Page 18 of Salace

But before I even let things getthatfar, I have to get rid of Eden once and for all.

JULIA

My eyes peel open slowly. They’re crusty and raw. My mouth is so dry it is hard to swallow. I blink, then rub my eyes roughly. A tennis ball rests in front of me, suspended in the air from the garage ceiling. I glance around, mildly confused. I’m in my car. Water bottle empty in the cup holder. The garage door still open behind me. My coat is tightly cinched around my middle, the belt uncomfortably digging in to my waist.

Removing a strand of hair crusted to the corner of my mouth, I stretch, my upper back cracking with the movement. My phone is dead. I slide rather ungracefully from the car, my stiff and jerky movements mildly painful as I push my way into the house, jamming a finger into the garage door button to close it as I go.

Aimee is sitting at the kitchen island staring into a bowl of cereal. Her eyes drift up to take me in. “Where’d you go so early?”

“Early?” I ask.

She glances at the microwave clock. “It’s eight. I expected to see you on the couch still when I got up.”

I wave a hand in the air dismissively. “I was just in the garage.”

“In your coat?” she asks.

“It was brisk this morning.” I move to the counter and prep the coffee maker. Filter. Grounds. Water. Start.

“Well, it’s not brisk in here.”

While the coffee brews, I scoot to the bathroom and swap my coat for a robe. The lingerie I’m wearing startles me for a moment before memories of last night rush in. My eyes are bloodshot and my skin looks pale. A few drops of Visine and a splash of cold water on my face help that.

Back in the kitchen, with Aimee now camped in front of the TV, I splash a little chocolate liqueur into my coffee mug before filling it. I just need to take the edge off. “Any plans today?” I call out.

Aimee just shrugs.

“Why don’t you invite that boy over? Spend some time in the pool.”

“What is it with you about him?” she sighs.

“What do you mean? Nothing. I don’t care. I just want you to be happy.”

“Hate to break it to you Mom, but women these days don’t seek out men to find meaning in their lives.” She raises a brow at me as she puts her sweating glass of water on the wooden coffee table. No coaster. She’s goading me. I don’t feel like a fight. I’m too flustered and tired to play her ambivalent teenage games. Instead I ignore her to retrieve my phone from my coat pocket to plug in. I’m genuinely curious if I have any messages.

* * *

At four Aimee’s dad honks from the driveway. I’ve been lying in a dark room with a cool damp washcloth on my head for the last hour. I can’t seem to get the raging headache to subside. The too-loud TV downstairs clicks off. Aimee hollers her goodbye, followed by the door slamming behind her, and I feel relief.

I pull myself out of bed and drag myself to the bathroom. Stripping off my robe and last night’s lingerie I examine myself in the mirror. It’s a pity that there are no signs of having been ravaged after the fact. No definitive proof to hold on to. Not a mark, not a swollen lip, not anything to say—look at me, I’ve been thoroughly used and taken in passion and loved every second of it—there’s just skin, the same skin I examine every day for new lines, droops and wrinkles. A shame really, women should be able to wear sex like a badge. Hey, look at her, she had the time of her life last night. She’s practically glowing—dripping with sex. But no, there’s only my memory which is never enough. It fades and dissolves so quickly these days that I often wonder if some of them are even true. Did I really have a fourth glass of wine after dinner? Did I really finish my water bottle? Did I take that sleeping pill or did I just think about taking it? In your youth you squander all the best parts of life—tight bodies, sharp memory, fast metabolism, ephemeral beauty, being carefree with no responsibilities or bills to pay. You squander these things because you don't realize you're wasting them.

I have cultivated a sense of perpetual availability to people, to Aimee especially. A dependence of sorts. Bored? Look to me.

Hungry? Look to me. Feeling an emotion? Look to me.

I might as well be a human vending machine. I can be accessed at any time of the day to fulfill your needs and desires. What do you want? You want to feel good about yourself? I can do that. You want someone to listen to your problems? I’m here for you. You want sex? I’ll give it to you. I’m a woman, and in every roll I’ve taken on, I’ve decomposed to simply a human vending machine. I want to take what I want, be what and who I want, and not give a damn about how that makes anyone else feel. It’s my villain era. The Rise of Julia.

But first, I need a stiff drink.

KASEY

Iforgot how tightly this goddamn car handles,I think with a grunt, as the steering wheel finally follows my damn request to turn right.

Mom and Dad left a couple of hours ago, piling into my car for the first time in a while, so I decided to use the other one. I’m hoping that maybe an afternoon drive will help me clear my mind, and perhaps give me the balls I need to drive over to Eden’s and tell her it’s over.

I don’t know how many times I’ve taken this mundane drive. I’ve convinced myself more than once that this was exactly what I needed with the exact same result looming in the distance. Kind of like the sun setting over the horizon, except I’ve never made it that damn far.

Not caring is what used to get ahold of me to make me stop. Not so much about Eden herself, but more about what our relationship had been deteriorating into. Now, it’s good old-fashioned guilt that’s plaguing me.

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