Girls With Guns - Part II

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A trilogy of the progression of a dangerous relationship.

Submitted: February 11, 2008

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Submitted: February 11, 2008

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Part II: Truth Once Told
 

And then in you'll come
With those marching drums
In a saintly compromise
No more whiskey slurs
No more blonde hair girls
For your whole eternal life
.
 
 
 

She slowly stirred from bed in the shroud of a hangover. Her eyes barely slit open she searched around the bed, at first reassuringly and then furiously, until at last she had found what she was looking for. She reached under the covers and like an elegant ballet she slid her legs through and held the elastic close to her hips till she was satisfied with this minor clothing. She saw her shirt slung over a chair on the opposite side of the room and was convinced it would not be necessary considering the intensity of her headache. She took a moment to catch her breath or shudder at the thought of confronting the absence of the warm sheets and blankets. But still she climbed out of bed, it was still dark, and she managed to stumble blindly to the bathroom, where she stopped in the hallway and looked back at the bed, and then flung the light on. Under the covers he was still awake, and peeking from under the covers he saw her naked from the waist up stand in the doorway of the bathroom. Her breasts, exposed but tragically beautiful kept his attention as her form became a silhouette as she moved further into the bathroom. He closed his eyes again, although not to fall asleep, he had been awake all night in the fear that should he fall asleep he might wake up and realize this too was just a momentary dream. He called out to her in the darkness, faintly, but still hoping she would hear. She stared in the mirror and made no motion to turn around and a few moments passed before she finally replied.

"What did you say?"
"Nothing, I just asked if you were ok."
"Oh...yeah...I'm fine. Go back to bed."
"Did you have fun tonight?"
"Yes, very much so."
"Good. Are you coming back to bed?"
"I think I might vomit."
"You didn't drink that much did you?"
"I know it's strange."
"Did you take anything?"
"Don't start. Please don't start."
"You know you get sick. I don't know why you do it."
"We had a good time tonight. Please don't ruin it."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
She walked back to bed and just before turning off the light he saw her smiling. She climbed on top of him and slid her hands up his chest and around his head and then kissed him hard on the mouth. He eased back let her tongue feel its way around his mouth and then turned her over and kissed her neck gently and moved his hands around her face and then down her arms and held her hands momentarily before bringing them back up around her breasts. She kissed him harder and he started moaning as she clawed his back and wrapped her legs around him. He touched her skin, the soft milky depths of it, and then her hair, bold and dangerous, naturally unforgettable. He looked at her and saw that her eyes were closed and would open partly before closing again. He stared at her as she bit her lip and once again opened her eyes, but only partly before closing them again. She turned her head violently and let out a gasp and then a deeper moan. The poetic movements timed with the light cast on the wall from the window which would brighten suddenly and forcefully when a car would pass by outside. He held her softly and kissed her gently on the lips and turned over and she rolled over and laid her head on his chest and her arm around him through the slit between his arm and body. 
"Baby? Are you asleep?"
"No."
"I was just thinking. Can we go to Bento tomorrow? Oh Baby do you want to?"
"Sure."
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Yes it has."
"I want to try something new. I always get the same thing. I should try new things more often. Don't you think so?"
"Sure."
"Are you tired baby? Am I keeping you awake?"
"No you're fine."
"It just always feels like I'm doing all the talking. You're so quiet all the time."
"I thought that's what you liked about me. You said I seemed dangerous."
"I know baby, but you have to talk to me, tell me your secrets. I want to have a conversation with you where you say more than three words. I want details."
"Honey, you know what they say; the devil is in the details."
"You always have to make a joke about everything. Do you even take me seriously?"
"Honey, I don't know what you want me to say."
"I just want something, anything"
"Sweetie there's no wizard behind this curtainthere's something much more substantial than that."
"Is there? Like what? What are you thinking about right now?"
"I don't know. Nothing really."
He stopped abruptly he knew his mistake and looked away, half smiling to hide his regrettable attitude. He looked back into her questioning eyes, her magical eyes, but he could not tell her that everything he had to say was already understood in her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling and then towards some imaginary object in the room. She turned on her back and he immediately felt her warmth slip away, he turned on his side to face her and placed his hand on her stomach.
"Remember that time we were in the park and I saw that dog? The one that looked like the dog I had when I was a little girl? The one that looked like Rowlf?"
"Yes I remember."
"Remember I called out to it? I shouted, 'Rowlf!', and it looked up at me and I almost cried, because it looked just like Rowlf."
"I remember you swore the spirit of your dead dog was in it and the owner looked at you like you were fucked in the head."
"I swear it looked just like my dog. Anyway you put your arm around me to console me, because I was really upset. But you never said anything. You just looked at me and you never said anything. And I looked at you and you just stared back blankly, what were you thinking? Why didn't you say anything?"
"Honestly?"
"Yes."
"I was thinking you were fucked in the head."
"Fuck you jerk."
"Plus I was trying to hold back the laughter from the fact you named your dog after the dog that played the piano on the Muppets."
"See. Everything is always a joke with you. You have no social grace. You are hopeless."
"I'm really not. But you'll just have to take my word for it."
"Well you promised me Bento tomorrow and I'm going to try something new."
"I never promised, but I'll take you honey, if that's what you want."
"You're fucking pathetic."
Outside the fog was confused hovering in the air for most of the day and disappearing into the cold, thin air, giving a clear view of the sorrowful sun. The bed was made and he sat on the couch in the living room watching television as she cleaned the kitchen. Her mind was on other things and she ignored him as he stared intently at the television screen. He picked up a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table and told her he was going outside to smoke. As he lit the cigarette he leaned back against the brick wall outside her house, occasionally spitting on the ground, and looking out into the blankness of the quasi urban neighborhood. A tree in her front lawn was showing signs of rebirth and young leaves were slowly rustling in the wind. He thought to himself that her lawn needed mowing and that he might surprise her and do it for her, possibly even as soon as he was done with his cigarette. He then thought back to how he first met her. The haziness of the bar and the haziness of his head did not interfere with the connection they had made. He was simply hopeful again. Inside she went into a room that he had never been in, a room that was designated as off limits to him. And although he had respected her wishes and never entered the room, he had often wondered what secrets lay hidden behind the flimsy, hollow wood door. 
She closed the door to the room behind her and artfully put on her thick rubber gloves. She wiped the sweat forming on her forehead with exposed part of her forearm and set to wiping down the glass, wood, and metal surfaces littered throughout the room. The soft yellow glow of the halogen lamps tactically placed in the room gave it an eerie but humble atmosphere. This was almost a trophy room and each piece was a testament to her obsession and her release. So many times before she would stare endlessly into the dark oblivion of the cold metal, her instruments of closure, her weapons of disorientation. It was not the smell of death that filled the room, to her it was life, it was an unchecked exhilaration she would never understand, it was loss of self, a dismantling of her soul, but it awakened her senses and gave her a second wind. She heard him walking back to the living room from the bathroom and emerged from the room, nervously at first, then confidently, sneaking behind him, placing her hands still adorning the rubber gloves around his neck. She slid them down unto each of his shoulders and reached around to kiss him on the cheek.
"I just need to take a shower and I will be ready."
"Ok."
"I want something to drink first. Is that ok? Do you want something to drink?"
"Jesus, Kate, it's only four."
"I know. I know, just a little one."
She walked over to the bar and delicately picked out a bottle and gently opened it and instinctively smelled the opening and poured herself a drink. He turned around on the couch to face her slinging his arm around the back of the couch. He smiled at her as she downed the drink in one gulp. He was slightly attracted to this image of her. She beckoned him to follow suit and this time poured two glasses full of whiskey. She danced around to the other side of the bar and giggled as he hesitantly lifted the glass to his lips. She watched him grimace and in her eyes she hid her motives. She sipped her drink slower this time but all the while her eyes were locked on to his. He smiled easily and lovingly. Suddenly the glass dropped from her hands and shattered on the floor, he leaned in close and finally spoke to her, telling her...
 


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