Charlie was tiring, Spike could sense it. They’d been stalking each other around the ring for the better part of an hour; Charlie’s broad shoulders were starting to droop and his sleek, shaved head was beading with sweat. Also, his taunts were getting dirtier.
“So when I’m fucking your sister, she actually likes it when I call her other girls’ names. I don’t understand it, but you know how she is,” Charlie said.
Charlie Gunn was his best mate at the gym and really in the whole of America, aside from Tara. When they sparred, Charlie never wore a mouth guard like he should so that he could keep up a verbal assault on any comers. Spike liked it; he had trouble controlling his temper sometimes and being conditioned to ignore his opponent’s taunts was a valuable asset. Spike knew his friend had to be feeling desperate to start talking about Tara, though, because Charlie understood how quickly Spike’s mood could turn from good-natured to deadly when it came to his sibling.
“Another thing, after we’ve been going at it I can’t get the smell of granola and Patchouli oil out of my dick no matter how much I shower. And trust me, after I roll off your sister I need to scrub my skin raw, my whole body gets lighter after I take a post-Tara shower,” Charlie said.
Spike hit his friend’s abdomen a little harder than he needed to and then spit out his mouth guard.
“Have you got a pretty, pink pussy under those shorts?” Spike asked, cocking his head to the side as he danced around Charlie.
Charlie dropped his hands and stopped moving.
“Did you just call me a pussy? Because there’s no need for misogyny, Spike. A pussy is a beautiful thing,” he said, panting.
He was leaning forward and resting his gloves on his knees.
“No, Charlie boy, I asked if you had one. Cause I’d wager you don’t, which means my sister would never, ever touch you, not in this lifetime,” Spike said.
“She’s gay? But she seemed so—“
“Choose your words carefully, mate.”
“So into me. She gave me a Tarot card reading,” Charlie said.
“She’s just a lovely girl,” Spike said.
Spike dropped his stance and walked toward the edge of the ring while taking the black, bulbous gloves off of his hands with his teeth. He ducked under the ropes and sprawled out on the floor. A few moments later Charlie handed Spike a liter bottle of water and then settled in beside him. Spike took a long pull from the bottle; let the cold fluid run out of his mouth and down his over-heated chest. He wanted to ask Charlie about the girl that had visited him on New Year’s Eve, but suddenly felt shy about the matter. He wasn’t certain Charlie’s sense of humor was perverse enough that he would send him a hooker as a belated Christmas gift, but he could think of no other explanation for the girl’s behavior.
“Did you send somebody over to my place a few days ago, a little blonde girl, peaches and cream complexion, amazing green eyes?”
Charlie looked at him, arching an eyebrow.
“I only know two blondes and they’re both black, so no, wasn’t me. Why would you think that?” Charlie asked.
Spike gulped down the rest of his drink.
“Don’t know, whole thing was strange; she just appeared on my doorstep and asked if she could come in—“
“And you let her?”
“Well, yeah—“
“I know you’re not from here, but you never, ever let somebody you don’t know into your place, Spike,” Charlie said, staring into Spike with his round, brown eyes.
“She was a slip of a girl, there was nothing to her—“
“Doesn’t matter. That’s how they get you. People disappear in this town like it’s nothing. Last year there was some sicko killing whole families, draining their blood and then chowing down Hannibal Lector-style on their internal organs. They never caught that guy,” Charlie said.
“She wasn’t that guy,” Spike said.
“Clearly, but after all that shit that happened in Cleveland, I don’t know how you can be so blasé—“
“A chemical plant exploded, or are you one of the people who thinks Cleveland is on the mouth of hell?” Spike asked.
“Wouldn’t surprise me, but no, I just think you need to be more careful. So what happened?”
“She scuttled in, wouldn’t tell me her name. She was wearing these skimpy pajamas and flip flops, so she couldn’t have come from outside. Then she blew me and ran out like the place was on fire,” Spike said.
“She what?”
“You heard me, don’t make me repeat it,” Spike said.
“Shit, if that happened to me I’d want to repeat it, I’d want to put up a billboard about it. Must be your accent or something makes the ladies crazy,” Charlie said, tossing his bottle cap across the room like he was skimming a stone on water.
Spike hopped to his feet and began to pace.
“It was weird as hell, Charlie, sexy, yeah, but I’m freaked out. I feel like I need to find her,” Spike said.
“Well sure you do, she delivered herself up to you like sex pizza. Doesn’t mean you should. She’s probably out of her fucking mind,” Charlie said.
“Sex pizza? Hate to think what the toppings would be on that,” Spike said with a grimace.
Charlie stood up.
“Listen from one who knows. Sure, screwing a lunatic is fun at first but it only leads to heartache and endless auto glass repair. Let the sleeping dog lie,” Charlie said.
“Can’t do that,” Spike said.
Charlie sighed.
“See if anybody in your building knows her,” Charlie said.
That had been the first option Spike explored. Mrs. Plissey knew virtually everyone, her grandson Deveon was the handyman in the building. Mrs. Plissey said she’d seen the girl a couple times, but she was fairly certain she was only visiting someone and had never spoken to her.
“Done that. Checked the mailboxes, too. Only person unaccounted for is somebody called Travis Bickle,” Spike said.
Charlie grinned.
“Taxi Driver.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s only one of the greatest movies ever made and Travis Bickle is the guy, the taxi driver. Maybe she’s a Scorcese fan, you should check that place out,” Charlie said.
Spike smiled.
***
Travis Bickle was supposed to live in apartment nine; Spike didn’t know why he was so nervous about knocking on the door. Part of him was afraid the name was just a coincidence and he was going to be greeted by an enormous guy named Travis who would be none too happy to learn his girlfriend was cheating on him with a random bloke down the hall.
There were tingles going up and down his back as he showered and then spritzed on the over-priced cologne Tara had bought him for Christmas. He pulled on a pair of dark, blue jeans and the shirt he always wore when he and Charlie used to go clubbing, a black buttoned-down with narrow, white stripes. Girls liked to touch that shirt; it was silky feeling without the tacky sheen.
He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, dragging a comb over his wet, silver hair.
“Fucking ponce,” he said.
The door that could be hers looked just like Spike’s; it was covered in old brown lacquer that had bubbled like burnt sugar from years and years of forced heat. The door handle was incongruously new, bright and brassy. Deveon replaced the locks with every new tenant. Spike rapped on the door, right under the carefully painted number nine. He heard a scraping sound from the inside, and the light visible through the peephole was blocked out.
Spike waited for the knob to turn, the portal to open, but these confirmations of his existence never came. Instead the person on the other side moved away, letting the light through the peephole reappear. He stood there for a full minute before pounding again. This time, no one bothered to check the door. Spike knew he was strong enough to beat down the brittle wood until the hinges were slack and the barrier was nothing more than a pile of splinters. But that wasn’t how this would be, he thought. He wasn’t pathetic.
“Fuck you, then,” he shouted and huffed back to his apartment.
Spike entered like a cyclone, all loud sounds and destruction. Then he saw her—his girl was lounging on his rust-colored recliner beside his cheap, black plywood bookcase, her bare legs slung over the plump arms of the chair. She was wearing white cotton panties and the record jacket for Adagio in Strings. It had been his mother’s; they played it at the funeral. It was the saddest song in the entire world but somehow nothing mattered at that instant except her presence. God, she had pretty feet; he wanted to lick her arches, let her step on him. Spike shut the door and locked it, convinced that when he turned around the girl would have vanished like the apparition she had to be.
But she was still there.
“Hey.”
“How did you get in here?” he asked.
“Your bedroom window was open. I need you to not knock on Mr. Bickle’s door anymore. Can you do that for me, Spike?”
“Yeah, I can do that. Can you do something for me, like telling me your name, or would you have to kill me?” he asked.
Spike walked toward her, watching her left leg move languidly, as though she were trailing it through warm water. Maybe she’d let him take a bath with her, he thought. She let the record jacket drop and he couldn’t stop staring. Her nipples were puckered and her breasts seemed to float on the air.
“Why don’t you make something up for me, you’re like a random nickname generator,” she said.
It was then he noticed the horizontal, white scars on her wrists. He’d seen something like that before; hell, when his mom got sick he’d almost done something like that. This naked, little pixie with her girlish gestures and sorrowful eyes had tried to kill herself. Maybe she was hoping he’d finish the job for her.
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re doing this?” Spike asked.
He knelt beside her and she started stroking his ticking jaw.
“It’s fun, isn’t it?” she asked.
“You don’t look like you’re having fun, baby,” he said.
She slipped her bejeweled fingers through his still-damp hair and smiled, deliberately ignoring him.
“You took a shower to come talk to me, and you smell all yummy. What cologne are you wearing?” she asked.
“Don’t know, it was a gift. I think she overpaid,” he said, hoping the she would make his girl jealous.
“She didn’t,” the girl said.
She dragged him by the hair to her open mouth and kissed him; hungry and unapologetic about her need. Spike tried to encircle her bare waist, but she jerked away.
“I touch you, not the other way,” she said, giving his hair a good yank.
“How long are you going to play it that way?”
“For as long as I want,” she said.
“What if I force you to stay with me, make you let me,” he said.
“You won’t,” she said, her lips brushing against his.
“Why not?”
“I won’t let you,” she said.
“You think you could stop me?”
“I know I could. Besides, I don’t think you want to hurt me,” she said.
“How do you know that?” he asked. She was right, of course, but he wondered how she could speak with such confidence. Spike rubbed his nose against hers, a touch she seemed to permit.
“I, sometimes I dream about you,” she said.
She buried her face in his neck, hiding from him even as she moved closer. His mystery woman began kissing the soft spot beneath his Adam’s apple, teasing the skin with her shuddery breath. He wondered why a dream should matter at all to her, but was afraid coming out and saying so would offend her, make her leave.
“What do you dream?” he asked.
She ignored him again and bit into his neck, hard enough to leave a blue smudge on the flesh. She toppled out of the chair and on top of him, bringing him flush against the floor. She took his mouth and tore open his best shirt. When her skin slid against his, the girl started to shake. She held Spike’s hands above his head and pressed her body to his, resting her ear against his chest. She listened for a little while, her large, green eyes closed, peaceful. Spike wanted to hold her so much, but then she twisted on top of him. The girl took his jeans down and wrapped her strong fingers around his cock, her rings sparkling. Spike was trembling.
She pinned his arms with her legs, forcing him to look between her legs. There was moisture soaking the crotch of her underpants. He wanted to tear them off, bury his face, but she was holding him still. She slid her mouth down his length and then she was shoving her own fingers down her panties; getting herself off while she sucked him.
“Bitch,” he said.
She stopped her ministrations.
“What’s that?” she asked, innocently.
“You’re torturing me.”
“Do you want me to stop?” she asked. There was a note of laughter in her voice as she wiggled her hips over his face.
“Please don’t stop,” he said.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This chapter's kind of dirty, too. Also, when Charlie makes a crack about Cleveland, this is a nod toward the inexplicable rivalry between Pittsburgh and the Cleve. Woo! Pittsburgh represent!
Chapter End Notes:
There will be three more chapters posted next Wednesday. I would love to know what everyone thinks.