Killing Kate(14)
I shrug. Erase the past, I think. “Maybe. I’m not sure that you have the answer to all of my problems, but money and property doesn’t hurt.”
Drake finishes his beer and leans closer to me. “And what, pray tell, are ‘all of your problems’?”
I can’t hold back much longer at this point. I swivel my stool toward Drake and lean as close as possible. My hands rest on his knees and pull them apart and I stand up and place my hips in between his parted knees. My face is inches from his own and I can feel the sharp intake of breath from him. He wasn’t expecting me to be forward. Men never expect me to be anything other than a waif. Every now and then it comes out, and it’s all me. “You don’t get to fucking ask about my problems,” I whisper. “My problems are my business.” I am pleased to see him looking flustered and a little bit red. I push my drink to him. He finishes mine and stands up. “Leaving so soon?”
He actually grins at me, reaches into the back pocket of his tight jeans and fishes out a card, which he pushes over to me across the bar. I touch it with my hand and our fingers graze. “Call me when you’re sober tomorrow.” He reaches in his pocket and throws a few twenties on the bar.
“Who says I’ll be sober tomorrow?” I say after him as he walks out. I sit still for one hundred seconds, counting slowly to myself, my lips moving with each count. I stand up on shaky legs. I need to get home.
Kate stands next to me on the El platform. Shady characters stand around waiting for the train. A man is vomiting over the platform onto the tracks on the other side. I can hear each retch from him over the occasional sound of a car whistling by on the street below. “You need me now, don’t you?” she asks and I just nod. She smiles mischievously. I feel myself anxiously awaiting the comfort of a seat on the train in a quiet car to ourselves. The train finally pulls up and I sit down in a seat and Kate sits down next to me.
I cover my lap with my bag and her hand slides under it between my legs. She pulls up my dress and her hand slides inside my panties. Her touch makes me moan slightly, but I am unfortunately not alone on the car. There is a young couple chatting quietly to themselves and a haggard woman who looks like she is riding to work early. Two young girls wearing club clothing are standing behind me near the door and chattering away. No one sits directly across from me, so I let Kate continue. Her fingers plunge inside of me and my breath comes faster through my slightly parted lips. Her thumb pushes on my clit and my face scrunches up in concentration. In my mind I see Drake at the bar, sitting on his stool as I move closer to him. In my head he kisses me, lips grazing down my neck and over my shoulder, pushing the strap of my shift down and his hands cupping my breasts. I imagine him pressing himself close to me and feeling how hard I am making him. I want to make him hard. In my mind he wants me, and doesn’t turn around and go home, but pushes me onto the bar and lifts up my dress and fucks me, while everyone inside of the bar watches me. The bartender unzips his pants and grabs his cock while he watches, and two other men hold my arms at my sides, even though I want everything that’s happening to me, but it feels good to be grounded. I feel the waves inside of me building. My left hand slips inside of my purse and pushes down on Kate’s hand through it, bringing her fingers deeper inside of me. I’m afraid to open my eyes, but I imagine where I am right now and picture the couple on the train watching me. I am aware of my surroundings, and the prospect of someone knowing what I am doing frightens and excites me. Kate leans over to me and kisses my earlobe gently and moves her fingers faster. A surge of wetness and I explode, but all I can do is wriggle a bit in my seat and press my thighs together to stop her hand from moving anymore and making me scream.
“Next stop, Morris,” I hear through the train PA system. Getting off at Morris in more ways than one, I think to myself.
When I get home, I barely have a chance to stub out my cigarette before I completely pass out on my mattress.
*
“I think it’s a good idea,” Devin is saying. He means that if we live together, he can keep an eye on me, and I find this just a teensy bit on the offensive side.
“I don’t need babysitting,” I tell him. We are sitting outside of Ennui, the coffee shop across the street from where I live on a Sunday afternoon. The breeze from the lake feels nice but I’m feeling completely numb. I know what this is going to mean for me. It will mean less late nights, less drinking, more scrutiny from Devin. I’m feeling a bit sick at the idea, but I am more on board than I let on. I can quit my job, I can start over, and I can leave my shithole apartment that felt so good to get out of today.