Jenny became an object in which I could place all of my feelings for Matt. I would see myself play fighting with her, our twin purple bruises yellowing out into our skin in little shark-teeth bite marks.
We both began drinking more. A fifth of Skol became a half gallon and soon we were killing one a night. I bit her harder. Drew blood from her skin seeking the taste of something else inside her, maybe Matt, or something to get me away from myself and into someone else. I bit her until the taste of her blood and cunt filled my mouth, spread across my tongue in thick mealy pulses of taste. Clouds of bruises dressed her stomach, neck, and arms.
Tonight we had something special, Monopolowa and Cherry Coke. We drank until the half gallon was near the end. I sat on the dryer and inhaled a cigarette out of the tiny window in her laundry room, letting the rush of post-sex pain take its course through me. I felt as though I was spending a lot of time acting upon Jenny rather than through her. I had been reduced to simple content. Rather than being seen as human, it was more as if I were a piece of entertainment to her, a block of text or commercial airspace which was mildly entertaining if only to fill out gaps in time. I couldn’t be sure of her intentions any more than I could be sure of Matt’s. His rejection of me was piercing through everything.
Jenny took my cigarette and took a drag. The rush wore off. She blew the smoke in my face and pushed me against the cold cement wall. Her lips met mine as the cigarette dragged against my arm, crushed between her body and mine.
“Ow!” I yelled. I pushed her off of me and slapped her before brushing flame off of my shirt and skin. I could feel the skin of my hand turn pink and burn a little, and my arm began to sear.
I was frustrated with her for hurting me, and for letting me hurt her. Her stupid Tower of Babel card, her stupid unwavering loyalty no matter how mean I was. She accepted my presence without question, and I could not determine what she really wanted from me. She made me feel like a predator. A meat eater. Like a pair of teeth with a stomach and no other purpose.
I pushed her again and jumped off the dryer. Jenny fell back and I laid on top of her, angry that she didn’t want to fight back. I grabbed her chin in my hand and forced her to look at me, the tendons of her neck swallowing beneath my wrist. Her eyes, their thunderstorm color, squinted at me, but she didn’t look scared. She smiled—she was playing. I pushed my hand harder into the thick chord of her trachea to see if her eyes would change and they did not. She moved her hips underneath me, so I bit her. She laughed and struggled a little, and twisted her wrists out of my hands, trying to push me off of her. I slapped her across the face again, harder this time. My palm buzzed. It must have scared the shit out of her because there on the floor, with me on top of her, she burst into tears.
“Fuck,” I said. I watched her face go red and splotchy and immediately felt a wave of regret.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” I spoke quietly, as if I were speaking to a baby or a dying animal. “You’re okay,” I said. I cradled her head in my hands and then kissed her. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re okay. I’m just drunk.”
I said it over and over again, but she kept crying. In my gut was this deep, terminal feeling, like I might be executed for my terrible sins, for the things I did to her. I put my hands on her cheeks where the tears were, where her cheek was red. The numbness left my palm and it left my body.
Her crying made me cry. I cried until snot came out of my face and she stopped. She put her hands on my cheeks, slid them down to my neck and held them there. I could feel where her fingers passed the bruises on my neck, tender broken nerves making thin puddles of watercolor blood underneath. I leaned in to kiss her and where our lips met, there were tears and salt and snot. We kissed anyway, all of the gross things mixing and making slime on our cheeks. We kissed harder and kept our eyes closed. I focused on feeling what was inside of me. It used to be that each time I’d kiss a new person, excitement would spark my body to life. But I wasn’t nervous anymore. I didn’t get butterflies. I was kissing to be kissed, tongue and teeth and snot.
I traced my hands down her shirt and unbuttoned her pants. The light was still on and anyone who walked by on the street might see us there on the concrete floor. I tugged off her jeans, some Juicy Couture shit she bought at a thrift store. The hair on her thighs stood on end and all of her skin prickled from the cement.
Jenny watched me. She was a person who had to see as well as feel, maybe. I could navigate my life blind. All I cared about was seeking the next high. When she looked at me, it was different than how Matt saw me when he had the knife to my face. It was different that how Sam looked at
