Come To Me (Owned 3)

Closing time came and when I saw Joe leave, I perked up from my slouch. Where the fuck was she? For the second time that night I got out of my car and walked across the lot. Joe was locking up the bar, his back to me, when I said his name.

He jumped, dropping his keys, and turned to me. When he saw who it was, his entire body loosened. “Oh, Christ, Vic. Don’t walk up on a man like that. S’not the best part of town.”

I made a quick apology and then got to the point. “Where is Lennox?”

Joe frowned. “She left hours ago. A bit after you.” I wanted to press him, but it wasn’t his job to babysit her. He was already a better bar owner than most, anyway. I patted Joe on the back and turned to face the dark city.

Where the hell was she?

The sound was barely significant, no more than a shuffle and a cough. Coupled with Lenny’s mysterious exit and the fact that Joe’s bar used to be a hotspot for druggies, it was enough.

I walked around the bar, but all earlier haste was lost. I felt sluggish, drained even, as I turned the corner to confront what I’d been ignoring for months. If I took enough time, if I trailed my feet, perhaps what was waiting would vanish.

“Oh shit,” I heard him say, but then his greasy hair, his too-big clothes, and his too-long fingers disappeared. All I saw was her. Even under those circumstances, under that light, she wasn’t dimmed.

She glowed, and somehow, that made it worse.

“It’s not a cop—wait where the fuck are you going? I paid you for more than this! God dammit!” But he’d already scampered off like the rodent he was. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she spat.

I stared in response. In those minutes, I saw everything. I saw the first time we met, the first time I lied. I saw the lies that built up like tar. I thought I was doing a good thing; I thought I was helping us. I thought the lies would make it easier, the way tar can make it easier for roads and shit.

I don’t know.

I’m not a poet.

What ended up happening was what always happens when people lie.

It broke us.

For some reason I thought we’d gotten over that though.

We hadn’t.

It wasn’t all my fault. I didn’t think that the Lenny I was seeing, buying pills behind a bar, was all my fault. I wasn’t that goddamn self-important. What we had was toxic, not abusive. It meant we were both to blame. We were both wrecked and ruined, and together we made something even worse. Separate, we were okay. Separate, we weren’t great, but we didn’t destroy things.

Together… Together it was ruination, damnation, colossal and horrible. Bleach is fine on its own. So is ammonia. Together, that shit makes mustard gas. Lenny and me, we were mustard gas.

“How long?” I grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, pulling her toward me. God fucking dammit, but it broke me to see her like that. She wasn’t but a pill away from desolation. She looked like riff-raff. She smelled like a transient.

Something smells bad, but I can’t tell if it’s me or Mama. It’s been so long since a bath. Mama only draws the bath when the lady comes around. Now that she’s got her candy, Mama won’t leave the chair for days. I like to sit in the corner by the window. Even though it’s glued shut, sometimes I think I can smell the air outside.

I let go of her as the memory blasted through me and she fell into the trash.

“How long what?” She barely acknowledged me with the question, her head turned away, tucking the pills into her pocket as if I couldn’t see.

“Don’t fuck with me you know what!” Memories hammered into me and I felt crazy, crazier than her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! Stop yelling at me!” Lennox shoved herself off the trash, her feet wobbly. I reached a hand out to steady her, but tucked it into my pocket instead.

“How long have you been taking pills, Lennox?” I screamed so loud my throat practically gave out. She looked away, but I could still see her eyes: deep blue, like the Atlantic. They were stormy; they always seemed to be stormy. I watched her brow knit, her teeth pull her lips together. I wondered if she was thinking up a lie or counting the months. I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

Was this how she felt? Exhausted by the lies?

“Three!” She turned back to me, brow still heavy. “Three months! Okay? You happy?”

“Jesus Christ… Why?” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question slipped out, even though I already knew the answer on some level. It was a level I didn’t want to acknowledge, like an attic filled with creepy mannequins and used sex stuff.

Three months?