her nail polish was chipping. The girl who sat at my table and stared blankly at the wall was not the girl I’d seen in the pink dress that night at the party. This girl had “damaged goods” written all over her.
“Thanks for breakfast,” she said, putting her bowl and cup in the sink. “I have to get back so Lottie and everyone can fuss over me and make sure I’m not going to slit my wrists like in some tragic TV drama.”
“Slitting your wrists really isn’t an effective way to kill yourself. Too many things can go wrong. You’re better off shooting yourself or taking cyanide. Or being hit by a train,” I said, draining my coffee cup. It was going to take more than one cup to get me back in fighting shape again. I massaged my pounding forehead with one hand, wishing I had listened to my intuition last night.
She froze and stared at me for a moment.
“I wasn’t asking for tips, but thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. How the hell do you know that?” she said.
I joined her at the sink with my dishes.
“Morbid curiosity,” I said turning on the water and grabbing a sponge. Ouch, even that hurt.
“Have you ever…”
“Obviously not, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried. When I was seven I found a knife and tried to stab myself. Still have the scar.” I put the sponge down and lifted up my shirt, pointing to the thin white line on my stomach that marked my first, and least-successful, attempt. There had been others, but Trish had always thwarted those.
She looked anywhere but at the scar.
I stepped closer to her and she backed up. “Does it scare you?”
“No.”
“Then why won’t you look at it?”
“Because I don’t want to.” She pushed me away and rushed to the door. “I told you. Sex only. None of that other stuff. I’ll call you.”
With that, she yanked the door open and rushed down the stairs. I really knew how to clear a room.
***
Katie didn’t call me for “just sex” for a week. In that time I didn’t see her at all. I only had secondary information about how she was from Zan and Trish. I also got a lecture of epic proportions from Trish about respecting women. It was one of her more-impassioned speeches. I always thought she would make a good politician or leader of some sort of political group, but she thought all those people were self-righteous losers. I told her to look in the mirror and then we ended up fighting until one of us stormed out. We would meet up later and things would be normal again.
When I did finally see Katie, she looked marginally better. Her hair was clean and pulled back, and her pinks all matched again. We met at my place, which I had since picked up a little.
She attacked my mouth and my body with more ferocity than the first time, if that was possible. The sex was quick and angry and when it was over we were both panting. She’d kept her eyes closed nearly the entire time.
“Why the fuck do you wear so much pink?” I said as she pulled her pink underwear off the lamp where I’d tossed it.
“Why do you care? I told you, just sex. No chitchat.” She covered my mouth and I licked her palm.
“Ugh!” She pulled her hand away and wiped it on the couch.
“You’ll take my dick inside you and my tongue down your throat, but some of my spit on your hand grosses you out?”
“Stop asking so many fucking questions!” She fastened her bra and grabbed the rest of her clothes as she headed for the bathroom.
“Crazy girl,” I muttered.
She came back fully-dressed with her hair smoothed.
“Look, I don’t need a boyfriend. I don’t need a friend. I just need someone to fuck me. That’s you.”
I have her a thumbs up. “I’m your fuck guy. Got it.”
“Good.” She reached for her purse but in her hurry, it upended and everything went flying. “Shit,” she said, scrambling to get her stuff. “Everything is just so screwed up.”
I got up and tried to help her, but she put her hands out to stop me. “Don’t touch my stuff.”
“Jesus Christ, Katie. I’m doing what a stranger would do if you were in a public place and this happened.”
I crouched next to her and waited patiently until she looked at me. She chucked some makeup into the bag and I saw a tear drop