our bedroom on his way out, and escorted me into the living room. After chucking three remote controls, a four-pound crystal ashtray—also stolen from my parents—and all of our ceramic coasters at his head like Chinese stars, I finally ran out of ammo and simply melted into a screaming, rocking, hyperventilating puddle on the couch.
Eventually, through the rushing sounds of blood and bile, as well as my own shrieking, I slowly began to make out Hans’s calm, repetitive mantra.
“Nothing happened. Nothing happened, Bumblebee. I swear. Nothing happened.”
When I finally calmed down enough to process visual stimuli again, I noticed that Hans was wearing boxers and a T-shirt. (He usually slept naked.) And when I mentally replayed my assault on Goth Girl, she had been wearing one of Hans’s T-shirts and a pair of boxers, too.
Goddamn it.
Hans explained while I trembled and sniffled and chain-smoked on the couch that he had gone to a bar after our big fight the night before, gotten plowed, and called Goth Girl for a shoulder to cry on. (He always was a little bitch.)
Evidently Goth Girl had just broken up with Goth Boy, so she decided to head on up to the bar and drown her sorrows as well. She wound up crashing at our place because she was too drunk to drive home. (Based on Hans’s parking job, he was, too.)
I actually wanted them to have had sex so that I could be justified in my rage, but I knew that Hans was telling the truth. It didn’t make it hurt any less that he’d run to another girl’s arms just hours after our breakup, but it made me feel like an even bigger psycho for all the thigh slapping.
Eventually, Goth Girl tiptoed out from the safety of her little cage, and we cried and smoked together on the couch while Hans paced around, looking lost. Once I was all cried out I asked both of them to leave so that I could get on with packing up my shit in peace…
Then I gutted that fucking hole-in-the-wall so bad that you would have thought I was trying to stop Christmas from coming.
I took the shower curtain, the rod, and the little rubber drain stopper. I took the toilet paper. I took the blinds, and I didn’t even have a screw driver. I just ripped that shit right out of the wall. I took the pillows, comforter, and twenty-five thread count Walmart-brand sheets. (The mattress stayed only because it wouldn’t fit in the ’stang. The TVs wouldn’t fit in the ’stang either, but that didn’t stop me from taking the remote controls.) I took every pot, pan, dish, scrap of food, and drawer knob from the kitchen. Hell, I even took the last can of Who Hash.
And you know what, Journal? It made me feel a little bit better.
You know what made me feel a lot better? Finding out that Hans got evicted the next month and lost his deposit due to all the missing appliances and chunks of drywall.
You know what made me forget Hans had ever existed? Meeting my soul mate.
Skynet Has Become Self-Aware! Skynet Has Become Self-Aware!
February 2
Mayday, Journal! Mayday!
You’ve been compromised! There’s no other possible explanation! Ken went from giving me head about as often as he changes the AC filter (which he is too cheap to replace until the particulates in the air are so big that I have to duck to keep from bumping my head on them) to going down on me every time we have sex. Every. Time. Um, yeah. You don’t go from never doing a thing to always doing a thing unless there’s a serious fucking intervention, especially Ken. His behavior is so calcified that I don’t think he could sit on the other side of the couch if you held a gun to his head. There’s only one thing that could make this motherfucker suddenly feel the need to eat pussy all the time, and it’s my November 1 journal entry.
What did he read? How much did he read??
This is so bad. It’s so good, but it’s so, so bad. I totally underestimated him, Journal. Of all the husbots in all the world, why did I have to wind up with the evil genius TL 9000 version?
I’ve been writing a lot lately, so I’ll bet he went to sneak a peek at Super Private Journal That Ken Is Never, Never Allowed to Read Ever to see what I’ve been up to, then got suspicious