"Walk Into My Parlor"

“Lovely girl you're the beauty in my world
Without you there aren't reasons left to find”
Ava Adore – Smashing Pumpkins

“You look so fine
I want to break your heart
And give you mine”
You Look So Fine – Garbage

He waits in anticipation for the sedative to wear off. He’s anxious yet his heart beats with eagerness.

She stirs on the bed and he quickly turns around to give himself one last look over in the mirror and then turns back around to find that she is awake now.

His heart flutters.

She appears disoriented as she sits up and scoots forward. She rubs her eyes like a child, he finds it cute, and looks around, trying to gauge where she is, he assumes. He begins to feel impatient that she’s not looking at him.

She finally does turn her attention to him and he tries to keep his cool. She regards him thoughtfully and rubs her eyes again before giving him further study.

She looks at him for what seems like forever.

“I know you.” Her voice is thick with sleep.

His heart jumps. How could she know?! He just breathes calmly and tilts his chin up.

Be cool, be cool.

“Alice?”

She DOESN’T know!

He smiles and shakes his head.

“Not quite.”

His deep voice startles her visibly and she squints her eyes. She gasps suddenly after a few quiet moments.

“Alex?!”

He bats his eyelashes playfully, not just to be cute, but to hold back tears.

“In the Argento.”

“Oh my God, Alex…”

He’s waiting for her to be disgusted, to call him “fag”, to condemn him.

“…you’re beautiful.” She’s awe-struck.

His cheeks burn and he wants to cry. His cool falters slightly. Nobody’s ever told him that.

“R-really?”

“Yeah! Look at you! You’re gorgeous!”

He looks down coyly and shifts his weight.

“Thank you. Thank you very much.” He’s meek.

“Well, c’mere. I wanna get a better look.”

He walks over slowly, like a girl trying on her first dress, seeking approval from her mother. She looks up at him, fingering the dress.

“This is nice material.”

“Well, it’s vintage; made to last.” His voice is small.

“It’s really nice.”

“It feels nice.” He starts fingering it, as well.

“So…are you…are you…a…woman?”

“No, I’m still a man. Still a man. I’ve changed a lot, but I wouldn’t change that.” There’s slight laughter in his voice.

“So, you just dress like this?”

“Well, yes. Sometimes.”

“When’d this start?”

“After, after you…left. I presume.”

“Guess I missed a lot, huh?” Smiling ruefully.

He tries to return it.

“Why do you do it? If you don’t mind my asking.”

He struggles for words, hesitates at every new sentence. He realizes that he’s not used to making an effort to explain himself. It’s usually a cinch to explain, him being a lawyer. But, he’s never had to explain something like this.

“To…fill a void.” More of a guess than an answer.

“Void?”

“You.” His voice is choked with emotion.

“Oh, Alex.” Her eyes appear to glint.

She gets up to hug him around the neck. He slowly brings his arms up to hold her around the waist. She’s warm. She looks up at him.

“You smell nice. What is that?”

“Fleurs Du Printemps.” His French is immaculate.

She gazes at his face, brushes the hair away.

“I missed you.” His eyes sting with tears.

Before he knows it, she’s kissing him and he’s kissing her back. It feels better than it did all those years ago when it was accidental. They fall onto the bed, Beatriz on the bottom.

They make-out like teenagers, fondling and fumbling. Her hands under his dress, rubbing him. He pops the buttons on her blouse and his lips ravage her neck. He reaches the top of her left tit but, finds the taste to be more chemical than the pleasant cherry flavoring of before.

His eyes open and he frowns at the blurred, black scribbled onto her, like messy hieroglyphics.

“What is this?”

“Huh?”

“This here.” He motions. “What is it?”

“What?”

“Trent King. Who is he?” Rage blooms like an ugly flower.

“Oh, what, this? It’s just some guy.”

“Some guy.” The words taste bitter and cheap to him.

“Dude was all depressed and talking nonsense. It was my moral obligation to humor him.”

“So, you let him do this?!” It’s a heated whisper. He squeezes her tit painfully. She struggles away from him.

“Ow! Alex that hurts!”

Hurt, he’s spent his whole life yearning for her, and she has the gall to let “some guy” mark her in such a fashion.

With his name.

As in ownership.

If anyone’s entitled to ownership, it’s he. This was worse than a slap in the face or a kick to the balls. That weight pressed back on his heart, like an old, miserable friend.

He back-handed her. Then, he brought his hand back to deliver a full smack in the face. He grabbed her by the shoulders and flung her off the bed. She protested in horror but, he kicked her in the back and stomped her ribs. He straddled her to assault her face some more with his fists. With each punch he could feel the tears spill from his eyes and down his face, until they dripped off his cheeks.

He got off of her in disgust for himself as he heard her crying hysterically. Tears continued as he walked across the room, reached into his valise, poured out the toiletries from a brown paper bag, walked back over to her with the bag and put it over her head.

She stilled, the crying quieted. The emotion shifted toward surprise. He kept the bag over her head for about five seconds and then poked a finger into the bag where he imagined her mouth would be and ripped it off.

She gasped for air as he hugged her to his chest. He rocked her, with whispered apologies.