I’m tense. And spending the night at the Courtyard didn’t help for shit. Normally I would’ve spent the night in a cheap motel, but I had a crick in my neck and two knots the size of Atlanta in my back. One on the top right, the other lower down, a little left. I thought the soft bed of a fancier place would help. It only made it worse. It made me lazy. Not good for a fight-day.
I’m not used to soft beds. The softest bed I have is in Jenny’s cottage but outside of that it’s cheap motels or the back of my truck for me. I sleep little and I’m always on edge. That’s how I like it. A little hungry, a little tired, always struggling to survive. It’s easy to forget Ailee’s needs. If I let myself get too comfortable, I’ll grow too accustomed to the easy life, I’ll grow soft, and I’ll fail at what needs to be done.
When my eyes open, it’s already nine AM. Unheard of. The last time I got up at nine... I don’t even remember it. Did I ever wake up at nine? There was that one time, I think it was a weekend after a long drinking binge, but I had gone to bed at four AM.
It takes me a moment to realize there’s a woman lying next to me, and when I remember last night I’m filled with revulsion.
The bar at the Courtyard wasn’t my friend either. So freaking elegant with red chairs and couches and massive TVs and far too much booze on selection. Not to mention the women as well. Rich and glorious and so goddamn horny. The woman on my side right now is called... Blimey. I don’t remember her name. She’s about forty, with a body of a hard twenty year old. Few things beat the raw, meaningless sex you get with an older woman. There’s no bullshit about love, no confusions about finding The One or Will This Last or any of that crap. The sex is hard and the rules are straight: Fuck. Fuck some more. Fuck again, and then leave.
I drank too much. I was thinking about the fight with Kaiser, about mum, dad. I was thinking how I miss Ailee, how I really need to get out of the fight scene. I was thinking a lot of things, and drinking at the same time. And then this confident cougar stroked up beside me and paid for my next drink. Few words were exchanged. Christ, I don’t even think she asked me my name. Before I knew it, we were in my bedroom, and her hands were all over my ass and so it went from there, over and over again. The woman was insatiable.
I was fucken spent at the end. She rolled onto her side, said nothing more, and fell asleep.
I lay awake, thinking, thinking of my life, my aching cock, the woman next to me who hadn’t bothered to give me her name and hadn’t cared to ask me for mine.
I felt—I feel—like nothing but her man-whore. Because, factually, what the fuck am I? She’s clearly rich with all those gold rings and that necklace and the grin of confidence on her face. Her dress alone probably costs more than my truck.
She stirs, moans, turns to face me. “Good mornin, sugarlumps.” Her hand caresses my chest. She smiles down at my body. A soft glint sparkles in her eyes, but she doesn’t take it further. She gets off the bed, picks up her clothes. When she glides across the room, she’s smiling at me, running a hand through her hair.
She spends thirty minutes in the bathroom, and when she comes out, she looks like she did last night. Dressed to perfection, not a hair out of place. All her rings and make-up back on.
As if nothing happened.
Her purse is under her arm. She walks toward me like she’s headed for a business meeting. She gives me a deep, passionate kiss.
And then she leaves.
No goodbye. No thank you. And no names.
That’s what I am to her: A fucking man-whore. She’s better than me, of course. She’s probably heading over to her husband or her fiancé or her boyfriend or to nobody at all. But the fun is over. She has her life. And she never intended to be a part of mine.
I hadn’t planned on going to bed with anyone, and if I had been in my right mind I would have chosen the younger and softer girl from the Blues Bar.
But I had a feeling about that girl, a premonition, if you must.
I had a feeling with her it would be slow, that it might mean something to both of us.
And maybe I ran.
Maybe.
Because when I saw the cougar, I knew it would mean nothing. I foresaw her leaving before I awoke (I was surprised to find her still here when I opened my eyes...at nine AM.)
And so I’m tense.
Sex with the cougar didn’t ease my tensions at all, didn’t ease my mind one little bit. It simply reminded me that, in this world, there are those who have, and those who will never have. It reminded me of what category I was born into. And what I need to do to ensure my sister breaks out of that category.
The crick in my neck is still there.
I now have two more knots in my back. And the bitch also dug her nails into me.
There’s only one thing I want to do now.
I want to fight.