“Can I give you a lift, handsome,” she said, trying to be jovial, I supposed. Not a good idea when a man has just spent a piece of his life he can never get back in a cage.
I just opened the car door and got in. I think she could tell my mood wasn’t jovial. We said nothing for the first few miles.
“Chester…”
“What did you come for—really—Meagan?” I said. “Why are you bothering me?”
“Chester, I—I—I am so sorry for all of this. I have cried every single day since you went away,” she said.
“Went away! You mean since I was locked up, Meagan. Say it, since I was locked up.” I said.
“Chester, it’s hard—okay. Okay, since you were locked up and put in chains and kept from your job and rightful place and home. Chester, it was all my fault. I am so fucking sorry,” she cried. “I cheated on you and tried to make you like it. If you give me a chance, you will be the happiest sonovabitch that ever lived; I swear it.” I looked her squarely in the eye; I had to lean forward and look back to do it as she drove.
And what about Don the asshole?” I said. “And his cunt wife, Bertha?”
“They’re sorry this happened too, Chester. He tried to get the charges dropped after you were—convicted—but it was too late. Bertha? She just went along with anything he wanted. They aren’t bad people, Chester. They just screwed up; well, Don did,” she said. Something in her words or tone hit me.
“You’re still seeing him, aren’t you?” I said. I looked her square in the eyes again.
“Chester, he’s not a bad guy. I know he hurt you; I hurt you. I feel awful about all of this. I had to argue with him not to have him come down here today to meet you too,” she said. “He wants to make it all up to you.”
“You—haven’t—answered—my—question—Meagan. Are—you—still—seeing—mister asshole?” I enunciated each word. Anger was boiling up inside of me.
“Chester, yes we see each other occasionally, but it’s not like you think. He isn’t fucking me. Not that,” she said. “Not ever again that, I promise you.”
“Then what? Why do you see the man that put me behind bars?” I said. “Chester, I needed someone to hold on to while you were inside that awful place; I felt so guilty. I was losing my mind. I couldn’t work—hold a job. I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve cried almost daily since you’ve been—gone. “Don—well, he stood by me. Made my payments when I couldn’t—he felt guilty too. Found me a part time job to pay for my food and such,” she said.
“What did you have to give in return, Meagan?” I said. She started to cry, and there was no stopping her. I waited.
“There was no fucking, Chester, I swear to you, none of that,” she said.
“Okay, then what,” I said. She started wailing again. I was becoming annoyed. I waited some more.
“Well?” I said.
“Just an occasional handjob. Maybe a blow job or two,” she said, and she said it so quietly I think she was hoping I wouldn’t hear it. If so, she was about to be disappointed.
“You mindless fucking whore! You’re fucking crazy,” I said. “Stop the car.”
“Huh?” she said.
“Stop the fucking car, damn it!” She did, I got out, grabbed my bag, and started walking. It was twenty miles in the heat of the day, but I was afraid I would kill her if I stayed with her. She had to be the dumbest broad in the whole fucking world.
wpDiscuz