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She didn’t smell bad the way they sometimes do. The way her eyes glared into mine as I fucked her…I found that pleasing, as well. Something to be said for, really. No one makes eye contact like that anymore.
Her search was endless. Whatever she was looking for— answers, a home, love, all of the above—I wanted to make sure she found it.
The lack of smell and absence of dirt under her fingernails told me she hadn’t been on the streets long. That or she wasn’t as bad off as the rest of them. Roaches—scattering in the daylight, but at night, well, it’s a different story.
When night falls they’re everywhere, which is why when I asked her where to go for a little privacy, she didn’t bat an eye. “Around the corner,” she pointed. “There’s a parking lot.”
Turns out, I should have done my goddamned homework. It wasn’t just any parking lot. It was a fucking pharmacy. And do you know what pharmacies have? Cameras.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I do it all the time.” The way she spoke made her sound younger than she looked. It made me sure she was what I was looking for: a liar.
It wasn’t until after I’d paid her and rolled the condom on that she proved herself, saying, “I don’t usually do this. It’s actually my first time.”
Obviously it wasn’t true. Obviously she was trying to add to some sort of fantasy she thought I had. It worked. It turned me on— and it enraged me. I pushed her back against the wall, running my fingers across her cheek. She wasn’t pretty, but she wasn’t horrid either. Not like some of them. She seemed like the kind of girl who, with a little effort, might have had a shot at making something o
ut of herself. “Do you mind if I hit you?”
She shook her head. “Just don’t leave a mark.”
I flashed a knowing smile and then lightly tapped her cheek. Rule number one: a little buy-in in the beginning can save you a whole lot of trouble in the end.
“Can I ask you another question?”
A slight nod.
“How many continents are there?”
She laughed nervously. “Is this a trick question?”
“Maybe.”
“Good thing you’re not paying me to answer questions,” she said, leaning in.
Pumping into her rhythmically, at first fast and then slow, I cupped my hand over her mouth. Against her filthy ear, I whispered, “Don’t scream.”
She was an easy listener. Her eyes kept searching. Even in the salty glow of the dim streetlamp, I could see that they were blue with green flecks. The kind you could easily forget if you let yourself. I kept moving, eventually timing myself with the rhythm of her pulse.
When I wrapped my hands around her throat, she didn’t protest. Women always put up with things way longer than they should. Maybe there’s a school where they take little girls aside and teach them this, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fairy tales. Whatever the case, my hands squeezing her neck…closing her airway. I’m sure she thought this is what he’s into. This is his thing. This is it. This is the money shot.
And it was. In a different sort of way. I didn’t let up, not even when she started to panic and I was forced to slam her head against the brick wall. To her credit, she didn’t stop fighting, not even then. I had eighty pounds on her, easy, and a whole lot more experience. The more she fought, the harder I pressed. I squeezed and I squeezed until we both found our release. Her eyes fixed in place and blood trickled from her nose. Her breathing slowed, before it ceased altogether.
Finally, her struggle had come to an end. It was beautiful, being that for her.
“The answer is seven,” I told her afterward.
For what it’s worth, I let her keep the money. Not that she’ll be needing it, but because it was the right thing to do.
Chapter Three
The day everything changes doesn’t begin particularly different than any other day. My eyes flutter open at 7:00 a.m., knowing that Joni, our housekeeper, will have left a tray with a cup of coffee that will have turned cold, along with two dry pieces of toast on my desk. After I take care of business and wash up, I will shuffle down the hall to my office, twenty-three steps away, where I will plop myself in the chair and remain hunched over my keyboard until 12:30, when I am well and hungry again.
At that time, I will take my lunch in my wife’s room, next to her hospital bed, where I’ll read to her what I’ve sweated out all morning. She’ll nod, and maybe if I’m lucky, and it’s a good day, I’ll even earn a smile.
A smile might keep me going into the evening hours. A smile propels the story forward. They’re harder to come by than they used to be, which is saying a lot. That’s not to say it’s ever been easy. Eve may have folded into herself, but some things remain the same. What lit her up thirty-four years ago are still the things that light her up today.
These days about an hour of me is all she can handle before her eyelids become heavy, her breathing deepens, and I hear the familiar sounds of her slumber. I try not to take it personally. She sleeps most of the time.
