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He smiled at her sitting across from him but in his mind he imagined grabbing her by her bun and slamming her head into the dash board. He felt her body slump with unconsciousness but couldn’t stop. He was annoyed by her very existence and her presence had become unbearable. Shaking with agitation, he knew he had to be free of her or he’d go nuts. He grabbed her with such force he felt the hair pins pierce skin and the wet warmth of her blood oozed between his fingers.
Her skull gave way on the fifth bash yet he slammed even harder with unleashed hatred for the woman whom he had loved more than any other. Steaming blood spattered across the windshield and nearly blinded him but he was frenzied and hadn’t noticed. He watched as if in a slow motion replay her facial bones shatter and understood that bone shards were now slicing into her cerebrum; he watched as the love of his life became unrecognizable, as he rendered her a messy mass of undistinguishable flesh and bones. Still holding her lifeless body by her matted hair he felt the weight of confinement lifted.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. Seeing his confusion as he snapped out of his daze she added, “What was that heavy sigh all about?”
Horrified, he looked at her as she licked the salt from the corn nuts she had been eating off her fingers. A horn honked behind him and he noticed that the light had turned green. Sliding the gears into first, he focused on driving. “Nothing,” was all he could manage in reply.
He hadn’t made love with her in days and she struggled with her own fears of rejection. She had been trying not to react to his withdrawing, reaffirming her knowledge that he did love her and perhaps just needed some space. So, for miles, they had traveled in silence.
He had loved that about her. That she didn’t feel the need to fill voids with incessant chatter. But, now, he looked across the car at her sitting there sulking out the window and found he didn’t have the patience to bother unraveling what this shit was all about. Something had come between them and he was done. Done. He’d been here before with women and wasn’t about to go any further. Next city, he’d be on a plane out of here. To where didn’t matter as long as he’d be gone. He’d turn his phone off the minute he got home and exchange it with one of the three in his glove compartment. He could easily block her email address so he wouldn’t have to deal with the backlash. He didn’t get this far in life without learning a few things along the way.
That night, he had undressed, slipped between the crisp hotel sheets and was asleep before she had even finished going to the bathroom. She didn’t want to aggravate him by continually asking him what was wrong, but she was at a loss to explain it all. If she knew, she’d have fixed it in a heartbeat. Instead, she had been left alone in the darkness staring at the freckles on his back by the dim light that emanated from between the drapes. She had long ago learned the art of crying silently into the night.
She woke to see him watching her from across the room. He was fully dressed and had apparently already been down to the lobby for his complimentary cup of coffee. Sitting up, she saw that he wasn’t going to come to her. Running a hand through her disheveled mass of hair, she trudged over to where he sat and plopped herself down between his knees on the floor. Smiling as she laid her head lazily on his inner thigh and wrapped her arms around the underside of his legs, she asked, “You slept well?”
He had slept well. He had gotten up early, packed his things and stacked them near the door. He wasn’t about to back down now. Standing up without touching her, he left her on the floor at the foot of the chair. “I can’t be with you anymore,” he said as he lifted his bag to his shoulder.
"Oh no. Please, don't. Don't do this," she began to plead. Without turning to look at her and before she could find anything more to say, he slapped on his baseball cap and walked out the door.
~~~~
The man in the black hoodie dumped the contents of a suede fringed purse onto the filthy floor. The woman he had just raped was slumped in the corner of the room with her pants around her knees. He had knocked her unconscious and was now rifling through her things looking for her cell phone.
Finding it in the side pocket, he flipped it open and began reading her text messages. He actually loved this part. The stupid shit chicks think important enough to dribble on about never ceased to amaze him. The last one she had received was from someone called Tasha. It read: ‘Why is he doing this? He was just telling me how much he loved you and that his feet hadn’t touched the ground since he met you.’
Raising one eyebrow, he scrolled down the texts until he came the last in a series from Brad. He clicked it open and read, ‘Stop. Please. I just can’t be in a relationship with you right now.’
“Ho now. Princess just is NOT having a good day today, is she?” he said to no one in particular. Looking back over at her, he pressed the Send button. After three rings, Brad answered.
“Please. Just give me some sp-” the voice said before he cut him off.
“Shouldn’t have left her, Brad. Shouldn’t have left such a pretty thing unprotected,” he baited.
Brad asked warily, “Who is this?”
"You know the world's a dangerous place. Don't you? Lots of kooks out here."
“What are you talking about? Who IS this?” But, there was no reply.
"No worries. I'll take her off your hands.That be OK with you, right?"
Brad heard a sneer then dial tone. He looked again at his phone. It had been Lynz. What was that all about, he wondered. Just as he was sliding his phone back into his pocket, a text message came through. Opening it, he saw that she was sending him a picture. Rubbing his hand through his hair, he heaved a heavy sigh and gazed through the windshield. Ah God. What now?
He might have held off on looking at it just then given the fact that he was driving, but the male voice he had just heard peeked his curiosity and so he pulled through the intersection and maneuvered the Jeep over to the shoulder. What he saw, or thought he saw, when the picture finally downloaded made him frown and do a double take.
It was her face, but it had been battered black and blue. One of her eyes was swollen and her jaw looked broken. There was blood dripping from her hairline. Whoever had taken the picture had been holding her head up by her hair as it appeared that she was unconscious. He could see part of the forearm and his fingers wrapped around her auburn hair.
“Jesus Murphy!” he blurted, barely managing to get out the door before he commenced to violently project his last few meals onto the gravel in the glare of his headlights. Wiping the residue bile off his mouth with the back of his hand he looked around him panicked. Walking in circles with his hands on his hips he tried to rejoin his frayed consciousness. He strained to pull back the tattered threads to make some sense of it all, but looking down at the photo only brought him to his knees with a long series of dry heaves.
This just couldn't be happening. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. When he could stand upright again, he dialed 911 without looking at his phone.
He smiled at her sitting across from him but in his mind he imagined grabbing her by her bun and slamming her head into the dash board. He felt her body slump with unconsciousness but couldn’t stop. He was annoyed by her very existence and her presence had become unbearable. Shaking with agitation, he knew he had to be free of her or he’d go nuts. He grabbed her with such force he felt the hair pins pierce skin and the wet warmth of her blood oozed between his fingers.
Her skull gave way on the fifth bash yet he slammed even harder with unleashed hatred for the woman whom he had loved more than any other. Steaming blood spattered across the windshield and nearly blinded him but he was frenzied and hadn’t noticed. He watched as if in a slow motion replay her facial bones shatter and understood that bone shards were now slicing into her cerebrum; he watched as the love of his life became unrecognizable, as he rendered her a messy mass of undistinguishable flesh and bones. Still holding her lifeless body by her matted hair he felt the weight of confinement lifted.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. Seeing his confusion as he snapped out of his daze she added, “What was that heavy sigh all about?”
Horrified, he looked at her as she licked the salt from the corn nuts she had been eating off her fingers. A horn honked behind him and he noticed that the light had turned green. Sliding the gears into first, he focused on driving. “Nothing,” was all he could manage in reply.
He hadn’t made love with her in days and she struggled with her own fears of rejection. She had been trying not to react to his withdrawing, reaffirming her knowledge that he did love her and perhaps just needed some space. So, for miles, they had traveled in silence.
He had loved that about her. That she didn’t feel the need to fill voids with incessant chatter. But, now, he looked across the car at her sitting there sulking out the window and found he didn’t have the patience to bother unraveling what this shit was all about. Something had come between them and he was done. Done. He’d been here before with women and wasn’t about to go any further. Next city, he’d be on a plane out of here. To where didn’t matter as long as he’d be gone. He’d turn his phone off the minute he got home and exchange it with one of the three in his glove compartment. He could easily block her email address so he wouldn’t have to deal with the backlash. He didn’t get this far in life without learning a few things along the way.
That night, he had undressed, slipped between the crisp hotel sheets and was asleep before she had even finished going to the bathroom. She didn’t want to aggravate him by continually asking him what was wrong, but she was at a loss to explain it all. If she knew, she’d have fixed it in a heartbeat. Instead, she had been left alone in the darkness staring at the freckles on his back by the dim light that emanated from between the drapes. She had long ago learned the art of crying silently into the night.
She woke to see him watching her from across the room. He was fully dressed and had apparently already been down to the lobby for his complimentary cup of coffee. Sitting up, she saw that he wasn’t going to come to her. Running a hand through her disheveled mass of hair, she trudged over to where he sat and plopped herself down between his knees on the floor. Smiling as she laid her head lazily on his inner thigh and wrapped her arms around the underside of his legs, she asked, “You slept well?”
He had slept well. He had gotten up early, packed his things and stacked them near the door. He wasn’t about to back down now. Standing up without touching her, he left her on the floor at the foot of the chair. “I can’t be with you anymore,” he said as he lifted his bag to his shoulder.
"Oh no. Please, don't. Don't do this," she began to plead. Without turning to look at her and before she could find anything more to say, he slapped on his baseball cap and walked out the door.
~~~~
The man in the black hoodie dumped the contents of a suede fringed purse onto the filthy floor. The woman he had just raped was slumped in the corner of the room with her pants around her knees. He had knocked her unconscious and was now rifling through her things looking for her cell phone.
Finding it in the side pocket, he flipped it open and began reading her text messages. He actually loved this part. The stupid shit chicks think important enough to dribble on about never ceased to amaze him. The last one she had received was from someone called Tasha. It read: ‘Why is he doing this? He was just telling me how much he loved you and that his feet hadn’t touched the ground since he met you.’
Raising one eyebrow, he scrolled down the texts until he came the last in a series from Brad. He clicked it open and read, ‘Stop. Please. I just can’t be in a relationship with you right now.’
“Ho now. Princess just is NOT having a good day today, is she?” he said to no one in particular. Looking back over at her, he pressed the Send button. After three rings, Brad answered.
“Please. Just give me some sp-” the voice said before he cut him off.
“Shouldn’t have left her, Brad. Shouldn’t have left such a pretty thing unprotected,” he baited.
Brad asked warily, “Who is this?”
"You know the world's a dangerous place. Don't you? Lots of kooks out here."
“What are you talking about? Who IS this?” But, there was no reply.
"No worries. I'll take her off your hands.That be OK with you, right?"
Brad heard a sneer then dial tone. He looked again at his phone. It had been Lynz. What was that all about, he wondered. Just as he was sliding his phone back into his pocket, a text message came through. Opening it, he saw that she was sending him a picture. Rubbing his hand through his hair, he heaved a heavy sigh and gazed through the windshield. Ah God. What now?
He might have held off on looking at it just then given the fact that he was driving, but the male voice he had just heard peeked his curiosity and so he pulled through the intersection and maneuvered the Jeep over to the shoulder. What he saw, or thought he saw, when the picture finally downloaded made him frown and do a double take.
It was her face, but it had been battered black and blue. One of her eyes was swollen and her jaw looked broken. There was blood dripping from her hairline. Whoever had taken the picture had been holding her head up by her hair as it appeared that she was unconscious. He could see part of the forearm and his fingers wrapped around her auburn hair.
“Jesus Murphy!” he blurted, barely managing to get out the door before he commenced to violently project his last few meals onto the gravel in the glare of his headlights. Wiping the residue bile off his mouth with the back of his hand he looked around him panicked. Walking in circles with his hands on his hips he tried to rejoin his frayed consciousness. He strained to pull back the tattered threads to make some sense of it all, but looking down at the photo only brought him to his knees with a long series of dry heaves.
This just couldn't be happening. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. When he could stand upright again, he dialed 911 without looking at his phone.