Page 42 of Liquids

“What?”

“These guys have come to the apartment I’ve been living in and done a big dump on my doorstep. I’m going to seek retribution for that. They know it. You know it. I know it.”

I sigh. Fucking men and their territorial bullshit. He doesn’t even live here, not really.

“What else?” he says.

“That’s it.”

“What d’ya mean, that’s it?” he growls, narrowing his eyes at me.

He’s growling at me when he’s been lying to me, has an apartment with someone else, and is involved in stuff that brought goons to my door. He also made me hope and is fake playing house with me. It all flares through me, prickly and hot, as my phone bites into my palm. “I’ve gotta go. I promised to meet Marni in Callahan’s,” I say, and I hang up on him.

Rig has stirred up all these things I was trying to fucking forget. Are some guys just better at pretending than others? I look down at the tremor in my hand. Fuck, I need a drink. I stomp through to the kitchen and dig some vodka out of the cabinet. Thanks for putting me in a much deeper hole than I was in before, buddy. And the debt, the awful apartment, the creepy landlord, and the shitty job were quite enough of a hole to begin with. I sink down at the table, pour myself a shot, and knock it back. The burn is so goddamn satisfying.

The blue cup we were drawing is still sitting on the table, pushed to the back. I drag a sketchpad and the watercolors out of the stack and get out of my seat and fill the cup with water, then I sit down and swirl a brush through it, flipping open the lid of the paintbox. Inky colors. I start painting some lines with a deep hue, dropping water to make them spread, watching it seep into the paper. I draw my hand, then the old dried grasses that have been sitting, dusty, on the windowsill for years. My breathing evens out, and the apartment is quiet. The next time I look at my watch, it’s 6 p.m.

I’ve been settled here for ten years, and it’s been perfectly okay. Not the best life, but not a terrifying one either. I might want to leave, but I have a mountain of debt, no money for a deposit, and my credit is shot. I can’t move. Rig just jerked me back into realizing how far things had slid. I’m not going to let them get that bad again. I need to forget about him and his large hands and his dreams. I grew up at the bottom of the heap. Why am I hoping for something else? I put my brush down, grab my coat, and head out the door.

When I slide into one of the red-seated booths in the bar, Marni is already nursing an almost empty glass of wine, a generous amount of makeup not hiding the swelling on her cheek.

“Been icing it all day,” she says morosely into her glass. “How am I gonna pull looking like this? I’ve been googling how long it takes for injuries to go down, and it’ll be days. Guys will take one look at me and think I’ve been beaten up.”

Usually, Marni can put a positive spin on anything like a pro. “You have been beaten up.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Obviously. But no one’s going to sleep with me looking like this.”

“A few days isn’t bad,” I say, switching into confident friend mode for a bit.

A guy appears at the end of our table carrying a bottle of wine and a wine glass. Oh fuck, what now?

“I was told to bring you this.”

I glance around. It’s quiet tonight. The normal regulars. Alan is sitting on a stool propping up the bar with a pint. Reg, the old timer, is in his usual corner. A punk I don’t recognize is by the jukebox trying to find something other than Perry Como. He’d never buy us wine, no way.

“Who’s it from?” I ask.

Marni grabs the bottle out of his hands. “Who gives a fuck, Carl? No one in their right mind turns down free booze.” She gives the guy a simpering smile. “Thank you.”

The guy places the extra glass down in front of me, and my eyes scan over her red face. She’s actually quite drunk.

He holds up his palms. “Genuinely not sure who it was from, ladies. The bartender said it was a gift to you two girls.”

He walks away. Ladies. Girls. Ha!

“Marni, you numbskull; it could be from Marco! Though God knows why he’d be gifting us alcohol. The last thing you want is to be owing something to someone like him.”

Her eyelashes flutter as she looks away. What is going on between her and Angelo?

“If he gifted this, then he’s an asshole for not saying anything. I’m not going to be beholden to some hood over a fuckin’ bottle of wine.” The top’s already been unscrewed so she pours a huge slosh into her glass then mine. She picks hers up, grinning, and clinks my glass. “Bottoms up.”

I knock back a slug. After a day like today, I need it. “I didn’t even tell you the best bit about today.”

Her lips part. “What the fuck else happened?”

“Rig’s girlfriend visited.”

Marni’s eyes go round. “You are fucking kidding me!” She slams her glass down. “He has a girlfriend? People have kept that goddamn quiet. All I’ve heard about him is that he fucks anything that moves. She must have the patience of a saint.”