut all the way
down. Scared I might dream.
Scared I might not
wake back up.
It’s About Noon
On Thursday. I’m fumbling
around in the kitchen, trying
to figure out what to make
for dinner. My head is in
the freezer when the phone
bellows. It takes four rings
to find it, and I’m totally
surprised at who’s on the other
end. Hi, Kristina? It’s Robyn.
Okay, she’s after something,
and I can guess what. I don’t
know if you heard, but I left
UOP. I’m working out here
in Moundhouse, and was
hoping you could hook me up.
Moundhouse = whorehouse.
There are several in the little
community, not far from
Nevada’s capital, Carson
City. One was even featured
on a prime-time cable show.
Now, it doesn’t necessarily
surprise me that Robyn is
whoring for the monster, but
I never would have guessed
she’d sink so low as to whore
for truck drivers and tourists.
“Well, maybe I can help you
out.” Don’t want to give it all
up the first time we talk.
“I’ll have to check on it.
But if it’s doable, it will
be on the pricey side.”
Very cool. Some other girls
are interested, too. Can you
and I work out a quantity?
Just like that, I move from low
to midlevel dealer. Good thing
Brad’s connect is bottomless.
Can you come out to the ranch?
I’ll tell them you’re my sister.
Oh, you have to ask for Aphrodite.
If You’ve Never
Been to a fancy whorehouse
(and believe me, I never have
before!), you might be surprised.
I’m nervous, thinking the Pink
Pussycat will be scary—dark, sweaty,
with lots of peepholes, maybe. But a
better word to describe the place
is gaudy, with plush pink carpeting
and silver and gold brocade covering
the walls. If there are peepholes, they’re
hidden behind paintings of busty
naked women, like in an Old West
saloon. Only pinker. Pink. How
appropriate. It’s early for truckers.
Only a few haunt the “parlor,” perusing
a menu of services and a couple of girls.
Neither men nor girls are what you’d call
attractive. This is no place for romance.
Hey, sis. Long time no see. Robyn escorts
me to her room, much like she did several
times in the past, only this time she’s dressed
in a purple silk teddy. Her legs are too thin,
her own chest flatter than I remember, and
a thick layer of makeup barely disguises
sores. Monster sores. I chide myself
to slow down before I end up with sores.
Or here.
Unlike Her Apartment
Robyn’s room is neat.
Guess perverts dislike
having paid-for sex
amidst piles of clutter.
Like everything else here, it’s pink and gold
and sparsely furnished.
It smells of old sweat
and cheap perfume.
Robyn locks the door
and we sit on her bed,
just like in the good ol’
days. I’m pulling grave
yard so we don’t have
to hurry. Anyway, the
manager is a friend.
That’s how I wound
up here, in fact.
She tells me how she
met the guy, how he
talked her into “easy”
money, working in the
“entertainment industry.”
As she talks, I notice
the way her eyes beg.
“You sure it’s okay to
do the deal in here?”
Her head bobs. No
problem. I told them
you have some private
news about our mother
and not to interrupt us.
They probably think she
has cancer or something.
Sweet. A little sympathy
goes a long way here.
I can only imagine. I
produce a quarter ounce
of excellent glass and
immediately Robyn’s
hands begin to shake.
She doesn’t only want
the meth. She needs it.
“You can try some if you
want. Where can we go?”
In answer, she opens the
window, turns on a fan
that sits on a small table
by the door. Right here
is the safest place. I’ll
get the pipe. I watch her
inhale, eyes popping
pleasure. Thank God
it’s not street crank.
She talks about the last
crank she snorted, a tip
from a customer. Oh
yeah, truckers love their
crank. And when they’re
all cranked up, they love
other stuff too. The ice
opens her mouth and
she tells me all about it.
Some of ’em are really
gross. I always make
them shower first. No
way will I let something
dirty up inside of me.
Condoms? Yeah, they’re
supposed to wear them.
But they pay a lot extra
if you don’t make them.
They also pay extra for
oral sex and unusual sex,
including threesomes
with other girls. Robyn
claims she’s judicious.
But I know how your
caution can slip, when
you have a threesome
with our pal, the monster.
I Leave
Feeling slightly better about
myself and a whole lot better
about my own client list, which
has just grown exponentially.
Robyn knows girls at some
of the other ranches too.
Meth is one way they handle
what they do. I guess you could
say it isn’t much different from
trading sex for companionship.
Okay, it’s a helluva lot damn
different. I mean, screwing nasty,
smelly men [without a condom,
yet] to feed your meth habit [no
worries about feeding your face].
The word “condom” reminds
me again that I need to get
in and get on the pill. I’ll
call tomorrow and make
the appointment. And that
reminds me that Trey should
head my way next week. No
calls to confirm, as yet. Anxiety
swims up like a giant squid, snakes
tentacles around my throat. Squeezes.
Easter
Sunday
Brad took the girls to
an Easter egg hunt.
I thought about taking
Hunter, but it’s cold
and he’s just a baby,
anyway. Like he’d
know the Easter bunny
from some giant rodent.
Anyway, it’s a long
drive and I think I’ll
use my time alone to
crash and experience
the snooze of the dead.
Brad traded speed for
some downers. Guess
I’ll have to borrow a
couple. I want to be
good and rested by
the time Trey arrives.
Not that I know exactly
when that might be.
Not that I have a freaking
clue what he might be
up to in the meantime.
I pop an Ambien and
wait, thinking about Trey
and what he might be
doing at this moment. My
head starts to spin, like
riding a Tilt-A-Whirl.
I close my eyes, hang
on tight against loop
the loop in my head.
I’m over the edge….
It’s Gray
I rise
up out
of the
depths
into flat
pale light.
Where
am I?
Is it
morning
or night?
Why