J told her not to go – he knew it wouldn’t end well. But she went, she went alone, into his apartment. From the bottom she looked up and felt the warm Florida night wash under her dress. The apartments were concrete, grey, potted flowers hung from the banisters. Cars drove by but on roads far away from her. She stepped up and wondered what it could be that was awaiting her.
When she tells you about an evil man, what do you say?
His knob was wooden, and she knocked and twisted when he heard him say “come on in”. He was a man like any other. He was 50 something. Divorced, his children had left him, his job was tenure. His beard was wide and white and his face sagged and his head turned towards everyone with a passion. So she came and sat beside him, and he mixed her a drink.
He asked her why she did it – because she’s a whore – that’s what he wants her to say.
The drinks bubbled and the ice melted as the night drove on. The lighting had dimmed somehow, though he’d not gotten up once. Her eyes were watching the side of his leg and his voice was deep and she couldn’t hear much else.
Lots of papers. But he really wants every student to succeed so if you do what he asks then you will be fine! -rate my professor
He leaned over as all lover’s had done and whispered that she had to stop looking at him like that, it was driving him nuts. She smiled and said, “what do you mean?”, like she’d said to the first and only boy who had loved her. His hand moved, his eyes watched it, astonished, he said: “you’re making it hard to control myslef.”
Hadn’t he made her happy, for a time? He was so sweet to me, he loved me, now he hates me. How could he hate me?
She grabbed his hand and squeezed it as he squeezed her leg more. His other hand moved behind her back. He was old, his arm was heavy, it weighed on her.
He went to Machu Pichu, maybe the same moment I did. Had I seen him then and known – would I have killed him?
She was laying on his lap now, he was grabbing her legs, his fingers running up her summer dress. She knew, only a whore would do this, only a whore could deserve this. His hands took hers and guided them to where she needed to be. He whispered and grunted, “oh, oh, V, stop, you’re making me so hard”. She opened her mouth to speak.
I told her I didn’t blame her for anything. I should’ve told her I didn’t understand, but that I knew she did, and that that was enough for me.
She went home and slept. J hated him. He lived on. She told J not to do anything, told J that nothing could help. He didn’t care. He will kill him one day. Its damning – in plain print, unequivocally premeditated – he will kill him – because he hurt the girl he loves, there’s no other reason in the world.
If he knew right now that this would be read before the country, would he flinch? Dearest children become corrupt with me, I will kill him. I will take his lovely daughter and make her fall in love with me. I will drug his drink, and tie him against the rising tide. On the beach, I will, under the night, send his daughter to heaven. I will whisper to her that she must stop, she’s making me unable to control myself. I will put my hand on her leg, I will run it up her dress. And when she speaks, when she speaks, I’ll give her my words to swallow. And he will watch, and he will see the innocence stripped. And he will want to kill me. And I’ll walk over to him while the tide has come up to mid-thigh and pull him naked. I’ll choke him and kiss him until he loves me. And the night will fade and the morning will come and he won’t be dead. I will have stolen his soul. And far, far away, I’ll watch the most beautiful girl in the world walk along the roadway towards me and I’ll hold out my hand as I stare and give her his tongue. And I’ll hold her on my arm while we drive through the warm California sun, and we’ll never think of anything ever again.