Thursday, September 8, 2011

Thursday Night.

I was having a hard time falling asleep last night.  This is kind of becoming a trend because, for some reason, I'm not used to sleeping alone after three years of doing it.  I decided not to read because I didn't want to get caught up in a book after 11 (my technical bedtime) as I would never sleep.  But I didn't want to lay there and get all cranky and lonely, either.  So I decided to write.

This is kind of a portion of what I hope will be at least a short story.  It is (mostly) fiction.  I have never aborted a fetus.  This particular event never occurred.  Many of the feelings involved in the idea of the story, however, did.  

I think quasi-fiction is the best way for me to get out any residual feelings I still have about my ex.  I also think that one of the biggest reasons I have so many residual feelings is that I never dealt with any of them until earlier this year.  Right now the stories make me feel better than anything else (short of ruining his life completely, like he almost did mine) possibly could.

Hope you enjoy.

“I aborted it,” I said flatly. He hadn't even known I was pregnant.

He stared into his nearly full pint of beer, expressionless. A drop of condensation slid down the once-frozen glass. He watched it come to a rapid halt on the top of the Sierra Nevada coaster he probably intended to steal when he left the bar in three hours, completely intoxicated.

I waited for something in his demeanor to change. For his eyes to flash black like they used to. For the reaction that showed he still cared, still loved me.

He cleared his throat, a noise barely audible above the general Thursday night raucous of the sports bar. He came here frequently. He'd been choosing beer over me for three of our four years together. He'd been choosing beer over everything else for thirteen.

I guess that means I should consider myself special.

I don't.

He lifted the PBR to his lips and took a long pull, emptying more than half the glass of beer, then turned his face to the television behind the counter and the football game on it.

“Did you hear me?”

He took another swig of beer and kept his eyes on the television screen.

“The third time really must be a charm. I didn't miscarry this one.” His eyes narrowed and darkened slightly. “The other two didn't last to eight weeks on their own. This one was stronger. It was finally our boy. I know it was.”

He dug a packet of cigarettes out of his jeans and swiveled around on his stool, pausing for a mere second before he got up and walked outside to smoke.

I followed him.

“I know you won't leave her. So I couldn't keep him, Bamb. I'm sorry.”

He turned around to face me. His eyes were on fire.

“You fucking cunt,” he said. “You are such a goddamn liar. You weren't pregnant. There was no boy. There were never any babies. If there had been I might still be with you. But you are so good-for-nothing you can't even get pregnant. You stupid fucking bitch. Stop being such a lying fucking whore.”

Ah, sweet reaction.

I put my face within inches of his.

“When you told me to break up with my boyfriend, I did it. You were always the one. I only dated other people because I was lonely and I got tired of you using and abusing me in every way you possibly could. But you... You will not leave the stupid bitch you're dating for anything. Not even me. Which is funny. Because I could swear to God you told me you would never date another woman after me if anything happened to us. I guess you either lied or didn't realize that you were going to be the thing that happened. You and your fucking liquor. Maybe you should marry some PBR. It's the only thing that doesn't care when you abuse it, like you do every single little thing in your meaningless life. You fucking piece of shit.”

He took a drag from his cigarette and tried to blow it away from us, but an air current pushed it back into my face, as usual.

I shook my head and decided to just finish my verbal assault. “You are worthless. I don't know what I ever saw in you. I don't know what could have possessed me to want to have a family with you, ever. You are a bad parent, bad boyfriend, awful friend, horrible husband, terrible son, and an overall evil, selfish, and vindictive human being. You disgust me.”

I turned and started to walk away from him and the bar. The sooner I got to my car and drove away, the better. The safer I was. I knew it with most all of my being. I just couldn't stop myself. I turned around right before I stepped off the sidewalk. He watched me with his cigarette still burning between his fingers and his eyes were as black as coal mined from the depths of hell.

“Fuck you,” I said, and resumed the walk to my car.

I glanced back using my peripheral vision just as he put his cigarette out in the ashtray by the bar door. I didn't know what he would do next; go back into the bar and drink himself into oblivion, or follow me to my car. Both were pretty undesirable.

His hand grasped the handle of the bar door for a moment before he changed his mind and set out after me at a pace nearly double mine.

He was going to catch up to me before I reached my car.


  1. Ack! You know its bad when they turn to PBR as their regular beer. Aaron got some PBR when he stayed at our apartment for the weekend. He and Sam almost got sick trying to drink the twelve pack, and there's still five in the fridge that we haven't touched for over a month. XP Aside from the joke, nice fictional jab.

  2. PBR is like drinking piss. The last time I saw him he was drinking it like water. I think he had four or five and his tolerance was so high he was barely buzzed. I'd try to recommend something you could do with the PBR, but I just can't think of someone who'd want it. :)

    Thank you, by the way.

  3. I thought of trying to make beer-can chicken, but I wouldn't even use it for that. It smells like fucking dish soap. I'm pretty sure its just reclaimed piss and dish soap. Sam has high tolerance for alcohol too, he can drink several beers in one night, but if two PBRs can make him want to hurl, then I think I'll stay away. :P WE're just going to make Aaron finish it when we comes back for another visit. >:}

  4. PBR isn't a really alcoholic beer, it's just cheap. Cheap and disgusting.

    That's an excellent idea.