Page 93 of Force At Third

He keeps going with a smile I can hear but refuse to look at. “It didn’t matter anymore. I had, and still have to, work for the privilege of still having it in my life. You were a gift, too. You landed right there in front of me that day and, Jesus, Gwendolyn, I knew. But you made it too easy for me.”

I whack him with the bear. “Did you just call me easy?”

“I mean, no, but also, let’s be honest …” He laughs so hard he clenches his abs and falls back onto the bed. “That day? Fuck, I almost busted a nut when you said?—”

“In my defense, I didn’t know you were a virgin until …” I stop and pull the bear back over my face.

“After you broke my heart?”

“Yeah, and then you fucked half a dozen supermodels while I was trying to get revenge on the Longhorn Elite for the shit they said about me, and about you and me, and how our baby died so you wouldn’t get stuck with me. Bitches—no, fuck that, they were cunts.” I sit up. “Every one of them thinks I fucked their boyfriends, and I barely kissed them, but damn did I let them choke on that shit?—”

Locke reaches over to wipe away stupid fucking tears, and I smack his hand away.

“No. No, don’t, because I was having an abortion so I didn’t ruin our lives.”

“I would have done?—”

“I know!” I yell.

He pulls his knees to his chest and bends, burying his face in his knees. And I continue.

“I know you would have, but eventually, you would have resented me.” I place my hands over my belly. “The child would have shit self-esteem, and to protect her, I would have to make sure she never felt like she was nothing. I needed to protect myself from murdering the supermodel you had supermodel babies with and ended up in prison being Ruth’s bitch, while the only person, other than Mom, who I ever loved, hated me. Then you’d marry another one, and I couldn’t even kill her because I would be locked up. Not to mention all the times I’d miss trying to show Mom how lucky I am to have had such a strong role model and doing everything I can to help her enjoy life because she would totally fucking fight you and your barrage of bonebags so my child would know he or she was loved. And now I get to live through all of this again.”

He starts to glance up.

“Oh, I’m not finished. Fuck ‘Our Song.’ I hope that slamming swinging door smacked you and that starving-ass supermodel who couldn’t find underwear small enough to fit her, so her snatch shot from your date at that fundraiser for starving kids was all over the internet. Jesus, did anyone not think maybe she needed a goddammed sandwich, too! No? After the date, did she ask how many calories were in a pro-ballers cum before deciding if she wanted to suck you off? Did you lie and say as many as a Big Mac to stop her from going down, afraid she’d get going and end up eating your dick because she was fucking hungry? You may as well have fucked an actual skeleton. Maybe jerk off with a fistful of rocks next time—it’d probably feel the same. I hate that song. The thought of you jamming out to ‘Our Song’ while I was mentally terrorizing myself with Blue October’s ‘Hate Me’ will never stop pissing me off.” Needing to catch my breath, I lie back down. “And I know not one of those things is your fault. Goodnight.”

I feel the bed move as he lies back down.

“Sorry I interrupted you doing your thing.”

“Don’t be. You doing your thing was the point. I didn’t know shit about your dad or your stepmom, or anything that hurt you. All I knew was I loved you and wanted you to be my girl forever.”

Loved.

***

“Gwen? Are you awake?”

I open my eyes to the sound of Mom’s voice, seeing that I’m alone, remembering everything I said last night, and thinking, Serves you right for unveiling your crazy.

I stretch as best I can and sit up. “Everything okay?”

She nods. “I want you to see something.”

“Okay.” I throw my legs over the side of his massive bed and slide down so that my feet touch the ground. “I have to use the bathroom first.”

“Of course.” She smiles. “I’ll be right out here.”

Should I be worried that Mom wants to have a talk at five in the morning? Absolutely. Am I? Nope. I’m ready to roll with the punches. If a miracle happens and this baby is meant to be, I have skills. I can disappear so I don’t go to prison for murdering some women who may become an insufferable twat to my child.

After peeing, washing my hands, brushing my teeth, rinsing my scrapped-up face with water, brushing my hair, and tying it up, I apply a thin layer of antibiotic cream before grabbing a cardigan. I have to find Mom.

It’s not hard. The place is wide open and gets no less beautiful every time I walk from one room to the other.

She holds a flashlight in her hands and holds the other out for me. “You and I have never watched the sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean.”

I look to the wall of windows. “We haven’t.”

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