Dirty Little Freaks (16 page)

I’ve been disappointed too many times to
not
know how it feels. Although calling this feeling disappointment is like calling the Grouse Grind a gentle walk in the park. Like calling Mount Everest a slight upthrust of rock. Like calling Hurricane Katrina a refreshing rainstorm.

I remember my phone, jump up and check it to see if there’s anything from him.

There are a bunch of texts, I scroll to the bottom and read up to the last one that was sent exactly forty eight minutes ago.

“Hey babe, I had to go, something came up.”

“Ok, I lied, I ran, babe, I’m a fucking coward.”

“I do love you though, I never lied about that.”

“I can’t do this, I’ve crossed so many lines it’s not funny.”

“I need to stop this before I hurt you.”

“I want you to find somebody who can open his life to you, you deserve that.”

“I’m sorry, babe. I’m really sorry.”

“I love you.”

The last text sat in its stupid fucking cartoon bubble mocking me. He fucking loves me? Fucking great, so love equals running for the hills the minute you get shit on your dick? I sit for a few more minutes, I debate texting him back, calling him, showing up at his place, but my cynical bitch has taken over and I almost scream “Fuck it all” at the top of my lungs.

People are assholes, my grandmother always used to say, they’ll shit on you the first chance they get. I hate that this is true with Hush, I hate that everything bad I think about the world has been verified by his shitty cowardice. I wish we had the time to let us fuck the relationship up, let it die on its own, kick it in the balls and fucking throat punch it until we can barely stand to be in the same room...you know, like most people do. But no, good old Jade had to pick the guy with the gorgeous eyes and the Disney Prince jaw and the smoking hot muscled body who cops out the moment he’s used up every hole and pushed her limits.

As if they’re possessed, my fingers start to type out a reply. I write, “fuck you,” and backspace, I write, “I never loved you,” and backspace. I write, “your a fucking joke”, see the horrible grammatical error and backspace it. Shit, I can’t end up looking like a fourth grade drop out if I’m trying to come up with a cutting reply.

At last I write, “I love you too,” and hit send. I throw my phone on the couch and walk to the bathroom. I run the shower a few minutes while I brush my teeth so the water gets nice and hot. There’s nothing worse than jumping in a cold shower, especially when your world is crumbling down around you. At least I can give myself that right now, a decent hot shower.

The tears come the moment I’m under the water. I heave and cough and can’t catch my breath, but I let them come. I know I’ll cry many more times over that fucking douche bag, but I need to get it out right now, I need to get rid of the sensation that I’ve been hit by a truck.

I ugly cry, full on ‘Farrah Fawcett in the shower after a rape’ ugly cry. Snot and tears mix on my chin and run down the front of me. I don’t even fucking clean it off. I stand there in my disgusting state and let it flow.

After a few minutes I feel a little better, so I scrub myself off, scrub Hush off of me. I pay special attention to my ass, making sure anything left of him is washed away, and I feel a little better. I will get through this.

I step out, dry off, and wrap my robe around me again. I don’t have to work for a couple of hours so I decide to make myself a gigantic greasy breakfast to help ease this suffering. I kinda wish I had a bump of coke to take the edge off, to dull the feelings, but I don’t, and I don’t like to get high before work anyhow.

I pull on some comfy clothes, an oversized Slayer tee I found for a buck at Value Village and a pair of faded Lululemons I found at the Laundromat. It wasn’t really stealing, right? They were in the lost and found bin for a few weeks in a row. Where else was I going to get overpriced yoga wear?

I fry a couple of slices of bacon and crack an egg right into the grease. I don’t care about calories or arteries clogging or any of that shit, if I am hell bent on self-destruction, let it be one delicious egg at a time.

I make a couple of slices of toast, grab the butter dish and it is fucking empty. I wanted fucking butter on my motherfucking toast, so I get down and look in the fridge. There are a lot of old take out containers back there, so I grab the trash bin and start throwing them out. I don’t even bother with the sniff test, I think half of them are fossilized already and probably growing new life forms. I wonder if mold creatures growing on Chinese food speaks Chinese? Halfway through cleaning out the fridge, I remember my eggs and toast and bacon. Fuck. I slam the door shut and walk to the table, everything is cold. The grease had congealed into a thick goo and the egg yolks looks positively disgusting. I sit in front of it and start to cry again. Hot, fat tears leak down my face and land on my shirt. No snot this time, thankfully, but I’m crying for the loss now rather than out of anger.

The door click and my stupid heart jumps, I think it’s him. It’s not, Eva and Diesel come in looking a little ragged, their night must have been pretty crazy.

“Hey Jade,” Eva calls as she shrugs her jacket off. Diesel takes it and hangs it up for her. They’re so fucking domestic it makes me want to puke.

“Hi there,” I say and look back at my egg.

“What’s going on?” Diesel asks from the doorway.

“What do you mean?” I say and try my best to look like a woman who hasn’t been crying all morning.

“Hush quit the band this morning, we all got a text,” he tells me and holds up his phone. “He said something about getting in too deep and he’d explain it to us some time.”

“Yeah, I got something like that too,” I say and hate how my lower lip trembles with uncried tears.

“Oh my God Jade, I’m sorry,” Eva tells me, then looks at Diesel and says, “I think you should go, we’re going to need some girl time.”

“Not a problem, we’ve got rehearsal later,” he says, “we’ve got to start auditioning guys tonight if we can, we’re going on tour next month.”

They kiss goodbye and Eva walks into the kitchen. She puts on some coffee and sits across from me. “Tell me everything,” she says and takes my hand.

I tell her as much as I can, not about being the DP queen or how much I love him, but I don’t have to say anything about the love part. She can tell.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry,” she says, “This is the first time you’ve ever really fallen for somebody.”

“I know, it fucking sucks, never again.”

“Never say never, as they say, right?” She smiles at me.

“No, seriously, I’m done,” I reply. “From now on I’m sticking with casual sex and one night stands, no more love shit. I can’t do it again.”

“You’re saying that now, but you’ll feel differently if you meet somebody again,” she says, smiling again.

I don’t bother arguing, I don’t bother telling her to stop patronizing me and leave me alone, because in truth, she’s probably right. Human hearts are such pathetic, frail little things...like Ego wrapped in needy insecurity stuffed inside glass box, so easily shattered. I know I’ll fall for somebody again, and I know I’ll probably cry for somebody again. If my mother taught me one thing, it’s that the cycle of love and heartbreak is unending until the day you die.

Hush had given me hope though, that I might escape my mother’s fate, but he pulled it away as quickly as he gave it. Fuck him for making me believe in fairy tales, and fuck him right in the goat eye for ever making me feel that way. My life was better off without him and I hate him for showing me the Promised Land then denying me entrance.

I don’t tell Eva this. She’ll never get it, how much I did for him, how much I opened up for him. I’m humiliated because of this, I even skipped my fucking GED exam for him, I’m such a fool. Instead I smile back and squeeze her hand. I take the coffee when it’s ready and I tell her the things she needs to hear to feel like she’s being a supportive friend. I go through the motions until I can crawl back into bed for a few minutes and close my eyes and pretend Hush is there next to me.

I would stay there for days if I could, but I have to work tonight, so I force myself up and get dressed and make each foot step one in the other until somehow I’m there.

Jag can tell something’s up, but he doesn’t pry. He’s my favourite person in the world right now. I wish more people would mind their fucking business and stay out of my life.

The night progresses slowly, I get the usual freaks and creeps, jerk offs and slime balls. I don’t give a fuck though, I don’t clean the porn booths and I’m sure I’m short on the till, but I don’t have any fucks to give.

Around four in the morning, my phone buzzes. It’s Hush. I can barely read it my hands are shaking so hard. It reads: “Hey babe, can’t stop thinking of you. I need to do some shit but I’ll be back. I promise. Love you.”

I want to smash my phone on the counter and grind my heel into the shards. An impotent rage sweeps through my body and I don’t know how I should respond. So I don’t. I can’t. I hate being at his beck and call, I hate him having all the power here and I hate feeling so fucking helpless I want to ball myself up and scream into a pillow.

I had enough of that in childhood, so I archive the entire conversation, everything I’ve ever said to Hush and he’s said to me. It’s gone from my text screen and I decide to erase it from my heart. It never happened.

Now if I could just convince myself of that.

Time passes slowly without him in my life. He was with me for a month and a half, but I feel his absence like a missing limb. I keep waking up waiting for the day I feel whole again.

Three weeks since he left, and I still grab my phone first thing in the morning to see if he’s texted. There’s been nothing since the last one. Eva and I have talked about it, she thinks he’s in rehab. I like to think he’s in jail with a horny biker dude living on the top bunk. I’d even be happy if he just went to have a sex change, but in all honesty I have no idea. I’m bored of talking about it now.

Diesel has been no help. He swears he hasn’t talked to Hush, but I don’t know, maybe guys just stick together. I haven’t seen him around as much this last week though, the band is getting ready for a cross Canada tour, then they’re dipping down into the States, and coming back here in three months. I don’t think Eva’s going to be able last that long without him.

One morning, or early afternoon, I’m not sure, I’m curled up in bed rereading one of my favourite books, no, not The Joy of Sex, I’m talking Catcher in the Rye. I have an old paperback copy left by one of the posers my mom dated at one time. He used to say he was a self styled Holden Caulfield without understanding the character. I read it one night when they were out partying it up and fell in love. I saw myself in Holden, that cynical, hypocritical phony, right down to being unable to see the good parts of myself. That fucking idiot boyfriend didn’t deserve to call himself Holden, let alone pull the book out to read quotes at social gatherings, so I stole it.

Mom’s slimy boyfriend went nuts looking for it, he tore apart the motel room of the week in a frantic search, but never did find it. He was one of the few who never tried to fondle me, so I hid it in the last place he’d think to look for it, down the front of my pants. I think we blamed the housekeeping staff, mom got in a screaming match in front of our room with one of them, which lead to our unceremonious eviction.

I still read that same faded, dog-eared copy to this day. I’m curled under my blankets letting the warmth of my breath heat up the little space. It’s June, and unseasonably chilly and rainy in Vancouver. I’m also hiding in my little cocoon, hiding from Eva or Jag or anybody else I’d possibly run into because I’m tired of their worried looks. I know I’m not back to normal; I don’t need the constant fucking reminders.

I stop because I think I hear something. I listen for a moment, decide it’s in my head and get back to reading. I hear it again, a cry or a whimper or a cat outside, I can’t tell what it is. I put my book down and roll the covers back, the cold air hits me and I shiver. There it is again, definitely from inside our building, maybe the stuck up bitch upstairs is finally getting a good deep-dish dicking. I smile and pick my book up again. I’m about to pull the covers over me again when I hear it, louder and coming from inside our apartment. I throw the covers off, toss the book onto my pillow and go to find the source of the noise.

It’s Eva; she’s in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror sobbing. She’s an ugly crier too, I note with the smallest amount of satisfaction. I swear, just a tiny little bit of me feels good that she looks ugly sometimes.

“Hey,” I say and she jumps. She turns around slowly and I can see something in her hand.

“He’s a fucking pig,” she sobs, “… a fucking pig.” She holds her hand out, I take the phone and read the last text, it’s from Diesel.

He wrote: “Come on, I like u but u can’t imagine I’ll keep it in my pants when I’m on the road.”

“Uh,” I say and run out of words. Yeah, fuck, what a good friend I am. So fucking supportive. “You’re not going to stay with him, are you?”