Save Me (3 page)

“
Excuse me,” he says, his voice deep and warm. I look into his eyes, so dark and abysmal, and for a moment my breathing stops. His eyes are too…something, for me to keep looking into them.

“
Excuse
me
,” I finally manage and he steps to the side only enough to let me pass. Our shoulders brush, ever so lightly, coaxing another smile from me. We both pause, or at least I think he does, and I can feel his eyes follow me again as the little bell announces my exit.

§

I leave Claire’s as soon as we get back so she can get ready for her night of wild and hopefully baby-making sex. I drive the fifteen minutes to my apartment with the radio on and up loud. It’s turned to the oldies rock station and David Gilmore’s voice sings seductively, telling me to breathe in the air. I roll down my window just a bit and do as he says.

So Nick has a piece on the side. We'd never discussed exclusivity; we'd started this fucked up relationship to avoid that, but the surprise at seeing him actually
with
someone caught me off guard. I
did
agree to go on a date with Mark's client, after all, so I guess I can't throw stones from my glass house.

I tire of thinking about Nick, so I let my thoughts turn to Sexy Jack. In the privacy of my car, I let myself remember the way his lips parted, how his hair fell and the smell of his cologne. The memories, though only an hour old, follow my brain around, bullying me into what feels like a silly crush. It was such an enticing smell. I bet he’s married. He
has
to be. For some reason, the thought depresses me a little.

I wonder what he was delivering. What if he was just passing through? What if he’s just some random delivery guy from out of state? That thought depresses me even more. Princeton’s not a small town, but it sure isn’t a big city, either, so not knowing who he is shouldn’t bug me the way it does.

I turn into my parking spot and shut the engine off, the chill immediately vying to fill the void the lack of heat has left. The truest indicator that an early winter has come to West Virginia is the rate at which it gets cold inside your car once you shut it off.

I walk the steps up to my apartment, my boot heels clicking on the metal stairway, and put the key in the lock. The tiny living room seems even tinier after being in my sister’s spacious house, but I refuse to let this weird loneliness settle in me. I feel it from time to time, even when I'm not alone, but it's filling my head up especially full tonight.

I lay the brown paper bag on the bar in the kitchen and turn on the TV. It’s more for noise than entertainment. Feeling this way always threatens to break through my armor and make me sad, so I pull a bottle of beer from the fridge, drowning my sorrows the southern way. I pop the top and take a sip, thinking of Sexy Jack again.

I wonder if I could find out who he is. It wouldn’t be that hard, just slightly embarrassing. I could go back to the sex shop and ask Big Burly myself. Could I actually do that?
Would
I actually do that?

I sit on the couch and watch commercials steal time from a program about how jet skis are made. I sip my Bud Light and think about his tan skin, his square jaw, and those bottomless eyes like perfect pieces to a beautiful puzzle. I try to force myself to look for a wedding ring. I give it up, realizing I didn’t see his hands.

The brown bag sits on the counter, so inconspicuous with its plain
brownness
. I turn off the TV and walk to the bar. The bag sits there, almost as if it’s waiting for me to open it. I strum my fingers on the counter before grabbing the bag and heading to my bedroom. Fuck it.

I sit the beer on a coaster on the nightstand and change into my favorite old nightgown.

I pull the plastic box from the bag, not willing to admit that I’ve bought a vibrator when I should have a full-time boyfriend. But when’s the last time a vibrator got off before you? When’s the last time it didn’t call? And more importantly, has a vibrator ever made you feel like you were good enough to sleep with but nothing else? I don’t think so.

I pull off the lid to the box and analyze the buttons on the base of the vibrator. I think I know how to use my new toy, so I toss the instructions to the side and pull The Rabbit out of the box. It feels lighter than in the store. There's a small cleaning cloth in a sealed packet. I rip it open and pull the little wet towel free. I clean the vibrator, stroking up and down, feeling a little embarrassed at first. Then I switch it on. Nothing happens. What the fuck?

I give in and look at the instructions, realizing it needs batteries. Shit. Do I have any C batteries? I toss my new but inoperable toy back on the bed and start digging in drawers. I look through the nightstand, through the bathroom drawer, underneath the sink, any place I think batteries might hide.

Why did it have to be C batteries? I could’ve taken the AA batteries out of the remote, for fuck’s sake.

I roam through the kitchen searching, pulling out everything I can think of that might have the size I need. Nothing.

I turn on the lamp in the living room and look around. I really should have a word with Big Burly. He needs to remind a girl to get batteries next time. Finally, I find a flashlight underneath the kitchen sink and steal the batteries. I run back to my room and pick up the vibrator. I unscrew the end, sliding the batteries inside. Even this feels erotic.

I lie back on the bed and take another drink from the bottle. I look at The Rabbit, letting my mind wander to Sexy Jack’s eyes once again. He’s here in my bedroom. He knows I call him Sexy Jack and he likes it. He takes off his coat, tossing it in the corner. He’s missing his shirt and he's forgotten to button those ripped up jeans.

I laugh a little at myself and grip the Rabbit. It’s soft, but firm. Hard, like what it’s substituting for. You’d think I never get laid by how excited I am. Nick, the flesh and blood manboy who comes to my apartment and leaves almost as soon as we have sex is a distant memory.

I squint and try to discern the time from the amount of sunlight in my room. It’s late. I grab my iPhone from the nightstand, shocked to see that I slept ‘til eleven. I’m usually a sleeping lump, but this is late, even for me.

I roll over and something jabs into my thigh.

It’s The Rabbit. I groan and pull it out from underneath my blanket. I’m not a prude who should be embarrassed about a vibrator, but I am. I clean it with rubbing alcohol, like the instructions say. I put it back in its box and into the nightstand drawer
. Out of one box and into another
, I chuckle to myself. Eighty bucks well spent.

I eat a bowl of cereal in silence, thinking about calling the sex shop. What if I misread his interest? What if, out of desperation for someone new, maybe someone who'd care about me, I mistook his politeness for attraction? Embarrassed at the thought of wanting someone who doesn’t want me, I decide it’s too much of a chance to take. I have to admit, my ego is still a little bruised after seeing Nick with his arm around that girl last night and the last thing I wanna do is stalk someone who doesn't know I'm alive.

I grab my phone and call Claire instead.

“
Hello?” she answers, her voice heavy with sleep.

“
You’re still in bed?” I ask, bemused. Claire is usually up before the sun.

“
Mark’s downstairs making breakfast. He let me sleep in.”

The answer to how her night went is clear in her tone. I suppress the urge to tease her about letting her freak flag fly.

“
Well, are you preggers?”

She laughs, "Not yet, but I know what to do to get that way. Just do a little kinky shit."

“
There’s nothing wrong with a little kink, Claire."

She yawns, “I'd have to agree.”

"I gotta go get ready for work, as much as I dread it."

“
Okay, have a good shift. I'll talk to you later.”

“
Okay, bye.”

I end the call and take my bowl to the kitchen.

I shower for an insane amount of time, letting the water run over my body and down the drain, wishing it would take some of this feeling of restlessness with it. The attention I paid to myself last night makes me feel oddly womanly this morning, so I shave
almost
everything.

The lack of ability to get ready quickly is one of my flaws, so I have to hustle to make it to work on time. I pull on my favorite jeans and low cut work shirt. Never did I think I’d spend my weekends working at Willie's Bar and Grill. The pay is shit, but it’ll have to do until I finish my degree, which is in two months. I usually make out really well in tips during the weekend, so I’m able to pay my bills. It’s crazy what showing a little top of the boob will do to loosen a man’s wallet. I do a quick bit of makeup, wishing I had time to do a sexy smoky eye. A little eye shadow and lip gloss will have to do today. I’ll have to make up for the lack of makeup when I go out after work tonight.

I pick up my keys and my purse, lock my door and head down the steps to my car. It’s even colder today than yesterday, so I pull my coat tight and hustle through the parking lot. My neighbor Tiffany and I barely know each other, but I’m not that surprised to see her boyfriend leaning against the driver side door of my car.

“
Hiya baby,” Tyler says, his overfed face red from the chill. He looks like a fat chipmunk. Maybe Theodore or Alvin.

“
Move it, Tyler, or I’ll tell your girlfriend.”

His ugly face contorts into a condescending sneer. It’s a nasty look and I feel like slapping it right off his fucking face.

“
Ain’t no need to be like that,” he says, putting his hands up to show how harmless he is.

“
Listen Tyler, I’ve told you three times already-I’m not interested.”

His jaw flexes and I can see he isn’t taking the news any better this time, either. He’s a big guy with slicked down hair over a puffy, bloated face and I realize he looks more like a puffer fish than a chipmunk.

“
I don’t beg anybody for it. Women beg me,” he declares.

“
Somehow I doubt that, Tyler. Now leave me alone.” I'm not even angry at him anymore, just tired of his semi-stalker tendencies.

He turns and huffs back up the stairs toward his girlfriend’s apartment, shooting a frustrated glance over his shoulder. He talked to me a few times at the bar, but when he started to hit on me, I shot him down. He just can’t take no for an answer.

I get to the bar just as the crowd for the day of college ball games starts to accumulate. The hustle of people at the door means it’s going to be an unusually busy Saturday. It means more work, but it also means more tips. Allie Cole, best friend and fellow bartender, is waiting for me behind the bar.

“
Oh thank god you’re here!” she gasps as I go around the bar to log into the computer system. She leans back against the rail and puts her head back dramatically.

“
If I had to deal with these fuckers by myself all day, I think I’d drink every bottle in here.”

Allie is pretty and she knows it, with curly honey blonde hair that's almost as wild as she is. She's younger than me by two years and a stark contradiction to me; tan, thin, bubbly and sexy. We met during her first year of college and my first year back after dropping out. I thought she was loud and outspoken, if slightly obnoxious. She was everything I appreciate in a friend and then some. The fact that I liked her instead of envied her surprised me and we became instant best bitches. I do have bigger boobs than her, though, and I don’t let her forget it.