City of Singles (22 page)

30 Wound

I can’t go too long without some drama. It’s been almost a full week of positive thinking, and now this. Misha is heartbroken. Her new boyfriend was caught cheating on her, what a plot twist. I’ve been on the phone for twenty minutes trying to console her. Noticing my socks smell like a freshly opened bag of doritos at around the 5 minute mark makes me a bad listener. Between sobs a fresh pair is put on. By the 15 minute mark I was picking at a hangnail while telling her to calm down.

Apparently she did so much for him and had been the best girlfriend she could. She described how she even looked past his one misshapen ear, and his back hair. I think she forgot how she also bragged about his job and how much money he made working the oil sands. She’s going to get off the phone as Kiki showed up at her place with some Valium. I tell her we’ll grab a late dinner after I finish work and hit the gym.

She whispers “Ok, call me, bye,” and I hang up. How can’t Misha see that without any shared values, relationships are pointless. She encouraged him to go to Vegas and party with his friends, and then is shocked that he has ass on the side? Not to mention the fact that she’s been talking about how much she wants kids, and this guy isn’t the settling down type. Maybe you always want what you can’t have?

Human nature at work pushing and pushing us to get what we want, not wanting what we have.

I’ve fucked Misha at least a dozen times. She has a beautiful petite body, one tit is a little lopsided but I still even like the smaller titty. Her kiss is soft, she never forces her tongue into your mouth like so many club tramps and party skanks I’ve met. I remember when I had bound her wrists together under the ottoman for my couch, had her ass in the air naked and her face pressed against the purple leather. Her tanning sessions paid off well, a bronze body and silky waxed girlflower right in front of my face. She gasped and moaned when I blew gently on her clit. I put my mouth an inch from her opening, my nose almost tickling her asshole, and I dart my tongue inside her. She writhed in pleasure, grinding, my tongue a torch dropped into a pit of snakes. Her body moving all around, in and out of shadows cast from her thick ass cheeks, the ottoman skidding on the concrete floor. As far as sex goes, she’s amazing, it’s too bad that’s all we’ve got.

Does it always come down to sex? I wonder if there is a healthier way to date. She met this guy online. Online dating allows for people to come in and out of your life with very little actual investment, as their lives and social circle are completely independent. I can’t blame the guy, dating these days is a game, for sport. Who has a plan to look for a wife? It’s a free for all, have fun, do whatever. The pattern formed in my early 20s continues in my life, and the men around me.

Find, fuck, dump. What threw out the expectations of how I should date? I sigh. I’ve been staring at the ceiling again. The sex I had with her was very pleasurable but ultimately hollow and meaningless temporary pleasures. Debating philosophy with myself is worse than masturbating with an angle grinder. Shuffling over to a mirrored cube near my window, a zip lock bag, scissors, and rolling papers are used to bring calm to my ruminations.

I’m sitting in a haze. Tapping of rain and the backup beep alarm of a truck pierces my veil of solace. Smoke makes sure there are no worries and no cares, soon I’ll be thinking of food. Yeah, I think this is why I can’t get those nice abs I’ve always wanted. Misha would be a great girlfriend for any typical douche. I particularly enjoyed the sex, her company, her looks, her smile—when it’s genuine. I noticed she didn’t think like me, and we didn’t have any real common values. When I was younger people mattered more, women really were individuals and not just pretty things that I knew how to talk to so I could fuck them.

Misha never seemed interested in knowing who I am and what I stand for, instead she just seemed to want a good banging. I was just something to do, someone to occupy her time and vagina. I never got beyond seeing her as a fuck buddy as a result. We’re just sexy strangers sharing a bed.

A sigh coincides with the knowledge of what The Right Thing To Do here is. It probably won’t make a difference but I have to try. Unplugging my phone from the charger, I send her a text and ask her to meet me for a drink. Walking across the studio, I pick up one of the sketchbooks left randomly about, bring it back to the couch, and begin to doodle. I draw a rose and write a few words of encouragement. She needs this.

For every alpha that pumps and dumps a woman like her, they are helping to create a world I don’t want to be in, full of people like me. It’s not when you make your bed that you have to lie in it, but eventually you’d get tired and regret the way you made it. A world where the notion of love is laughable, people leaving and lying on whims, abusing each other and tearing down what could have been in order to pursue a piece of ass. Meanwhile, those same women can become so heartless in their dealings with men.

I finish the sketch and fold it so it stands on its side. Who knows if she’ll keep it or throw it in the garbage, I’m doing my piece to make her feel like she has some value outside of being a convenient cum dumpster. A quick comb of my hair follows finding clean pants and a shirt. Kiki texts me and says Misha is getting ready. She apparently had taken a ton of sleeping pills earlier. She’s ok though, Kiki made her throw them all up and most of the gel caps were still intact.

My heart skips a beat and I feel genuine empathy. I’m not in love with her at all, but it can be hard to see someone you care about hurt themselves, and over someone who doesn’t care about them either. I’d feel like such a white knight pussy if I hadn’t already been inside her carelessly so many times. I hate how I view caring for a woman as friends seems so weak, but the gender war rages on, and it’s eat or be eaten.

Soon I’m out the door and waving for a cab in a light rain. A stroll by the coffee shop and Natalee shoots me a smile and a little wave as I pass. She’s been even more friendly to me after seeing me soaked outside her shop awhile back.

The thought of her makes me grin.

A taxi pulls up and I take a ride in what smells like someone’s armpit. Ten minutes later I’m at our favorite restaurant in Kits, along the beach, from the street it looks completely packed inside. It takes me a minute to work through the crowd around the front door, recalling the food and drink here it’s no wonder it’s packed. Walking inside, light shines off blue gem eyes shining wet and pretty inside nubile hostess skulls, their bodies in skin tight dresses. My mid-thirties penis aware of every fold of perky, full breast, the way the dark fabric highlights thin, petite waist above full, round fertile hips. The waitresses have some age on their faces and busy determination on their brows. The bartender, she looks like the grizzled mama-san. The place is stuffed full and Kiki and Misha are holed up along the back wall, Misha looks ridiculous in dark glasses near dusk. I walk up and a solemn Misha stands up and hugs me. We stand at the table hugging and blocking surly waitresses for a good ten seconds.

We sit down and I place my rose sketch in front of her. She cracks a little smile and her chin shakes a few times. Kiki puts her arm around her and Misha sighs. A waitress takes my order, double ja no, I’ll get a pint of beer. I get a pint of beer. She vanishes and Misha speaks through sniffles “I’m so sorry you have to see me this way. I just…” she takes a sip of a Caesar; it comes in a bootshaped mason jar. “I just snapped when I heard he did this. I spent so much time and money, spent so much of my heart to make him happy and he wants to keep secrets of getting laid in Vegas from me. Then I find out he’s also been seeing another girl here. Am I shit? What’s wrong with-”

“No no no!, Mish, You’re a good person!” Kiki interrupts.

This conversation goes on like this for quite some time.

I try my best to listen to everything before speaking. It sounds obvious that this boyfriend of hers is still having fun and playing the field without a care. I’ve been there and I probably have no idea how many kleenex tissues have been soaked over my actions, or how many Caesars have been drank as a result of mean texts I sent.

“Misha, you are a really good woman,” I lead into what I really want to tell her.

“I don’t think he can appreciate you yet for who you are, a caring and loving woman. He wants the side of you that wants patio drinks and a good fuck when it’s easy. Did you ever talk about what he envisions for his life?”

Kiki frowns.

“What does that have to do with him cheating on her?” she states, tilting her head to one side.

“Everything” I reply. “I have this idea that people who don’t know what they want and don’t see where they are in life are the blind leading the blind. Misha, trust isn’t always believing what comes out of someone’s mouth, but rather, a complete assessment of their character and moral fiber.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Misha whispers.

I take a sip of beer.

“Think about it, at one point in our culture, being a womanizer was seen as universally bad. Now, I know you Misha, and this guy is probably pretty cocksure and has money. Do you think he has much respect and belief in the values that lead to long term bliss?”

“You’re being an asshole, Dyl!” Kiki is glaring at me.

“No. I’m not. I’m trying to be as real as I can be with you. Look at how we date and fuck each other without even knowing much about who we are as people. Women just give up the sex so easily and a few men get all of the available tail. How long was it before you guys slept together Misha?”

“I thi-”

“Dyl she doesn’t need a lecture,” Kiki cuts off Misha and glares at me.

If looks could kill.

“No, it’s ok Kayla,” Misha seems to have calmed down a little.

“We slept together on our first date and we had been just hooking up for a few weeks before he made it official. I did all the work to see him and paid for most things.”

Sitting back in my seat becomes an attempt to not look like such a smug son of a bitch. It’s not working. I’m not
really
trying.

“I’m not saying you’re to blame here, but make yourself the prize, Mish. When a guy can go around getting what he wants with so little effort required, can you blame him for taking what’s offered?”

Kiki kicks me under the table.

I feel like such a dick, but I think she needs to hear it. It’s not wrong to date assholes, but just know what you’re involved with.

Misha drinks back her Caesar. I want to explain to her that the way we date is poisonous. Lying and keeping secrets is the norm. We don’t need each other, so we don’t act like it. Then when you do meet someone who can openly talk about their desires for courtship and romance, they are the weird ones. I’ll keep it to myself for now.

“It’s so hard to see myself as a prize when he just goes and does this to me. Why? What’s wrong with me?” Kiki hugs her and she sobs. I don’t think she can understand what I’m trying to get out there. Our methods of dating and loving are coming apart at the seams. It’s leaving plenty of people popping pills, drinking alone in their bachelor suites watching porn, or giving up on the opposite sex and going gay. Let’s get faaaaabulous! Can’t blame anyone for trying anything to find someone to love.

Kiki scowls at me. “Some fucken friend you are Dyl. You say you care so much and you come here and blame her for this, real classy.” I roll my eyes and give palms up dismissive shrugs to both of them. Misha continues to sob on Kiki’s shoulder. My work here is done, my hand pulls cash from my jacket and slips it under the beer I just slammed. Walking to Misha’s side of the booth, I kiss her on the top of her head and squeeze her elbow.

“Take care Mish.”

I hope she heard me say that, I know I care. It’s just that it’s hard to show in a way she can understand.

Hostesses wave at me and tell me to have a good night. Those girls are so friendly when paid to be that way. Out in the street, I’m happy to find that it’s not raining anymore. My place is a good long walk from here and I need the exercise. Before long I’m walking over the Burrard Street bridge and looking out over the water, the vibrant city glowing at night, the marina below scattered with hundreds of boats worth more than I can imagine. Down the other side of the bridge and along Pacific, the city goes from wealthy, to wealthier, and finally into rock bottom shit when I turn the corner from Rogers Arena. Down Carrall and I’m soon back in the land of sidewalk pudding and hands looking for change. Almost home. A bus blows the red light as I prepare to cross onto the street my studio is on. If I had been wasted that could have been really bad. Across the street a girl steps off the curb, it’s Natalee from the coffee shop.

“Hey Dylen,” she says, almost passing me now.

“Hey Nat,” replying as I walk passed her. One foot on the opposite curb and a hunch turns me around. She’s quickly disappearing into the night. “Hey Nat!” yelled from my curb perch. She turns around on the other curb “Yeah?”

“A snack, you and I, right now,” my face bursts into grin.

Nat’s lips turn into a slow smile, “Mmm, ok!” she yells back.

A woman walks by me with incredible body stench, a menthol cigarette hanging off her lip and holding a styrofoam cup. A couple dressed sharp, walking an energetic French bulldog, the woman is beautiful and has the face of a model. The man is much older and looks wealthy. A man walks up next to Natalee across the street and spits a few feet from her. The light changes and I walk back across the street.

“I’ve wanted to check out this new place for weeks, right here,” she points to a little hole in the wall that I hadn’t noticed before, almost next door to the coffee shop. I turn and walk with her towards the door, about 50 feet from us.

“Yeah? You don’t have anyone to go with?”

“Na, I’m still a student and most of my friends aren’t into trying new places. They have their favorites and they stick to them.” I nod. “I’m still trying to get used to living somewhere with so many choices, so many places to go, people to meet. So many things to do! I’m from a pretty small town.” We step up to the door and I hold it open for her, she smiles as she enters, waits for me, and I choose a table by the window.