It’s funny how sadness can turn into anger in the blink of an eye, and that’s what happened right then. Yes, I was the one who’d married him and stayed with him, but fuck that – it was Larry who was the shit head, who beat his wife because he didn’t have a set of balls, so it made him feel like a man doing it. We were all sitting here carrying that burden, and he probably didn’t even give a shit about what he’d done.
“I’m not sure I like that look on your face, or that it means good things for my nuts,” Ellis pointed out, nervously shifting on the couch so that his thigh protected the area slightly if I lost my shit. But it wasn’t his balls that I wanted to break. “Fuck that!” I hissed, getting up and walking around the living room. I could still hear things being thrown around outside with the wind, and the sharp tap as the rain hit the windows and roof, but I was too caught up with what was going on inside my head to worry about how bad it might be out there. “That… that… cocknoggin was to blame for all of this, and I can assure you,” I turned in his direction, lifting a finger to point at him, “that he isn’t feeling one damn thing about the emotions people are carrying because of what he did. I mean, who hits a pregnant woman? Who cheats on their pregnant wife?” I was building up steam now. “Who the hell does what he did, including giving up all rights to his baby daughter without ever seeing her?” It was a pointless question because, really, we both knew the answer to it, but still. “Larry fucking White, that’s who. And what the hell is up with that name? It rhymes with Barry White, and he’s as far away from that man as you can get. And you know what really cracks the shit out of me?”
“That we didn’t help you?” Ellis asked carefully, gauging where this was going, and totally getting it wrong.
“No, you dick. That you guys feel responsible for anything associated with it.” When he just blinked, I carried on with my rant. “It wasn’t anything to do with you, it was all down to him, but we’re the ones feeling the weight of it. Well, that ends now!” I jabbed my finger at the floor to make the point, just as there was a loud crash outside. I wasn’t stopping, though, I was on a roll and this shit ended today. “You’re not to blame, I’m not to blame, none of the town are to blame… well, aside from the women who bumped uglies with him - they’re definitely to blame, because they knew he was married and should have seen him for the shitsleeve that he was. Wait, no, he’s still one, so change that to the shirtsleeve he is. But the rest of us, no, we aren’t to blame!”
Crossing my arms, I tried to think if there was anything else that I wanted to say, but I just drew a blank. That was pretty much all there was to it, and I’d said my piece.
“Baby,” Ellis choked, standing up and slowly closing the distance between us, blatantly fighting laughter. “You’re fucking hilarious when you’re pissed. Shitsleeve?”
I had no idea where that one had come from, so I just shrugged.
“Cocknoggin?”
“That one suits him,” I pointed out, feeling just a little bit embarrassed that I’d come out with both of those words. Apparently, insults weren’t my strong point.
Then the impossible happened – we both burst out laughing. With a storm going on outside, the town probably flooding, debris being thrown everywhere, maybe even a tornado whirling its way toward us, and discussing the biggest pain in the ass since that time I was constipated for eleven days, the two of us laughed until we had tears running down our cheeks. It was cathartic and felt like we were laughing at the cocknoggin – which, when you think about it, was the healthiest thing to do. We were taking back the power he’d had over us all, and laughing at what was left. And I was watching Ellis do it up close, getting to appreciate the way his Adam’s apple moved, the five o’clock shadow that had built up through the day lining his jaw and chin, his broad shoulders shuddering, and how his stomach muscles visibly tensed through his t-shirt a whole lot more than normal. And another feeling hit me – arousal.
So, I did the only thing I could and launched myself at him, totally forgetting about my inflated butt cheek full of magma. Fortunately, he looked down just as my feet left the floor, so he caught me as I hit him, and tilted his head back so I could kiss him. And I fucking did. There was no warmup and finesse, no teasing or nipping, this was a full on passionate kiss. His hand had moved up to the back of my neck, under my hair, gently gripping a handful, while my own hand held his jaw. He tasted freaking fantastic, and I didn’t give a shit that my face would probably have stubble rash on it tomorrow, this moment was worth it. It wasn’t until he moved his hand down to the bruised and enormous butt muscle that I stopped what we were doing, and even then, it was only because of the pain that shot through me when he pressed down on it.