Enter, Night

“I love you,” he blurted out, realizing, even as he said it, how ridiculous he sounded. But at that moment, he was telling the truth. He loved her. He’d never loved anyone so much in his life. He laid his hands over her belly.

“Hush,” Fleur said. “Don’t talk. Just fuck me.”

“This is my first-I mean, I never-” Jordan wasn’t sure if he was apologizing to her or warning her, but it was suddenly very important that she know he was a virgin.

Fleur whispered in his ear, “Oh baby, I know. That’s all right.” She put her hands on his ass and guided him into her. “Like this. Now, just go with it.”

When he came, Jordan cried out, a sound from deep in the back of his throat, one that sounded foreign even to him. He felt himself dissolving, as though everything from his waist down had become insubstantial. He shouted again, this time as his body shook with erotic aftershock.

He was drenched in sweat. Rivulets of it ran from his hair into his eyes, making them sting. He was suddenly terribly thirsty.

“I need a glass of water,” he said, inclining his head towards Fleur. “Do you want one?”

“Yeah, please.” Her voice sounded very small. She gathered the sheets and blanket around her body and rolled away from him, staring at the wall.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. You’d better get dressed. Don will be coming home soon.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jordan looked at her again. “Are you sure you’re OK? You don’t sound it. I mean, you wanted to, right?”

“Yeah, I wanted to. Hurry up, now. Get our water, and get dressed.”

Jordan was halfway back across the kitchen floor with two glasses of water, still naked, when he heard the sound of a key in the lock. He looked back over his shoulder into the bedroom. Fleur was sitting upright on the bed, her mouth a perfect oval of terror.

The door swung open and Don stepped across the threshold. Jordan smelled the whiskey even before Don looked up and saw him standing there, frozen in place. Don took in Jordan’s nakedness, the two glasses of water, and Fleur on the bed with the covers gathered around her.

“What the fuck? You whore! And with this fucking kid?” He whirled to face Jordan. “You little piece of shit, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Don drew his arm back and slapped Jordan across the face. Jordan’s vision went white, and the two glasses of water shattered on the floor. When Jordan stumbled backwards, pain singing through his head, Don punched him, knocking him to the floor. Jordan felt the broken glass cut into his palms as he tried to stand. Don clenched his fists and turned, stumbling, towards the bedroom.

Fleur screamed. “Don, it didn’t mean anything! Don’t hit me! The baby! Don’t hurt the baby!”

Don leaned down so his face was inches from Fleur’s. “Who’s fucking baby is it, you whore? Is it mine? Is it even Mack’s? How many other guys have you been fucking while we’ve been out busting our asses trying to keep a roof over your head? You slut!”

Jordan stood up. His nose was bleeding and his left eye and bottom lip were swelling shut. “Leave her alone,” he said thickly. “Get away from her, you asshole.” Don turned towards Jordan, his face contorted with rage. A line of snot ran from Don’s left nostril. Jordan was again assailed by the familiar smack of sour whiskey on his breath.

“What did you say, you little-”

Jordan hit Don as hard as he could with his closed fist. It was a perfect punch, an instinctive punch, the sort of punch he’d seen his father throw back home. It took them both by surprise. Don fell backwards and crashed into the bedroom closet. To Jordan, the splintering sound of the cheap plywood slats as they snapped beneath Don’s weight was deeply satisfying. He grabbed Don by the hair and pulled him to his feet. Then he hit him again, and again.

He hit him the way he’d always wanted to hit his father-not only for what he’d done to Jordan, but for what he’d done to Jordan’s mother.

He beat Don until his face was a pulpy mash of red, and until he thought he felt the bones of his face about to yield.

Fleur screamed. “Oh my God, Don! Don!” She took a step towards Don, still clutching the sheets against her body. “Jesus, baby! Are you all right? Jesus!” She reached for him. He slapped her hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” He got to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth. He pointed a finger at her. “I’m going for a walk. If this fucking kid isn’t gone when I get back, I will be. You and Mack can raise the baby on your own, whoever’s baby it is. And you,” he said, turning to Jordan, “go back to whatever shithole you came from. You don’t belong here.”

Jordan heard the front door shut and the sound of Don’s feet on the stairs, then the fainter slam of the door to the street.

“You need to get out of here,” Fleur said, staring past him to the door. Her face was ashen and there was an edge of hysteria in her voice. “He can’t leave me. He just can’t. You have to go.”

“Go? Where?” Jordan screamed. “Where am I supposed to go?”

Fleur was moaning now. “It’s his baby. I need him. You have to leave. Get dressed, for God’s sake, and get out of here.”

“I thought you said it was everybody’s baby?” He reached for his jeans and pulled them on. “He’s going to hit you again, you know. You and this kid you’re about to have.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. Look, it was a mistake. It was nice, you’re a great guy, but… look, get dressed. You have to leave. He’ll be back in half an hour, I know him. If you’re here, he’ll leave me and the baby.”

“What about Mack?”

“What about Mack? It’s not his baby. He won’t be able to help me take care of it!”

“What, you fuck me, then when I save you from that asshole, you throw me out? That was my first time, you crazy bitch! Jesus. Where am I supposed to go? I don’t know anyone else in this shitty fucking city. I don’t have any money, and I don’t have anyplace to go! What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know, go back home. Go back to your hometown. You said yourself it wasn’t working out here for you here. You said you lost your job, right? You can go back to that town you’re from. What’s it called? Lake Huron? You can go there, can’t you?”

“I can’t even afford a bus ticket home,” Jordan said dully.

Fleur spoke quickly. “There’s a hundred dollars in the bottom drawer.” She gestured frantically towards the dresser. “It’s inside the peanuts can, under my clothes. Go look. It’s under those sweaters.”

It took Jordan less than fifteen minutes to pack what little he’d brought to the city, and since he’d accomplished nothing, been nowhere, and done nothing, he had nothing to take back with him except what he’d brought. When Fleur left the room, Jordan lifted a half-full bottle of rye from the nightstand beside the bed that he hoped was Don’s and quickly tucked it into his bag.

In the bathroom, he gingerly washed his face with cold water. He winced, marvelling at how quickly the wounds from Don’s fists had bloomed under his cheek and beneath his eye. The blood had stopped, but he looked rough as hell. There was a bottle of prescription painkillers on the upper shelf in the medicine cabinet. The prescription was made out to “Benson, Don,” he noted with grim pleasure as he put the bottle in his knapsack. Jordan would need it later, he was sure. His nose probably wasn’t broken, but Don had hit him pretty hard. It was starting to hurt like hell. He hoped Don felt worse than he did and that he’d go looking for these pills as soon as he came home from his round-the-block sulk.

Piece of shit, Jordan thought. These people are crazy. Especially Fleur. Crazy bitch. They’re all crazy bitches. They marry men that hurt them and kick the ones who don’t hurt them out the door. And when the kid is born, he’ll be next. Just like I was.

He heard her knocking on the bathroom door as he turned off the faucet and dried his face on the dirty towel hanging over the bathroom curtain.

“Are you OK in there? Come on, Jordan, you’ve got to leave. He’ll be home any minute.” She was dressed in her