Never Been Loved(5)

I just really don’t want to go pick up the kid. I can hear him now, whining and crying because I didn’t pick him up last night. I’ll have to bribe him with a movie he wants to see and some junk food that’s going to spike his sugars, but I don’t know what else to do.

My jaw cracks, and I hadn’t even realized I’d been clenching my teeth together. Nice. I don’t have the money to go to the dentist if I’ve gone and split a tooth. Who knew having a kid was going to make me want to kill myself?

The elevator crawls its way down to the lobby, and I watch the babe from next door, wondering what her name is. With my fucking luck her name’ll be Aly or some version of it, and I’m going to have her stuck in my brain whenever my Aly wants to fuck. Not that that’s a bad thing.

I’m sure Red enjoys her own fantasies when we’re in bed together. Not that I can bring myself to care.

Shit. She’s gone and bitten the knuckle of her index finger again, and she’s rocking her weight from heels to toes, back and forth, back and forth, making parts of her jiggle. Making me think of what she’d look like riding me, breasts swaying, the sexiest part of her taking that part of me in her body

Christ, I just got laid. Now my dick’s twitching again, starting to pound with that itch only a female can scratch for me. What if I were to push her into the corner, make her drop that fucking book to the ground and look at me? What colour would her eyes be? What would her lips taste like? Cherry, bubblegum?

I need to stop.

But I can see it – her long brown hair in my bed, spread on my pillow, her smiling up at me, wet and ready for me. I’d plant my hands on either side of her head, and watch myself slowly sink into her, trying to ignore that tickling feeling of unease in my gut, and the fuzzy feeling in my brain that means my sugar’s dropping.

A girl like this one does not deserve a piece of shit like me. Un-whole. That twitching in my dick is long-gone as I imagine her watching me inject myself with insulin. Oh yeah, real fucking sexy.

Fascinated, I keep my eyes trained on her face, ignoring my brain as much as I can. The bastard just keeps supplying me with ideas of why this girl isn’t for me, why she deserves and needs better than what I can ever give her. I’m stuck with the bottom-feeders like Aly, and that’s fine with me. I can deal with that.

Maybe.

That’s my lot in life and I shouldn’t go asking for more.

She’s smiling, at what I don’t know. But Christ, to be on the other end of that smile, so sweet and genuine? That hollow feeling in my gut bottoms out, making me realize what I could have with her, if I were brave enough.

With a sigh, she closes the book, and I shit you not, puts it back in her purse and pulls out another mammoth novel the size of a brick. At least the thing will do some damage if anyone tries to sneak up on her, she just needs to aim it for the temple or the nose, causing enough pain for her to get away.

She promptly opens it up and starts to read, not even looking up when the elevator dings; the doors open and she just walks right out, not even bothering to look up. She’d walk right into a suicide fucking bomber if he were standing in front of her. I break out into a sweat watching her open the inner doors of the lobby and walk outside, spilling bits of sunshine on the tile in the space between the outer and inner doors.

I need to let her go, and just as I’m about to step over and out of the elevator, my phone buzzes, like

I’ve become the divining rod for the perfect place for cell phone reception. I don’t even have to look at it. I’m already late in picking up Matty, Mom’s bound to call to make me hurry my ass up.

Slamming my hand against the side of the door, feeling the numb-tingle travel up my hand into my wrist only to get that throbbing pain, I press the button to get to the basement.

I get to my car, my shitty blue Honda that’s seen better days, and known better drivers. I glare at the car seat in the back through the window, hating that it’s there, that the kid is always on my mind even when I can’t see him.

Strangling the leather of my steering wheel, I screech out of the underground parking lot, brain on automatic as I fiddle with the radio to catch the rock station. The kid likes rock music for some reason, and

I figure I’ll try and keep him calm with guitar riffs and screeching vocals.

I find myself easing on the gas as I get closer and closer to the palace, my childhood home. I roll down the window to get some of April’s air in, let it swirl in the confines of my car, washing out the stink of fast food and the remnants of Aly’s perfume. I stare into the rear-view mirror, hating that car seat with all I’m worth and what it means that I’m now a father – have been for the last three years instead of the uncle I’m supposed to be.