Monday Night
Painkillers
If the night breathed hot spit from a stranger on the back of her neck one more time, Trina Sutter swore inside her migraine, quiet but angry, she was gonna go back to pills.
Not Oxy, but maybe some V’s and some Vikes.
Her sponsor’s number was on the end table, on a piece of paper with a butterfly on it.
Roger Ladman came over and his kid stuck googly eyes on the butterfly, just enough of a bump on the paper to make Trina spill her Pineapple Jarritos.
Her pen was in her mouth, deep in her mouth, almost too deep, like she was proving to herself she never wanted to suck a dick again.
Curdle was on the floor farting, his collar rubbing a chafe in his neck, mostly from him trying to rub it off on the coffee table that had Lance’s football cards embedded in the glass.
Trina was trying to figure out a rhyme for lavender in the poem she was writing for Elayne.
It wasn’t a love poem but…then what the fuck is it then Trina Kaylynn Otmeyer Sutter?…Ain’t like you write poems to the mail carrier to thank them for good service.
Trina just wanted to finish the poem and put it under the windshield of Elayne’s car.
Ain’t like the poem is super lesbian or nothin… It’s just…It’s just…
A footstep on the porch about shattered Trina’s pelvic bone, simply from the fright she felt that made her shift weight fast and wiggle hard. Thought she’d hear a knock but the door just opened.
Lance.
He either quit or got fired. It was 50/50.
He plopped down on the sofa, silent but raging so hard in his jaw muscles and skin color that Trina felt urine leave her body like it was a shoestring with the googly eyes from the butterfly.
She wanted to tell Lance that Roger left the 79 bucks he owed him, but she couldn’t speak.
Lance flicked his lighter, took a big hit from his cobalt bong, held the smoke like it was a hostage, then knelt on one knee and blew it in Curdle’s face.
Trina couldn’t be sure she was gonna finish Elayne’s poem, and she couldn’t be sure she was never gonna suck a dick again, but she was one hundred percent positive she was never gonna suck Lance’s again.
She pulled the pen from her mouth and picked up the paper with Raven’s phone number.
The googly eyes on the butterfly made a tiny little clicking sound, and Trina put her foot over the spot where the Jarritos had stained the dirty carpet.
I’d love some new paid subscribers. That would really be delightful.
If I only had the money. Some day.
Well, that’s a life begging for something different.