3028 words (12 minute read)

Samantha

“Why is it so cold in here?”

A sharp breeze rolls over my face, bringing in the smells of the city at night. It reeks of desperation, urine and cheap weed.

I shove my head under the pillow and let loose a silent scream. I really did not want to be up this early. Anytime I get up before 6:00 PM, I know the day is going to be a long one.

The phone vibrates loudly against the bargain bin nightstand, assorted change and bottles of booze. I instinctively reach behind me for my textual device to assess the damage. With a quick swipe, I see that I only managed to drunk-text my ex three times last night. Fuck.

“hayy bae I miss u,” I read aloud to absolutely no one, “ugh. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to stop drinking tequila.”

Deleted.

With a belch, I prop myself up to a sitting position and just let my head hang between my legs. My fingers dig into my temples in a futile attempt to quell the migraine that was forming, which would eventually lead to the room spinning a hundred miles an hour.

“Pills.”

Again I reach blindly to my nightstand for one of several pill bottles I had stationed there. Didn’t really matter which one, or five, I took. Just needed to level off. I decided on a cocktail of two blues and a white one with an orange stripe. With a tilt of my head I attempt to dry swallow them, and almost gag. For a third time, I reach out to the chintzy nightstand and drown the pills with a few gulps of Jameson I had left. Then another gulp. You know, to get the taste of medicine out of my mouth. And a third one because I don’t like even numbers.

My feet start dragging my across my studio apartment to the bathroom of my tiny Lower East Side apartment on their own. I just follow because I’m too strung out to tell them what to do, and hey, they seem to be doing a good job on their own so fuck it. I slip out of my oversized t-shirt and let it fall to the floor, and my nipples embrace the cold air and become immediately erect. A nice good squeeze and they could cut diamonds. I feel a tingle go down my spine and it’s not because of the cool breeze coming through my third floor window. I drop my panties onto the floor next without missing a stride and flick on the light to the bathroom.

An ashtray with a half smoked cigarette lies dangerously on the precipice of the sink. I turn the shower onto a nice hot blast and prop open the window to let some of the steam out. I find the matches sitting on top of the toilet next to my Yankee candle and light up the smoke. It cashes out after about four long drags and I flick it out the window.

The water is scalding hot but I can barely feel it as it cascades down my body, leaving slight red splotches on my skin. I let the heat caress my curves and elongate the stains. I think about the regular drunks that come into my work who will see the marks and think maybe I have an abusive boyfriend, and they can be my knight and shining armor. I get the best tips out of sympathetic drunk losers. Today could be a good night after all.

After stepping out and drying myself off, I start the makeup ritual. Not much, but thick black raccoon eyes always makes me look my very sluttiest, with some bright red hooker lipstick. I’ll just let my hair air dry on the short walk to the bar. Makes it look like I just stepped out of a minor rainstorm, and when guys think that I’m just wet all over…well, you get the idea.

I turn on my small television while I make a quick dinner out of leftover pizza from Tony’s 99¢ Slices down the block and four fingers of whiskey. The migraine is gone now, and a slight euphoric feeling is taking over and I squirm a bit in my seat. The cold pizza hits all the right notes too. Who reheats their pizza, when you can have it cold? Dirty commies, that’s who. I flip through a few channels and see that everything is a breaking news bulletins. Fuck it. I let it play in the background while I finish getting ready. I overhear something about a school shooting in Queens. Twelve fatalities, most of which are students. Over a hundred hospitalized. Wow. I thank the God I don’t believe in for giving me the smarts to drop out of high school at sixteen.

“The names of the deceased are being held for the time being,” the news reporter stated, “the Police Commissioner is expected to make an official statement within the next few hours as more information is pouring in.”

“Psh, whatever. Probably some loser, lone-wolf virgin who watched too many movies.” I flick my butt at the TV screen and then shut it off. I grab my keys, smokes, phone and purse and head out the door.

The walk to the bar is the same every night. First few blocks up are fairly well lit, nice buildings, with a lush park on the right side. In the spring and the autumn you can really see the leaves bright and beautiful from my kitchen window. Rich greens and teals in springtime, deep reds, oranges and yellows in the fall. It’s breathtaking.

You know…if you’re into that kind of shit.

The first left turn cuts through some section 9 housing and that’s when the cat calling begins. Oh I don’t mind it. I quite enjoy it actually. The more guys I have staring at my ass and trying to get in my pants on the walk up, the better my outfit is. Then I know it will be a good tip night. I walk buy a group of four Mexican guys who were currently smoking the cheap weed I smelled earlier. I’ll have to hit them up later for some.

“Eyy mami! You lookin’ muy bonita baby!”

“Ohhh dayum girl. Look at dat ASS!”

Two out of four. Hmm. Guess I need to step up my game tonight.

One more turn and at the end of the block and I’m there. The Queen’s Head Pub. $4 drafts, $5 well drinks, and $10 beer/shot combos all night long. One of the cheapest bars in this area, and it’s cash only, so I don’t have to claim this on my taxes. Win-win for me. Ray-ray the bouncer greets me at the door.

“Hey doll face, you doing ok?”

“Yeah, just a long shift last night,” I reply.

He just shook his head. He actually looked concerned for me. The look on his face took me aback, and for the second time that night I felt a tingle run down my back, but this time it wasn’t because I was horny.

“Ray-ray, is everything ok?”

“You…you didn’t watch the news tonight?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “some shootout at a school. It happens.”

He shook his head slowly. “Did you see the name of the school? Did you even watch the whole report?”

“No. Why?”

“Just…just go inside. Get a few drinks on me. You can call off tonight if you like.”

He was starting to scare me. Ray-ray was a nice guy and all. Well, nice enough for a 6’7”, 350 lbs black guy just shy of five years out of Rikers, but he has always made sure to say ‘Sup’ to me every shift when I come in, and ‘Night’ when I leave. Hell, he even walked me home a few nights when I had a bit too much fun with the clientele behind the bar. But concern? That’s a side of him I’ve never seen.

I chuckled awkwardly, “Aiight man, just, lay off the Quaaludes. They are bringing you down.” I rubbed a hand across his shoulder and walk inside.

It was only 8 o’clock so there were not many people in the bar, but come 11 it should be in full swing. I might even break $300 if I take off my shirt and work in my bra for the final leg of my shift. It was bright pink with Hello Kitty faces on each tit. Jamie was behind the bar, washing a glass, when he turned and gave me those big, brown, puppy dog eyes. What the fuck is wrong with everyone tonight?

“Hey darlin’,” he said softly as I approached. He poured a shot of whiskey for me and placed it gingerly on the chipped, aged bar in front of me, “you ok?”

If he wasn’t such a softie, Jamie could be the kind of guy any girl would kill for. Tall, skinny, but with some definition. A runner’s body, if that runner was fueled by coke, vodka and American Spirits. He was a little over six foot, light olive skin stretched tightly over a beautiful frame. He always sports a 5 o’clock shadow, and jet black hair, shaved to the skin high and tight, with a long, wavy part gel and hair sprayed to the back and to the side. He had brownie colored eyes. They were even darker around the edges like if they were burnt in the oven. His jeans were tight. I mean tight tight. I could see what he was packing under them, and it was nice. I would be lying if I hadn’t thoought about taking him into the bathroom once or twice on a slow night and just let him fuck me in the men’s room. He also had on worn combat boots, which was just the thing that turned my crankshaft.

He taps his finger on the bar, pointing to the shot and takes me out of the moment.

“Drink it. You need it.”

I don’t need telling twice. I threw it back and before it even hit the bar he refilled it again.

“Drink it.”

I did.

“Why the fuck is everyone being so nice to me tonight? I mean, not that I mind.” This time when I put the shot glass down it was my finger that did the tapping and pointing. He obliged.

“I’m sorry.” That was all he said.

I’m sorry?

Sorry for what?

And that’s when I saw it out of the corner of my eye. On the TV the Police Commissioner was giving his speech, and they were showing the pictures and names of the deceased. And that’s when I saw his name.

Justin Tumino.

My heart sank.

Sure he was a stupid fucking idiot. Sure he was going nowhere. Sure he used to hit me. But the sex was ah-mazing. The stupid ones usually fuck good.

Fuck.

FUCK!

How did this happen!?

I sit down, enraptured with the broadcast. I barely register that there is another shot in front of me, but I instinctively suck it back anyways. My head starts swimming.

“Sources cite that 20 year old Justin Tumino is being looked at as the perpetrator of the shooting spree,” the Commissioner went on, “finding a crude map of the school and several guns on his person, including the one he used to end his own life.”

I throw up. Immediately.

Luckily it wasn’t projectile.

Jamie bolted around the bar quickly to clean it up. I tried to help as much as I could, but my eyes remained locked to the story. I mean, Justin was a fuckin’ twat, and couldn’t add 2 + 2 if the answer was given to him, but a mass murderer? No. That just wasn’t true. No Justin. My Justin.

Well, my ex-Justin.

Shit, and I just texted him last night! Well, I guess technically early this morning after my shift.

I couldn’t contain myself. I just start laughing.

Laughing loudly.

It started out low and soft, staccato like. Then it built up into a full guffaw. Then eventually into tears.

Full-blown meltdown mode activated.

I feel a hand touch my shoulder and I flip out. With a flick of my wrist, I smash the nearest bottle over the edge of the bar and swing it behind me. Thank whomever up high that I was shitfaced because I miss by a wide margin. Ray-Ray caught my wrist and spins me in close to him and holds me tight. I let loose a scream of despair and just crumple. He holds me until the crying stops and then I pass out.

When I awake I realize that I’m in the back office on the dirty, torn leather couch located in my boss’s office, with a damp rag on my head and a glass of water with some pills sitting on the desk next to me. I check the clock. It’s 11:05. I instinctively reach to my right for my pills and slam my hand into a file cabinet.

“Fuck!” I moan loudly.

Trying my damndest, I somehow get up to a sitting position. My throat croaks with dryness. My eyes spot a half filled bottle of water and I swipe at it. I miss the first time as my wooziness is creating double vision. Quick head shake and I manage to grab it. Gulping it down is a bad decision, but my thirst is insatiable. I get the first two gulps down but the third causes me to start gagging again. I get up and wobble like a newborn calf and knock a few things down off the manager’s desk. Whatever. It’s revenge for the time he felt he could put his hands on my ass last week.

Emerging from the back room, I stumble out and use the pool table to brace myself and prevent from hitting the concrete floor. Not very sexy, but who gives a fuck what the people in this shit hole think. They won’t remember it in the morning anyways. I look around and notice that the bar is uncharacteristically empty, even for a Tuesday.

Good old Jamie spots me, and runs over to help me to my feet. He has a look in his eyes like his puppy just got run over by a wayward car, but after I catch him glance ever so slightly down my shirt all the magic leaves.

“Thanks, I got it.” I state matter-of-factly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Don’t you have a lot of customer to take care of over there?”

“It’s just Ernie. He’ll be fine. His BAC is always at a constant 1.5. He’ll survive for a few minutes.”

I chuckled at that. He is charming in his own way.

I wobble back to the bar and Jamie puts a glass of water down in front of me. I give him a look that could curdle milk. That water gets immediately replaced with a whiskey rocks. Much better. I watch the 11 o’clock news with a refreshed fervor.

“Evidence is still coming in as the hours pass, but it looks like Justin was not working alone. We have just received word that there are three students still missing. Eighteen year old Michael Parks, sixteen year old Sharon Muerer, and fifteen year old Tanya French. If you have any leads as to their were-abouts, please contact the hotline below.”

I look at the student photos, and something just doesn’t seem right. They look too, what’s the word? Innocent? No, not that. Even the quietest mouse can be deadly. Then it hit me: it was a perfect mix. Race, age, color, gender. They had it all. I believed whole-heartedly that Justin was mistakenly fingered as the gunman, or even framed for some reason. If I followed that train of thought, then these kids had to be set –up as well.

“It seems to us that – wait a minute – this just in. It seems that after a thorough search of Justin’s room, they found a suicide note. It states that he did it because he wanted to impress an ex girlfriend, one Samantha Parker. He states, and I quote, ‘I am nothing without her. She broke my heart, and killed my will to live. I want the rest of the world to feel how I feel now.’ More, after the break.”

I stared slack jawed at the commercial for vagina cream, and could feel all the eyes of the bar on me.

What. The actual. Fuck.