Gavin Day has a rough morning, a terrible afternoon, and evening isn't looking so good either.
Welt ~ 2
Some Guys Have All the Luck…
“That’s fucking absurd,” I said in disbelief, dragging my eyes from the strange girl that had appeared in my car back to the road in front of me as I drove.
“You’re the one who filmed it, so don’t be a smartass,” she said, businesslike and officious. “And you’re the one who spent the night fucking some slut who wasn’t your wife. It’s not like we hide the rules, so quit acting so fucking tragic.”
“So that’s it now? I’m fucked? Damnation and all that shit? I don’t even believe in angels,” I told her.
“You’re the one who filmed it,” she repeated.
“I knew it was something…weird…that I didn’t understand,” I pulled around through downtown again, driving giving my brain something to focus on besides the surreal conversation taking place, “but I didn’t think it was actually an angel.”
“‘It’?. I’m a she, not an it,” she replied with only slight irritation in her voice.
“Prove it then,” I said, annoyed, “prove you’re an angel.”
“How’d I get in your car? Where’d I come from?” she started ticking off items on her fingers as she said them. “How do I know that you’re Gavin Day, you were born in Wisconsin in 1975, you like jazz and the blues, you cook but don’t think you’re good at, and that your middle name is Michael?”
“Anyone could find that on the internet,” I said, doubt doing double duty as mental self defense and kneejerk reaction so that I didn’t go crazy and start gibbering like a retard, “all of that is in an interview somewhere.”
“You take still pictures in black & white because you think it makes them look better because you’re afraid you’re actually a poor photographer.”
“A lucky guess,” I replied, losing ground and knowing it. I was going crazy while pulling into the drive through lane at a coffee shop, how nice.
“You have a phobia of cancer, you have six toes on your left foot, and three nights ago you had a dream you were kissing a man,” she said, calm and emotionless.
Startled, I braked too late and my front bumper knocked against the car in front of me. Not hard, but hard enough to trade some paint. A man in a suit got out of the car and looked at the damage, looked through my windshield at me, and shook his head. He gestured into the parking lot beside the drive through and I nodded. He got back in and the line slowly slipped along. When I was at the speaker to order I looked to the side again.
“Do you want a coff…ee?” There was no one there. Yeah, I was going fucking crazy.
Some Guys Have All the Pain…
“No, she didn’t actually say what she wanted from me,” I explained to Dr. Bennett, frustrated and not trying to hide it that he would focus on that and not the fact that I was seeing a strange woman appearing in my car, “she just told me that she was an angel and I was a sinner and then I tried to stop for coffee.”
“I know you’re feeling tense right now, Gavin,” the doctor said from across his desk, “but hallucinations often result from some inner dialog, and knowing what that voice inside of you is trying to say is key to sorting through it all.”
He’d agreed to see me on short notice that very afternoon, so I shouldn’t be a dick. I couldn’t help it though; aren’t there allowances made for rude behavior once you start going crazy? “Look, I know you’re trying to help me, but I’d much rather sort through my ‘inner dialog’ some other time. Right now I’m seeing strange women.”
“Let’s talk about that, then,” he said, tenting his fingers and arching an eyebrow over the rim of his simple glasses, “strange women.”
“Fuck, doc; that’s what I’m doing!” I snapped.
“Are there other ‘strange women’?” Dr. Bennett asked me.
“What?” Guilt, regret, guilt, remorse. I tried to stuff it into the same place I was failing to hide the frustration. “No. No there aren’t.”
“You know that you can lie to me, but it is very hard to lie to yourself.” The doctor told me, leaning forward with his elbows on his desk. “I think it’s remarkable that you came in here to tell me that you’d been visited by an angel in your car this morning but that you’re hesitant to talk about infidelity.”
“I don’t think this is going anywhere,” I said, standing up.
“That’s entirely up to you,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing as well, “but I’m going to schedule you some further appointments and perhaps we can talk at another time when you feel ready to say something productive?”
“Sure, they have my number at the desk,” I said to him, wincing and shaking my head as I left.
What a dick. Fucking psychiatrists. Where had Cheryl found this quack? As I rode the elevator down I thought about what he’d said though; maybe I wasn’t crazy after all. Maybe I was just trying to tell myself something. I’d never been with another woman after marrying Bethany and last night I’d fucked some goth chick from the club like she was a cheap whore. Well, she was a cheap whore so it had seemed the only proper way to fuck her. That wasn’t like me though, drunk or not, so it was no surprise that today I’d be a little hung up on it. Then suddenly, after hearing Beth’s kind and worried voice in the message she’d left me, I see an angel who starts telling me all about sins. Why an angel though? Why not an angel was the better question. It’s all people had talked about with me in the last few months since the video; of course my hungover and sleep deprived mind had latched onto it. As I got off the elevator I was already feeling better; not better about cheating on Bethany, but better about seeing things that weren’t there. I had no idea what was on that video, but at least I could be sure that I’d been alone with my conscience in my car this morning.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” her voice said behind me as I opened the driver’s door of my car. I jumped and turned around. There she was; perfect cleavage, perfect waist, perfect hips. Perfectly askew trench coat that hung just passed her perfectly rounded ass wrapped in her perfectly fitting dark wool skirt. “I’m flattered that you think of me as your conscience, but I’ve yet to see any evidence that you actually have one.”
“Fuck off.” I said to her. “You’re not real.”
“Oh,” she said back, her face that same drab and impassionate mask from earlier, “I see. Then make me go away.”
I stood staring at her in the parking lot outside the office building where I’d seen Dr. Bennett. I frowned and tried to make her vanish. I focused all my mental effort on driving her from my mind; squinting my eyes, clenching my fists. The harder I tried the more I thought about her; I opened one eye and she was still standing there with a quizzical look on her face, her nose wrinkled as she watched me try to destroy her with my brain. The way she had her right hip cocked out with her hand on it and her left foot turned slightly to the side showed off the tone of her calf and curve of her body. The top of her breasts were exposed by the wide opening of her white shirt collars, not nearly enough buttons done up to even hint at chastity. I looked back to her face and she smirked and raised an eyebrow under her loose sandy bangs, the rest of her shoulder length hair framing her face perfectly. Perfect; just like the rest of her.
“I can button it more if it helps you concentrate on making me disappear,” she said matter-of-factly.
“This is pissing me off; you’re just a figment of my imagination.” I said, relaxing my body and turning back to my car. “I’m stressed and tired and hungover and I need to lie down. That doctor was right; you’re just an extension of my feelings of guilt.”
“Oh, I see,” she said behind me as I got into my car and closed the door. As I started the engine she was already sitting in the passenger seat. “So you were having that whole conversation alone just now? Standing in a busy parking lot?”
I leaned my forehead on my hands on the steering wheel and let out a long breath. “What do you want from me?”
“You’re not going to like it, so we should talk about it after you’ve rested and talked to your wife,” she said.
“‘Talked to my wife?’” Yeah right; fuck that. I started driving towards my home. “I’m not telling Bethany about any of this. I’ll tell her that I had too many drinks and didn’t want to wake her by coming in late so I stayed at a hotel.”
“You lie rather well for someone that values honesty and integrity and has never been unfaithful to his wife before,” she said in her annoyingly calm voice. “You need to be careful with those sort of vices for the next while, you’re quite fragile and delicate at the moment and it wouldn’t take much to push you across the tipping point.”
“Will you please just fuck off?” I asked impatiently, snapping a glare at her. She sat still, staring through the window with her intense eyes in her passive face.
“No,” she said simply, not looking at me.
I shrugged, heaving another sigh and shaking my head. “Do you have a name?”
“You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it,” she said, still just staring ahead while I drove.
“What am I supposed to call you, then?” I asked.
“Giving your figments names is a sign of failing denial,” was all she said, then she turned to look at me intently, “Do you have any gum?”
“Gum? What the fuck…?” I stammered.
“Never mind,” she said, looking over my shoulder past me through the driver’s side window and cocking her eyebrow in that steady way of hers as she calmly grabbed the steering wheel in her left hand and yanked it hard in my grip. All she said while she did it, annoyingly calm, was “Turn now.”
“FUCK!” I yelled as the car wrenched to the right and careened headlong into a row of parked cars along the sidewalk. Metal buckled, glass shattered, bits of cars broke off and flew in the air, and there was a sudden “whoomp” as the airbag deployed and I slammed into it face first. There was another impact against the driver’s side of the car and I felt pain shoot through my body as I felt the inside of the door crushing against me.
I could hear yells and screams but my world was billowy and white and powdery as I struggled against the airbag and tried to find my seatbelt. My left arm wasn’t doing what I told it to and my right was being yanked at by the strange woman in my car next to me. I heard the ‘ping’ of metal snapping and I was free, dragged to the sidewalk through the passenger door by my right arm and dropped there on my back. I tried to swivel my head around; I could see feet from my sideways angle, people who had jumped back following the crash. I looked the other way and saw cars pushed up on the sidewalk from where we’d smashed into them. My left arm collapsed under me as I tried to push myself upright and pain erupted down its length; I clutched it to my chest and rolled to my right.
I could see her shoe’s pointy heels, her feet apart in an aggressive stance. I looked up to see her standing between me and my wrecked car. Someone slid over the roof and dropped to the concrete in front of her like an action star. She was in the way, but I could make out dark denim and a white shirt. He wasn’t a big man, but he looked fit enough. He drew back his right arm and swung at her face; she dodged it and struck back. They both moved faster than I thought possible. I must be in shock. He caught her fist in his palm and twisted her arm around, flipping her over in the air to send her crashing to her shoulder and face on the pavement beside me. Blood from her nose and mouth sprayed on the sidewalk and my face. I pushed myself up to my feet, defying the pain in my left arm and ribs, and lunged at him. A cocky smile crossed his urbane features and his right palm shot out between us, impossibly fast, and slammed into my chest. With the wind knocked out of me I dropped to my knees in front of him. People were still yelling and screaming but I couldn’t tell what they were saying.
“Get back!” I heard the angel say, her voice rising above her usual calm quiet.
Was she talking to me or to him or to the bystanders?
“I’m talking to you, get back!” she yelled again. I looked up as the man looked down and grinned wickedly at me, reaching for my face with his hand. I tried to move, tumbling backwards. I saw her come between us and he grabbed her by the hair and spun at the waist, throwing her through the front window of a store in an explosion of glass.
He grabbed my face and the bones felt like they should shatter in his grasp. He threw me by the face over the wrecked cars into the street and I landed on my left side, screaming as I felt broken ribs and arm bones grinding against each other. Someone else grabbed me and threw me into a van and slammed the door. With a roar of the engine the van took off fast, a cloth bag or hood was yanked over my face and someone rained blows onto my head and shoulders until everything went black.
Some Guys Get All the Breaks…
“Wake up,” a male voice said, sharp and loud and punctuated by a poke at my broken ribs. I yelled in pain and my eyes shot open. Cold water hit me like a wet wall and as it poured off my face my eyes focused on the man from the street; he was holding a red plastic bucket and sneering at me.
I was in someone’s unfinished basement and a single bright construction light lit the room. I was sitting on the floor with my wrists bound behind my back around a metal support column. The whore with the red pigtails from the club last night was sitting on a grey metal stacking chair by the unpainted wooden stairs. She was playing with a puppy. It looked dead.
“Good morning,” he said charmingly, dropping the bucket with a hollow ‘thunk’. His light tone didn’t match his grim sneer. The sleeves of his plain white button up shirt, which was tucked into his plain black jeans, were rolled up to his elbows. “Breakfast?”
He brought the toe of one of his shiny black dress shoes up under my chin in a quick kick, snapping my head back against the metal pole against my back. The red haired whore laughed manically and tossed the dead puppy to the floor under the stairs as she sprung out of the chair towards me. She put her hands on her knees and leaned close to my face, licking blood from my mouth where I’d bit my tongue as he kicked me.
“You’ve been bad, Day,” he said, going to a metal folding table and picking up what looked like black welding goggles. “But I’m here to show you that salvation is closer than you think.”
“I bet you feel really bad about fucking me,” the whore said, popping her consonants hard with her lips.
“Huh…?” I decided it wasn’t happening. I was in a hospital somewhere after the accident. Yes, I was crazy; I’d crashed my car and now I was in a coma having some kind of bizarre self punishment fantasy while Bethany stood next to the bed wringing her hands together and making that small face she made when she was scared. I closed my eyes and tried to wake up.
“Hey!” the whore snapped, slapping me hard across the face, “This is really happening right now and you’re off somewhere else missing it! Pay attention!”
“Don’t quote movies Jenna,” the man said scoldingly, “It’s a terrible habit and it makes you sound stupid.”
She glared at him as she stood up and he took her place, crouching down on the balls of his feet in front of me. He held the goggles up by the strap on one finger so they dangled in front of me. “You do, right? Feel bad? Remorse is a failing, Gavin. ‘Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law’ and all that.”
“Who…who…what…?” I stuttered through the pain.
He smiled warmly at me; little crow’s feet at the edges of his twinkling light blue eyes and laugh lines around his mouth. “Me? I’m the one who’s going to give you the gift of perspective.”
Struggling against him was fruitless and they both laughed while I tried. He put the goggles over my eyes and tightened the strap so the rubber rings dug into my face. I couldn’t see anything, they were completely opaque. A point of light appeared, probably just small but appearing far away in the blackness. It came closer, getting bigger and brighter until the light took over my view. I clamped my eyes shut but it was still there, harsh and white and burning the backs of my eyes.
“Can you see now?” he asked softly. I could. The glare was resolving into details. Slight shapes and forms within it gained sharper edges. Color faded in. I saw Bethany, sitting in our living room on the couch. The scene zoomed back slowly and I could see our neighbor, my friend Brad, sitting on the couch next to her. She was crying and he was comforting her. Sound slowly seeped into the vision in the goggles.
“How can you even ask that at a time like this?” Beth asked Brad. “Gavin crashed his car and ran off! No one knows where he is!”
“Sorry,” Brad said, taking her hand in his, “but he’s been acting weird lately, before this. Do you think he knows?”
Knows what? I wondered. She looked at Brad and frowned, “There never should have been a second time. Or a third or fourth. Or any others after that.”
“He’s never here anymore,” Brad continued, sliding closer to her on the couch, “it’s not your fault. Or mine for that matter. It’s his.”
I leaned back against the cold metal pole, my mouth hanging open in shock and my heart sinking in my chest. Bethany looked stricken and her mouth twisted in anguish, “He would never do the same to me.”
“Oh, no? That’s not what I heard,” Brad said to her, putting his hand on her thigh.
“What?” she asked, confusion mixing with her anguish. Yeah…what? I thought.
“Someone I know saw him with some other girl just last night at some club. Apparently they were getting pretty hot together on the dance floor.”
Beth sobbed and leaned her head onto Brad’s shoulder. He stroked her back, moving his hand lower each time. I clenched my jaw, glaring at his image in the goggles strapped tightly around my head. He shushed her and stroked her long black hair, his other hand going back to her thigh. She was still dressed from work and his hand slid on her smooth thigh under the hem of her short black skirt. I waited in vain for her to move away from him, but when she moved it was in response and not resistance. Her head moved against his chest, her face going to his neck, and she kissed him under the ear.
“No!” I yelled, trying to shake the goggles from my face. I heard the whore and the well dressed man laugh. “This isn’t real!”
“Oh yes,” the sick little bitch said near my ear with a sinister snicker. Her breath smelled of cinnamon and I could hear her chewing her gum with her mouth open.
“You’ve probably been saying that all day,” the man said. Genuine mirth was evident in his smooth voice.
Closing my eyes didn’t help. Looking away didn’t help. Brad’s hand slid higher under my wife’s skirt and she was unbuttoning his shirt as I looked on through the goggles with my mouth open. I saw his hand coming back out, pulling her lacy white panties with it. When they reached her mid thigh he slid his hand back under her skirt and Bethany inhaled sharply and twined the fingers of her left hand in his hair, kissing him on the mouth. Her other plucked at his shirt, freeing it from where it was tucked into his pants.
“We really shouldn’t,” she breathed, barely removing her lips from his to say it, “Gavin…”
“…isn’t here, as usual,” Brad replied to her, pushing his mouth back against Bethany’s lips. Against my wife’s lips. I’d given up trying to shake the goggles off. I ground my teeth and felt myself growling inside my chest.
“Ah ha ha,” the smoky voiced whore chuckled quietly, her face still close enough for me to smell her gum. “Are you pissed off? Hmm? Pissed off like you want to kill someone?”
“Shhh, let him be,” the man said from somewhere further away in the dark basement. I could hear him doing something, clicks and clinks I didn’t recognize. The whore huffed an impatient breath.
I watched as Bethany, my quiet and understanding wife, unzipped Brad’s pants and took his cock out in her hand. His moved under her skirt with more urgency and she was breathing faster, each exhale a soft sigh. She stroked her hand up and down his length; fast, like she did to me. I could taste bile and blood in my mouth and I realized I was biting the inside of one of my cheeks. She pulled from their kiss and lowered her head, sliding her ass back on the couch so she sat on her calves with her legs bent beneath her, and put the head of Brad’s cock in her mouth. He leaned back on the couch and gathered up her hair in one of his fists at the nape of her neck. I could see her cheeks sucked in against him and she moved up and down, sliding his dick in and out and making it slick with her spit. With a smack of her lips she lifted her head up to look at him with that soft meek face of hers and she smiled slightly. He grinned down at her and spun his finger in a downwards pointing circle. She turned her body around so the side of her face was on the overstuffed arm of the couch and her ass was pointed at him. She raised herself on her knees, lifting first one and then the other as she pulled her panties from around her knees and tossed them onto our coffee table.
Brad put one foot on the floor, his other knee going between hers on the couch, and slid my wife’s skirt up and over her ass. He took his cock in his right hand, his left holding her by the hip, and slowly slid his length into Bethany’s pussy. She groaned loudly and put her hands on her ass, her mouth open in ecstasy, as he pumped it half way in and out of her a few times to spread her wetness around. Satisfied, he pushed hard, burying his cock into her and slapping his hips against her soft white bottom. She let out a soft grunting “uh” with each stroke, and as he grabbed her ass in both hands she latched onto the arm of the couch under her face with her hands and lifted her torso. Her breasts swayed forward and back under her sleeveless knit top and her hair fell over her face. She tossed it up and over her head to land across her back with one fast motion of her head, and as Brad fucked my wife harder from behind she tilted her hips up and down to meet his thrusts. Her grunts had turned to throaty cries and his joined hers; the grunting and slapping was all I could hear now, the basement around me had gone silent.
Bethany’s ass was shaking each time Brad launched his hips forward to bury his cock inside of her. Her sharp cries of “AH!” turned to lower moans of “OH!” with each stroke into her pussy. On all fours with my friend and neighbor fucking her from behind on my couch, my wife started to climax. Each loud “OH!” was dragging out longer, lasting two thrusts, then three, then finally she was just letting out one long “OOOOHHHHHHHHH!”, her voice jerking each time he stabbed into her. Brad grabbed her long black hair in one hand and pulled back, her face pointing to the ceiling and the small of her back lowering to cock her pelvis at a steep angle. Despite my rage I felt my own cock stir in my pants and I felt a hand grab it hard. I jerked my knee at the unseen contact but it was pushed to the side, the hand remained clutched around my stiffening rod.
Brad fucked Bethany hard, sending ripples through her ass. He released her hair and she started tossing her head up and down in time with their fucking. The hand on my cock was stroking it and as I struggled against it someone punched me in the ribs. My yell of “AGH!” was matched by Brad, fucking my wife, as he came in her wet and sloppy pussy. He pushed deep inside of her, clutching her ass with fingers like claws and cried out his climax. My cock was free of my pants now and I felt a wet hand sliding up and down on it. As Bethany yelled “FUUUUCK!” and dropped to her elbows to bite the arm of the couch I erupted, feeling cum shoot out of me violently in strong spurts. I heard a smug laugh and the goggles were ripped from my head. Jenna, the fucking slut, was on her knees beside me on the dirty basement floor with my cock in her hand, rubbing my cum and her spit all over its length.
“Get the fuck off me!” I yelled, wincing in pain as I tried to lurch to one side away from her. She punched me in the ribs again and I collapsed back against the metal pole I was bound to. She licked my cum from the palm of her hand, giggling like a twisted little cartoon gone horribly wrong. As the man spoke I turned my glare on him.
“So now you see. See, Gavin my boy? You’re not so bad after all, are you? Almost a pillar of virtue one might say.” He cocked a handgun and set it gently and purposefully on the folding table. “Let’s go Jenna, you’ve played enough.”
She was just putting her lips around the head of my softening cock and when I tried to knee her in the side of the face she bit me, hard enough to leave teeth marks. Letting out an open mouthed “ha ha” she stood and sashayed coyly up the stairs. From half way up the stairs the well dressed man, his hair gelled perfectly in place and his smile reminding me of a news anchor or a jackal, tossed a set of handcuff keys to my feet, and nodded knowingly.
“Get to work,” he said, and then left.
Some Guys Do Nothing But Complain…
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital man?” the cabbie asked me as I dug in my pocket for money to pay him. We sat across the street from my house. “You look like shit man.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said through gritted teeth. Probably not, maybe not ever again, but it was an easy lie.
“Really?” he asked incredulously, looking over the seat at me. My jacket was on over my right arm but not my left. My broken arm was clutched against my broken ribs and the front of my pants was stained with my own cum. I was wrinkled and disheveled and looked like a sex crime victim and the walking wounded in equal measure.
“Here,” I said, shoving the crumpled bills towards him and waving off his effort to make change as I stumbled out of the car.
I stumbled up the sidewalk and through the front door. Bethany sprang up from the chair by the phone and Brad looked at me with shocked eyes and yelled, “Hey! Gav! What the hell, man?”
“Where have you been? What happened to you? Are you okay?” Bethany rambled as she dodged around the coffee table and rushed to me.
“No,” I said simply as I grabbed her by the hair and pulled the gun from the back of my pants, pointing it at Brad and gritting my teeth as his eyes popped wide and I pulled the trigger twice.