As I Die Lying (13 page)

"I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose, but
the way things are, you're bound to get tired of me after a
while."

Hey, turn off the
waterworks, baby. Damn. I thought I was making progress. I wish
that "bitch" would come out, the one she said liked to get laid.
She'd be on her back right now, with those big buttery bagel thighs
spread open and—hell, I better work with what I've got. She'll like
it if I brush her tears away. Yeah, she'll think I'm
sensitive
. "Hey, I won't
get tired of you. I'm just now getting to know you. And I like what
I see so far."

Ah, there we go. Her skin's so soft. She's
got fine curves. Breasts like—think romantically, now, be creative,
damn it—breasts like firm loaves of fresh-baked pumpernickel. Hmm,
a little weak. I guess Cheese Crotch is the poet, not me.

"Promise you won't ever hate me?"

Hate you? Hell, no, I'm a lover, sweetmeat,
and now that you've got me on this pastry kick, I want to lick the
frosting right off your little love doughnut. Come on, Richie, feed
me some fucking one-liners here. I’m doing this for both of us.
"Hate you? How could anybody ever hate you?"

"Daddy must have."

Dear old Daddy. Broke it in
early, huh? Well, don't hold that shit against
me
. On second thought, hold it
against me. All of it, until it squishes. “He's got his own
problems. The important thing is to remember that it's not your
fault."

"Richard, you're so nice to me."

Yeah, but
nice
won't drill you. You
need it hard and hot, make you feel like a real woman, make you
feel whole again. Yeah, a hole, that's right, you're a hole,
waiting to be filled. And I've got the John Deere front-end loader
right here to do the job. And old Richie-wuss back there can watch.
See how a real Bob the Builder operates. "I just want you to feel
like it's okay to be different. I like you the way you
are."

"Even with my voices?"

Voices? What a bunch of
crap. Everybody's got voices, don't they? Look at old Richie here.
But he's not saying anything, is he? Cat must have his tongue. And
this little pussycat here is going to have
my
tongue. "The Virginia I know is
warm, friendly, and human, with a great sense of humor. She's
special, and she makes me feel good. She wears fashionable
fish-hearts."

"Oh, Richard."

Hey. Laughter. That's good.
Get away from that sentimental, morbid stuff and get her relaxed.
Now, if I can just—yeah, there we go. These damned bucket seats
weren't made for the old boybone bootscoot, that's for sure. And
this bulky leather jacket of hers, that's a pain to work through.
Hey, she may be
into
leather, but I want to get her
out
of leather.

Loverboy, you're a fucking
riot, even if I do say so myself, and there’s nobody around to shut
me up. Right, Richie? Man, her hair smells good. And her breath on
my neck. Yeah, that tingles, all the way down to
there
. "You know
something?"

"What?"

"I've been admiring you for a long time.
Remember all those times you caught me looking at you in Biology
class?" Yeah, Richie, I was there, even if you didn't know it. I'm
a sneaky little bastard.

"Of course I caught you. You were sitting
there all bug-eyed with your tongue hanging out, looking like one
of those pickled-assed bullfrogs we cut up. But lots of guys look
at me like that."

"Well, I was imagining that you were a great
sculpture, maybe a Greek goddess fashioned in creamy marble, placed
high on a hill where all the citizens could pay tribute. Because
such beauty deserves to be worshipped." Hey, that was pretty good.
And she's laughing again. She's flattered. She's probably heard a
thousand come-on lines, but nothing like this. Let's work this
angle a little. You're on a roll, Loverboy.

"Richard, where do you come up with this
stuff?"

I wonder that myself. "And the beauty without
is only a pale shadow of the beauty within."

Heh, this poetic horseshit
works. Richie never would have thought of anything like this.
Goddamn, I'm good. Now, let me get close to those lips again. Maybe
this time I'll get a little sugar for the soul. Yeah, closer,
closer, she's not backing away, yes,
yes
,
YES
.

"Mmmmm. Richard."

Soft, tasty lips. She's murmuring now,
practically purring. Loverboy, she's putty in your hands, wet
dough, roll her, feel her biscuity shapes, yeah, go down her back a
little, not too fast...there, she's willing, she's getting there.
Okay...

Goddammit, what the hell? Here comes a damn
car. Out here in the middle of fucking nowhere in the dead of night
and some cornfed yokel's got to hoof it down the only road in this
Godforsaken corner of the county. I'd better ease off a little so
they don't think somebody's getting raped or something.

Shit.

They didn't even slow down. Probably thought
we were a couple of homicidal maniacs out for a night's hunt, just
waiting for some fuckwit to stop. Crazy old world these days. Now,
back to business. Ah, she's nice and toasty, nothing like cuddling
on a chilly spring night like this. That's good, just play around
the lips a little, I think she's ready for me to slip her a little
tongue, yeah, open up just a little. Whoa, she's not buying it.
Man, she's one long slow drink. Damn.

"Richard?"

"What, honey?" Is calling
her "honey" being too forward? But hey,
she's
the one who asked me out
tonight. She's the one who drove me out to the asshole-end of Iowa
and pulled over in Deadsville. She must have at least
suspected
I'd want to
slip her the old sesame stick. And she must have wanted it a little
bit herself. We could have fucking
talked
back in the Ottaqua Waffle
Shop. Damn, there I go with the food again. I must be hungry. But
man don’t get bred by bread alone. Heh, heh.

Wait, that was Mister Milktoast, that other
little squishy dude hanging back there with Richie. He needs to
just shut his ass up if he knows what’s good for him.

"I don't think we're ready for this."

Not ready for this? Hell, your yeast is
rising. That oven's not going to get any warmer. And I've got the
rolling pin right here in my pants. "Not ready for this? But it
feels so natural."

"I laid my heart out for you, all my secrets.
And I really do appreciate you listening. And caring. But I still
feel as if I hardly know you."

What's there to know? I've
got a long hard French loaf with your name on it. Don't make it
complicated. Who cares if old Richie-kins went away, the one you
like so much? I look the same, wear the same clothes, I've got his
brown hair and goddamned myopic eyes. Even this voice is the same,
though it's a little too squeaky for a stud like me. Much as I hate
it, our dicks are the same size. I must admit, though, I'm just a
little bit
harder
than Richie could ever be. And besides, I thought all us
swinging dicks were just alike to you chicks. "What you see is what
you get. I'm not that hard to figure out. So I'm a little bit weird
on the outside, but inside, I'm just like everybody
else."

Except for those other
fucking runts scrabbling around back there with Richard.
Like
they’d
ever
get any action without me.

"But I don't
want
you to be like
everybody else, Richard."

Crap. Now we're back to this sensitivity bit.
This is getting me nowhere. Going in fucking circles. And the old
heat-seeking missile's about ready for lift-off. "I'm your Poet.
And you're my Negative Girl. But that doesn't mean you have to say
'no' to everything."

"I'm not saying 'no,' I'm just saying 'not
yet.'"

Easy, now. Thin ice here. The old conundrum,
that Mars and Venus thing. She’s talking “relationship” while I’m
talking a few squirts between friends. She's about to get pissed
off, and that will virtually guarantee no biscuit-making tonight.
But she still hasn't pushed my hands away. Think, Loverboy. If
you're really the world's greatest, then you can turn this little
situation around. Wonder what that little fuckwit Richie would say
to her? Hey, Rich, you back there? What are you doing, diddling
yourself in the dark? Help me out here. I'm your pal.

What? You serious?

Damn, that's
brilliant
. You're a
genius, Richie, even if you're a pathetic loser. Why didn't I think
of that? Probably because my balls are the size of Mississippi
watermelons. Hang in there, my hairy friends, relief may be in
sight. Let me play the card I've got up my sleeve, the ace in the
hole that may get the ace in the hole. "I love you,
Virginia."

Let it sink in, give it a
chance to shiver through her body, down there to the inner
workings. Down there where it matters. Ah, she just now sighed.
Bingo, my man. Let's sauce the old noodle, let's do the doggie
dance, let's wrap the Maypole, let's wax the tadpole, let's get
ready to fucking
rumble
.

"I'm not ready."

What the fuck?

"I know you probably think you mean it. But I
have to be sure."

Sure? I know the moonlight's
pathetic, but damn, girl, you ought to be able to
sense
the bulge in my
crotch. It's twitching like a caged weasel, and it's all because of
you. Here, let me unzip, let the weasel go “pop,” cut to the
fucking chase.

"Richard? What are you doing?"

What does it look
like?
Now
you're
putting on the virgin act? It's not like you've never seen one
before. Go on, touch it, it won't bite you. Much.

"Richard, stop it."

Goddamn, she's trying to claw my fucking eyes
out. Where'd those damned glasses go?

"You son of a bitch."

“
I love you.” Hammer it home
and maybe you’ll nail her yet.

“
You don’t do that to people
you love.”

Love. Christ in a crème brulee.

Well, you blew this one
big-time, Loverboy. You could probably go ahead and take her, but
hell, getting there's half the fun. And you're a lover, not a
fighter. Let her save it for a fucking rainy day. Probably wants to
keep it all in the family anyway. And it's not like I won't have
other chances. Hear that, Richie-fuck? I'll be
back
.

Right now, I'm going back to my room, way
back there away from this crazy bitch. What a waste. Well, let her
have the Mini Meat if she's so worked up about him. I don't want to
be around anyway when these blue balls start aching.

She's all yours, Richie, my man.

Thanks for sharing.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

We drove home in silence. Virginia had been
nearly physically raped, I had been totally mentally raped. There
was no speeding on the road back to Ottaqua, no joyous headlong
rushing into the hot jaws of oblivion, none of the wild velocities
of the ride out. Only the sullen moon, hanging like a dead maggot
in the night sky, tracking our motion. The two people who had set
out as wide-eyed children on a great adventure wer returning beaten
and broken, made ancient with misery.

I felt like a puppet with no
hand inside. Spent, used, tossed aside. Somewhere in the
complicated shadows, I was harboring Loverboy. And what was most
horrible was the realization that I was responsible for him. That
he had sprung full-blown from the demented crypts of my mind. That
I had in some way
fathered
this monstrosity.

But when he came out, I was helpless. I was
pushed back, locked away in the Bone House, where I could only
watch, repelled yet fascinated. I could never have been that
self-confident, that arrogant. Such stores of aggressiveness had
been tapped only once before, in the darkest moment of my past,
when Little Hitler had worn my flesh and committed patricide. Even
Mister Milktoast, my comforter and pacifier, had dissipated before
Loverboy's all-consuming ardor.

Worse, there was some part of me in Loverboy,
some wedge of my own terrible salacity. I had shared his arousal,
his desire to inflict his turgid sex upon Virginia. But I was
sickened by his brutal disregard for her feelings. How could I
comfort her after she had told so much, opened herself so
completely, only, in her eyes, to have me turn into a cruel, venal
beast?

We entered the crumbling, dimly lit outskirts
of Ottaqua. The streets were deserted, as if we had come upon a
ghost town that even the dead had abandoned. A scattering of cold
empty buildings greeted us, their black windows watching like
suspicious eyes. I tried my voice, afraid that it was not yet fully
mine. "Virginia, what happened back there...I'd just like to try
and explain."

"I thought everything was perfectly clear."
Her voice was flat, tone-dead. Under the weak glare of the
streetlights, I could see her blue eyes staring ahead, shimmering
with tears she wouldn't let herself shed.

"I wasn't myself." As soon as the words came
out of my mouth, I wanted to grab them and shove them back inside,
to swallow them and choke on their bitterness.

"Yeah, sure. Let me guess. A
little voice in your head made you do it. Now
there's
a real original idea." She
was back behind her walls again, the walls of a complex castle that
she must have built over the years to protect herself. She had
opened the gate just a crack, on the slim hope that maybe the enemy
outside the walls wasn't waiting to conquer her after all. And I
had stormed inside, salted her courtyards, dismantled her turrets,
put torch to the battlements of her trust.