Honeydew
Wednesday. Sixteen, dropped out. Lives at home.
Honeydews make him think of blondes with skin so smooth.
He puts a melon in his mother's cart as she compares carb counts on plastic sleeves of white bread.
"Those are probably out of season, honey."
"What, I can't have a fucking melon now?"
"Shhhh with the cursing. Go get a dinner from the freezer."
Hungry Man for the boy.
The checkout bagger is a black retard.
He licks his thumb every time before he packs something.
Lick, then he eyes the melon.
"Beautiful," he says with a lisp.
"Yeah," the kid says.
She lets him drive home.
She doesn't get out of the car, she's on the clock in twenty.
She kisses her hand and touches his face as he gets out.
His cheek is greasy and she wipes her finger tips on her uniform as she shifts.
He's hard by the time he hits the door.
He leaves the melon in the kitchen still in the plastic bag, like he's captured her.
Gets the black wig out from under the bed. He's going to steal another twenty and go back to the Halloween supply store for an exotic one soon.
His mother's lipstick is on the sink. Her worst color - peach. Makes her lips look like a wiped, lubed asshole. He finds red. He likes red.
Marker for the eyes.
Paints them closed.
Nose so small and without a bump or blemish.
Tape the wig down so he can pull it hard like he prefers.
The marker slips and a stray mark resembling a tear marks the cheek.
Cuts the skin with a knife and hollows the hole with his finger.
Sticks the melon in the microwave for :36.
He watches the head spin as he unbuttons.
The lamplight in the microwave and her head around and around, eyes closed...she's crying.
When the light cuts out and the timer rings he pulls open the door.
So pathetic and small.
When he's done he'll cut her throat and throw her away before eating his dinner.
==
Sock
The dentist blushes when he brushes her breast with his hand.
She doesn't notice, never has.
He tells her to open wide and lean her head back farther over the chair's head rest.
Farther. FARTHER.
She strains and the veins rise up to the surface of the skin from the stress and he bends to look down into her throat.
He uses his gloved hand to press her tongue down and she instinctually retracts.
He tells her "farther" again and for a moment her blue eyes open and she catches him heaving, his bald head sweaty under the pale fluorescent light.
His belly hangs and sags over his belt and the white coat drapes his sides, the buttons gone.
She tries to raise her head but he holds her chin and sticks his finger into her mouth until she gags and spits.
Her blue eyes fearful, gone red at the sides.
He pulls back and wipes his head.
She lurches upward, and brings her elbows to her side.
He pulls over his gloves off finger-by-finger before placing them on the tray with the retractable arm, lined with sanitized steel tools.
"All done," he says.
She hasn't turned to look at him again.
She stands and gets her coat off the rack and leaves.
She almost trips over her heels in the gravel of the parking lot.
The dentist lumbers as he bends and groans and kicks off his cheap loafers and removes his sock.
He lets it lay across his knee and looks at the glove.
He feels it still wet with her saliva and the clean smell of fluoride.
He puts the glove in the sock and rolls halfway down.
He thinks of her mouth and the sound of her wretching throat as he spits in it-- their biologies briefly joined.
==
Black Widow's Bedtime
"Where's Poppa?"
"He's cleaning up downstairs. Did you have a nice birthday, Soph?"
"Yes. I liked my presents."
"Good. Now go to sleep."
"Leave the light on until Poppa comes up."
"Okay."
She left a sliver of light on the carpet by keeping the door cracked and she went downstairs. He was in a chair, sleeping on the table; a cup full of bourbon just out of his fingertips. He had laid his head atop his folded arms and he looked like the bully who slept in the back of study hall. She looked at his muscles and the cut-off sleeve t-shirt and the sunburn from grilling all afternoon outside. She boxed the food and put it in the fridge.
She looked at the rainbow of empty bottles on top of the counter. He was so insistent that they needed to be well-stocked for Sophie's tenth birthday bash. The other men stuck to a beer or two before switching for the rest of the evening to Cokes or Sprites, but he kept on refilling his cup with ice and liquor. She finished cleaning up and stashed the bottles. She touched him but was careful. He didn't stir. She turned off the kitchen light and went back upstairs.
She slid an arm into Sophie's room and killed the light and closed her door. When she got to their bedroom she stripped and walked around in just the one-piece bathing suit she'd been wearing all day in and out of the above-ground pool.
She touched the picture frame above the bureau that held her high school diploma and saw the graduation Polaroid in the corner. She looked huge under the gown. Next to it was their wedding photograph, the couple slicing the wedding cake and holding it out to Sophie who was smiling. She'd worn a lot of make up to cover up her black eye and kept her head tilted just so that the camera didn't catch her puffed cheek.
She slipped out of the bathing suit and looked at herself in the mirror. She stuck her bolted tongue out and pulled at loose flesh. She ran her fingers over the black widow tattoo on her belly she'd gotten when he'd had a scorpion done on his shoulder.
She slid into bed, alone again. Still young despite aging through their best years together; they would only ever regret one another. All the things they could've done and all that could never be.
She pulled the revolver out from the bedside drawer and laid it between her legs. She planted he feet against the mattress with her knees raised and pulled the sheet until she felt it taut against her crease. She knotted the sheet around one hand and held the gun in her other hand, pressing it against her throat. She bit one end of the pillow and rocked her hips up and down, hard against the fabric. She slid the barrel down and burrowed it into herself deep.
She climaxed when she heard the hollow sound of the hammer clicking against an empty chamber in the silent, voided night.
----
She slid into bed, alone again. Still young despite aging through their best years together; they would only ever regret one another. All the things they could've done and all that could never be.
She pulled the revolver out from the bedside drawer and laid it between her legs. She planted he feet against the mattress with her knees raised and pulled the sheet until she felt it taut against her crease. She knotted the sheet around one hand and held the gun in her other hand, pressing it against her throat. She bit one end of the pillow and rocked her hips up and down, hard against the fabric. She slid the barrel down and burrowed it into herself deep.
She climaxed when she heard the hollow sound of the hammer clicking against an empty chamber in the silent, voided night.
----
