The Dog, The Dragon, And The Rabbit

I dream that I can fly. It happens most nights, and I soar through the air, high above mountains, low down in the valleys between them, just above the surface of crystal blue lakes. I don’t have wings, but in my dreams I can fly.

In life, though, I cannot fly. In life, I hop. I am small and cute and I surely cannot fly. I am the little bunny and I play with other beasts. But that’s enough of that. Let’s get to now.

Let’s get to right now.

Right now I’m halfway through shaving my legs in the shower and I can hear Simon calling from out in the kitchen. We’re going to be late for work and once again it will be my fault. 

“Dude!” he says when I finally lock up the back door and get into the car with him.

“I know, I know,” I say, trying to brush him off. I wasn’t shaving my legs for him, of course. I am the little bunny. Hop, hop, hopping.

***

We arrive late but the drive was pleasant enough and by the time Simon parks the car and we kiss goodbye I know he has already forgiven me and he’s thinking I’lll fuck him or at least suck his dick tonight to make up fro my tardiness. Which I will / won’t / might. 

We go our separate ways and I stand at the lights on the intersection outside Simon’s building and then walk down Main Street until I know that I’m out of view of his office window. That’s when I turn onto the cross street and start walking quickly towards the corner where I want to be — six streets further downtown and two streets closer to China Town. 

On my walk I do the two things that I normally do — (1) check my watch, and (2) think about Simon. My watch says 6:33AM so I should be on time for my transgression. Don’t get me wrong, I let Simon do what he needs. I do. That has always been the truth of it — I’ve never said no. The beauty and irony of it, is that he doesn’t ever really ask or want for much and he surely doesn’t ask or want for anything inappropriate. Simon is a nice guy and well…someone has to come last.

By the time I reach the corner that I need to, I’ve already been through all of the layers of love and guilt and shit and blood. The tears won’t come until after. They never do. I get to the corner and remember how I used to be afraid of strip clubs. That was until Samuel came along. Everything was fine until Samuel came along. But of course everything was also boring until Samuel came along.  The first time I met him has always been a story for another time, but I’ve decided, just now, that I’m going to tell it to you. 

***

It’s easy to fall into the open jaws of a cliche and that’s exactly what I did with Samuel. What I keep doing with Samuel. I still remember when I first saw him. I know I shouldn’t have been there — a strip club in the middle of the morning — but it was the only place I could find that was open where I could order a vodka soda and hide in a dark corner at 10:15AM on a Tuesday. And that’s exactly what I did. The place was empty, for which I was glad, and the music wasn not offensively loud as it often is in the drinking venues that I’ve attended. I nursed my vodka and felt guilty for lying to my boss so that I could leave early. 

I had seen Samuel when I first walked in. He had been sitting at the bar talking to a beautiful blonde who was serving drinks. He was tall and dark haired, with tattoos down his arms and a cocky smile, yet he was dressed like an office worker and he even had a pen protector in his pocket. Still, his clothes fit perfectly and his hair was styled with intent. I had ordered my drink at the other end of the bar, avoiding him because I knew I found him to be right up my alley of attractive and I really didn’t feel like blushing or stumbling over my words considering the morning I’d had. 

I was so lost in my own drama that I didn’t notice Samuel standing in front of me until it was too late. He invited himself to sit down and then it was just the two of us in a strip club, drinking vodka sodas on a Tuesday morning. 

“Samuel Appleberry,” he said, holding out his hand. I shook it and introduced myself similarly. 

He didn’t necessarily do most of the talking but he pretty much asked all of the questions. 

“Are you single?”

I shook my head, sipped my drink. I am the little bunny.

“I haven’t seen you here before. Are you lesbian?”

I shrugged and shook my head again. “Just needed a drink.”

“Rough morning?” 

I nodded.

“Tell me.” This time it wasn’t a question.

I cradled my vodka close in front of my chest and tried to smile. “I don’t think so.” I am the little bunny.

“Yes. You let me sit down and now you have to tell me your story. I’m the ear and you are the mouth. Those are the rules.”

He was so hot and forward and dominant. I knew that he knew that my knickers were soaked through already. I knew that he knew that he had me. I was backed into a corner, literally and figuratively. We fucked that first day and we had fucked everyday since. Correction: Samuel had fucked me. 

He made the rules and I followed them. It was just what I had always wanted. 

All the same, Samuel was a cunt and I never tried to stop him. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. I did try to stop it, I just gave up when it never worked. And so I suppose I had become an enabler by that point. He was my escape hatch and no one really cares too much if their escape hatch often malfunctions, as long as they can still escape. 

We fucked that first day and we had fucked everyday since. 

I am the little bunny.

***

Today the strip club — the Fox Den — is empty. I’m glad. I’m early so I can have a drink in peace before Samuel arrives. The staff know who I am now, they are party to my lie but I get a sense that they enjoy talking to someone who’s not just a desperate guy hoping to win the heart of a woman who takes her clothes off for a living. Carly sees me first. 

“Vodka soda?” she asks, wiping down the bar in front of me. 

I nod and she can tell I’m not up for talking. Carly carefully makes the drink and sets it down on a neatly folded napkin. My phone buzzes with a text. I sense the Dragon but I am wrong. 

Simon: Not feeling too well. Boss sent me home. Can you get an Uber?

That’s weird. I usually never hear from him until about lunch time when he has caught up on his work. He seemed fine earlier. I have to respond now so he can forget about me and keep from asking too many more questions. 

Me: You okay honey? I’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out. Let me know if you need anything xxx

The X’s are an overkill but Simon won’t notice that if he’s feeling off, he tends to turn inward. Either way it works.

Simon: I will. Thanks hon. Sorry.

The ‘sorry’ gives me a feeling I won’t hear from him again until he wakes up, which could be many hours later. I might even be able to chuck a sickie and get the entire day off work without alerting anyone. All the lies have become so thick and intertwined that I can’t even see them for myself anymore. Still, I could use a fuck off day. 

As soon as Samuel walks through the door I can tell there’s something wrong. He’s on his phone and he doesn’t look up from it as he gets to the bar. Carly pours him a drink and the three of us say nothing. Samuel is radiating heat, it’s coming off him in waves. I choose not to engage. This very quickly shows itself to be a poor choice.

“You’re not even going to say hi?” he asks with a snap, all narrow eyes and flared nostrils. He was ready for a fight before he walked through the door. I can feel it now — the demon is about to rear its ugly head. The fight begun before I saw his hard face and the two-day scruff of his beard.

I sip my drink. “I’m sorry, I just…you just seemed pissed off. Everything okay?”

Samuel turns and walks to our booth in the back without answering. I follow him. I am the little bunny, hopping along.

As we sit he moves close to me and slides a hand up my inner thigh beneath my skirt and I can feel him tugging at my knickers.

“Not yet baby, please,” I say, pushing him away a little. 

He leans closer and kisses my neck. He smells of cigarettes and something else that I can’t quite place. He doesn’t stop when I ask him to.

“Baby, please…can we wait until we get to the room?” I say it and I know immediately that it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

Samuel lifts his drink to his lips and downs it in seconds. “Could you be any more fucking annoying? Jesus! It’s like you go away, spend a night with him, and then come back as dry and boring as a fucking Ryvita. Do you even know what I give up for you?!”

His tone and anger catch me off guard. He’s talking too loud in a place that’s too small and all I can think is that I need to get out. I finish my vodka as quickly as he did and grab my bag and get away from him. I am the little bunny. Hopping hopping hopping. 

I slam the strip club door open and the daylight is both a blessing and a curse. I feel the warmth of it yet I am afraid to be seen. I go to the only place I know around here — our apartment down the block. The place we have sex. The place we fuck. I know Samuel will find me there and maybe that’s what I’m hoping for. On the way there I get another text from Simon. 

Simon: Baby, I think it’s a stomach thing. How are you feeling?

I really don’t want to reply, but I do. I’m pretty sure it was the pork anyway.

Me: I’m okay so far. But I didn’t have any of the pork from last night. Did you make it home?

I’m walking so fast now that I’m almost running — I want to make sure I beat Samuel there, if that’s where he’s going as well. Simon’s stomach problems are far from my mind but I need to stay on top of whatever is happening to him so I can keep my lies in line.

Simon: I’m home now. Stay away for a few hours. This won’t be pretty. Sorry honey.

I’m relieved. He’s out of it. He’ll stop texting now, I know he will. Simon hates being sick and he hates me seeing him being sick. Things now are turned back in my direction. 

The apartment block looms in front of me. I scan my card and catch the elevator up to our floor. 18.

***

The room is never how we left it. Samuel gets a cleaner to come in every night. It must cost him a fortune. I don’t know why he thinks my pussy is worth that much. It’s strange that he thinks anything of me at all, the way he treats me. I like the degradation during sex but in real life it’s different. In real life it eats away at my soul. 

I toss my bag in a corner and strip off my work clothes so that I’m just in my underwear — a pair of lacy green knickers and a matching bra. I’m freshly waxed and I know I smell good. I figure that maybe when he gets here and sees me he’ll be in a better mood. 

I am wrong.

I hear him come through the door and slam it behind him. There’s clinking in the kitchenette and I drag myself to come out to see him.

“Hey baby,” I say, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around his chest from behind.

He lets me stay there a moment but then pulls away and I hear him mutter something. I stand where I am in the kitchen, in just my underwear. He sits down on the couch in the living room with a fresh drink. 

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

He says nothing and flicks on the television without the sound. His face is hard, his eyes unblinking. He refuses to meet mine.

I make a drink in the kitchen and join him on the couch. I don’t sit too close. I hope the underwear will please him. I am the little bunny. Hop, hop, hopping.

***

I’m on my knees and he’s inside me. We haven’t spoken a word since being on the couch. I’m half cut but he is drunk. I know he’s not going to get there but I don’t want to stop in case he gets angry. Eventually he pulls out and pushes me face-down into the bed. I hear him collapse behind me. 

I’m about to say something when he bursts into his really mean stuff. I was prepared, but not quite enough.

“Don’t you speak to me you stupid cunt. I’m tired enough as it is. Just shut your mouth and pray that I don’t rat you out at this point.”

I do what he says. I keep quiet. I roll over and try to pull the blanket up to cover myself. It’s pointless. He pulls it away. 

“You have nothing to say? Go on, say what you want to say. Do it!”

I honestly don’t know what I want to say. I have never known. I couldn’t tell him if I wanted to. But that doesn’t stop Samuel.

“If you want to know the truth, you’re just a cheap slut that was there when I needed something to penetrate. You’re nothing more than a vessel. You’re worthless. Just go back to your pathetic life.”

***

If you’re worried, you shouldn’t be. This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. Samuel is as charismatic as he is predictable. I’m already out on the street, back in the awful sunshine and I make sure I’m a couple of blocks away, in China Town, before I book an Uber. I buy a couple of sweet pork buns from a food cart to try and soak up the alcohol. I don’t know where else to go except home. 

I text my boss to say that my husband and I have food poisoning from last night’s dinner, which in itself isn’t a total lie. By the time the Uber drops me off at home the tears have dried up and I’m working on steadying myself; stopping the angry trembling.

Stupid Cunt.

Cheap Slut.

Are they insults or superhero names?

I am the little bunny. I am the Rabbit. I play with the Dragon and the Dog. What made me think I could ever win?

I am the little bunny. I am the Stupid Cunt. I am the Cheap Slut. I surely cannot fly. 

The gate is open so I guess Simon must haver really been in a hurry. Poor thing.

I figure I can sneak in and crawl into the bed in the spare room without having to explain myself until later. I quietly unlock the door and make my way through the kitchen to the hall. My mouth tastes of sweet pork. My hands have started trembling again and I am the little bunny, hopping through my own house, to check on my husband in our bed. I see her hair first — long, blonde and wavy, tumbled perfect down her back. She’s naked and so is Simon and she riding him in our bed. They must not have heard me and they don’t see me. I am frozen in the headlights. I am a little bunny statue. I watch Wavy Blonde move up and down on Simon’s cock. 

I guess the Dog can keep a secret after all. 

Big Black Demon

Today, unfortunately, I am finding it hard to disconnect from reality. Most days it comes as second nature for me, but of course, on the days when bad things happen I tend to find myself rolled up like a sausage in pastry, unable to detach from anything or stop remembering, or thinking, or dwelling. Either way, writing is my usual style of dealing (though, to be fair, I still haven’t written about a fire, unless you count the hell fire in my WIP second novel) and so here is Bradley. And the shittiest day of Bradley’s life.

Maybe if I make Bradley suffer, I won’t have to suffer myself.

Though isn’t it just normal that we suffer ourselves, just like we suffer everything we can get our hands on.

** I apologise for the fact that this short is pretty close to home, and so it might be a little boring. Also I apologise for the title which sounds a little pornographic now that I read it again.

Big Black Demon

Some things were very clear in Bradley’s mind. Some things stuck there — in his mind — like photographs of pure clarity. Crisp and clear.

The cannula in Bradley’s leg was starting to ache. To be fair it had lasted the three days that it was supposed to last, but he was crossing his fingers that it would do him a solid five or six, only because he was out of money, and time, and fucks. As he rolled over in bed, the skin on his outer thigh glowed with the dull heat of a slow-building pain, and the alarm on his phone beeped. Four o’clock in the morning was too early for anyone to be awake, yet there were people who woke much earlier than he did. And they woke at that time everyday. They woke without complaint. They woke in the dark of night. They woke yesterday. They were already awake.

Yesterday Bradley repeated to himself, in the hopes of creating some forward motion. It didn’t work.

Fifteen minutes later his second snooze alarm was going off and the dusty blue haze of dawn was peeking through his curtains. Bradley got up to take a shower. 

Some things were very clear in his mind. 

The bathroom needed a clean; the tiled corners were choked with hair and dust.

The sink needed a scrub as well. 

The kitchen was a mess from last night’s foray into cornbread baking.

The living room was strewn with books and projects and things that should have been long discarded.

There was a dead cockroach in the hall.

There was a burnt out candle on the mantle.

Bradley ignored all of this — he was late as it was. With no time for a coffee on the way out, he grabbed a small bag of grapes and locked the door behind him.

Through the suburbs the going was easy despite the recent storm damage. He hit every light, but they changed quickly and before he knew it he was peeling along the motorway in his canary yellow hatchback, twenty minutes late, but with a kind-of smile on his face — Tuesdays were easy, and he was sure that this one was going to be no different. 

Some things were very clear in his mind.

Bradley asked Siri to call his brother who had already been at his own job for a few hours. Ryan answered after the first ring.

“Dude! What the fuck? What’s wrong?”

Bradley laughed. “Nothing man, just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, dickhead!”

There was silence and then… “Oh, fuck. Ha! I forgot. Wait, am I forty or forty-one this year?”

Bradley couldn’t help but smile to himself. He and his twin brother Ryan always joked around on their birthday, but this year Ryan had sounded completely surprised, as if he’d actually forgotten their birthday. 

Laughter petered out into civil conversation and then Ryan had to go because apparently science was happening and it couldn’t or wouldn’t be stopped. 

Some things were very clear in his mind. 

There were newly installed electronic road signs in this part of the city. Signs that could project words for traffic advice and missing children and numbers to call if you needed such and such. There were some that showed the speed limit and they changed when conditions changed — slower, faster, lanes closed, lanes opened, lanes flooded, specific limits for certain incidents.

Today the electronic signs were all flashing and though Bradley saw that they were urging him down from 100 to 60 kilometres per hour, he only barely registered it. He was a conscientious driver, and so he braked gradually without thinking about it and brought himself down from 90 to a solid 50 and slowing. The cars in front of him were easily doing 40 while they let merging traffic in from the side.

Some things were very clear in his mind.

Everything was quiet and calm. Traffic was slowing. Bradley braked and braked again. The merging traffic was going too slow. Too slow. There must have been a crash or some kind of incident up ahead. There was no way to tell. Bradley braked once more and saw, in his rear vision — 

The Big Black Demon.

Some things were very clear in his mind. 

The car came up on him quickly but Bradley didn’t think that anything could be wrong, he only worried that perhaps the black car behind him was a little too close. He looked back at the car that was slowing in front of him and that was when The Big Black Demon — 

CRACK! 

The world snapped into darkness.

The impact, at first, felt like forward motion but it changed with rapidity. 

Some things were very clear in his mind.

Everything was thrown forward. Bradley, his glasses, the car, reality. We, all of us that Bradley knew, moved forward faster than we should have, and then the Big Black Demon was gone, because Bradley had closed his eyes and he was hurtling forward in his yellow hatchback, spiralling towards the traffic in front, spiralling back around again, spinning and flailing inside his car, moving inevitably towards the cement pylon that he couldn’t see; was lucky not to see.

Some things were very clear in his mind. 

Turning and turning. As if he was in a blender. 

Bradley’s glasses flew off his face upon the initial impact, but he didn’t notice. His hands came off the wheel and and dangled out in front of him. His body was thrown to one side and then the other and then back again. The impact on the pylon wasn not as bad as he had anticipated — a dull thud that shook the car and brought him back to life, forcing him to open his eyes. 

Bradley had been sure he was going to die that day. He had been sure that he was going to feel his own death. He had been sure that he was going to experience his own death.

Some things were very unclear in his mind. 

His car had turned a little over 180 degrees in the crash, but if you were to ask Bradley, he would have said the car turned at least two and a half times - 900 degrees. If you were to ask Bradley, he would have said that he shouted out and groaned as the car started to spin, but he didn’t. He made no sound at all. If you were to ask Bradley, he would have said that the Big Black Demon was an SUV or a Utility or a truck of some sort, but it wasn’t. It was a lowered hatchback with custom rims and specialty sticker decals. 

Some things were very clear in his mind.

Bradley knew that this wasn’t the last time he was going to have to deal with a Big Black Demon.