Chasing Mist (from the Luxuria collection)

Chasing Mist

             Paul could never keep track of the number of times he’d been thrown out of a chick’s apartment at three in the morning, or some odd hour like that. It was always after sex; during that recovery time where he preferred to just lie there and drink some beer but for some reason they always wanted to talk. They wanted to know more about him, and that’s usually where the issue starts.

            “That was amazing! How did you get so… good at this?”

            “Practice.” He muttered, “Lots.” He couldn’t remember her name; he was guessing it was Linda or something with an L. He took another deep swig of his can of whatever high quality beer this chick stole from her parents and threw it aside once it was empty. He knew what the cheap shit tasted like, and that definitely wasn’t it.

            “Hey.” He said, “You got anymore beer?” Damn, he just wanted to drink more beer and pass out for a few hours. At least until the girl came to her senses and asked him to leave. Or maybe he should come to his senses first and head out now. The girl was freshly eighteen years old and lived with her parents, who she claims are away on a trip right now. Normally he didn’t fuck with the chick’s aged 18-20, he called them girls most often, but damn she had a sweet ass and an even sweeter mouth.

            “Um, yeah I think I do. I’ll go see.” Paul watched her get off the bed and head to the bedroom door. He nearly laughed out loud when she grabbed her pink fluffy looking robe first. There’s only two of us here he thought who the fuck’s gonna see you? He certainly had a zero-fucks-given attitude in that department; siting up against the headboard with one leg stretched out and one propped up against his chest. Girls, he shook his head Girls, girls, girls.

            She came back in the room with two more cans of beer. She handed on to him and popped the tab on her own. They drank silently for a while. She was watching Paul, and Paul was looking down at his junk wondering where the condom went. He definitely remembered slipping that glove on; he wasn’t that fucked up last night.

            “Paul.” She had to repeat his name two more times before he looked over at her. “I had a lot of fun tonight. You’re cool.”

            “Mm.” Maybe they were sitting on the condom.

            “It was really nice of you to buy me those drinks at Luxuria.”

            “Yeah.” They had to be sitting on it. It wasn’t on the floor as far as he could see.

            “I was thinking we could do something, maybe later today?”

            “You wanna have sex again?” Maybe next time he’ll keep the wrapper to confirm usage.

            “Well, yeah I guess that’d be cool too. But I was thinking we could go see a movie or something.” That snapped him out of his condom obsession.

            “A date? Girly, you barely know me. It’s a wonder you let me into your parents house in the first place.” He offered the privacy of the rooms at Luxuria, that was what they were there for anyway, but that didn’t sit well with her.

            “That’s why we’d go on a date.” She said, her face flushing, “To get to know each other.” Shit. He really should have seen this coming. The girl practically had “clingy” tattooed on her forehead when he met her. Still, that ass though…

            “Girly, listen. I don’t date. I don’t do romance, and I’m definitely not boyfriend material.” He usually told them upfront. Maybe if he hadn’t had tequila by the bottle he wouldn’t have slipped. Or maybe he had told her, and they were both too drunk to remember.

            “Stop calling me girly, my name is Mandi.” She said, “So you just wanted to have sex with me, is that it?” Damn, he’d been certain her name was Linda…he must’ve met a Linda the other night too.

            “Well, yeah. I mean, that’s all I ever do with girls.” Especially ones he met at Luxuria. What else was there to say? ‘Hey baby, I’m here to fuck you, drink all your beer and more than likely duck out while you’re sleeping’? Girls didn’t like to hear that.

            “Oh…my god. I can’t believe-“ Paul groaned. She was starting to cry. Not just little drops every now and then, but some serious waterworks. He hated when they cried. It made him feel like an ass, which he just might be. He’d only ever met one woman who didn’t cry at stuff like this, and damn he loved her for it. Violet hated criers just as much as he did.

            “Look girl, I’ m sorry you got your hopes up, but I’m not going to date you.”

            “You know what? Fuck you!” She shouted through tears, “You’re a pig! Get out of my house! Get out!” Paul shrugged. He’d tried to be nice about it. If being angry with him helped, he wouldn’t stop her.  

            “I’m going, I’m going.” He said, slowly rising from the bed. He pulled on his faded blue jeans, and his plain black shirt effortlessly. The shirt was almost too tight to his body, but it gave people something to gawk at while he was out clubbing. After donning his black leather jacket, which he was seriously contemplating replacing after one more hole appeared, he pulled his shoes on and headed for the door. The entire time he did this, she sat there watching him with fake tears streaking down her face.

            “I wish I never met you.” She said, spitting the words out like spoiled milk. Paul sighed.

            “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”  He left without another word, and she sat there bitter in her disappointment for a while. Once she decided to get over herself, she got up to make her bed before taking a shower. She found the condom in the middle of the bed. It left a stain on her pink sheets, somehow ending up having leaked everywhere. 

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

            At three in the morning, Paul didn’t have many options for transportation. He’d totaled his car months ago and never got around to paying to have it fixed, and the buses stopped running after 2 am. If it had been the middle of winter, he would have been pissed at himself for that. Luckily, it was a warm enough summer night that walking didn’t seem like the end of the world. He wasn’t going to go home though; no amount of nice weather could make him walk that fucking far. He’d rather walk about six blocks in the opposite direction of his home, out of the little nice neighborhood that girl lived in. He felt more at home when he entered the slums of Downtown Minneapolis, which were so close to the nice part of town it still threw him off every time he crossed over. He would walk through the trash filled streets until he came across the side-by-side with the yellow door on the left side. Violet’s house.

            He didn’t bother knocking. Violet wouldn’t answer, even if she heard it. He went to the side of the house instead, where her bedroom window was located, and where he could rap on it for as long as it took to get her attention. Somebody knocking at the door she could ignore, but somebody knocking on her window was a different story.

            “Hun, it’s almost four in the morning.” were the words that greeted him when Violet’s small heart shaped face appeared, opening the window. Her green eyes looked tired and her brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail for the night.

            “The buses aren’t running.” Paul replied, “I was too far from my place. Need to crash somewhere.” At once, he was nervous. Violet could always send him away; she’s done that before, and then what would he do?

            “You really gotta get your car fixed, hun.” Violet sighed, “Meet you at the front. And be quiet. You know my neighbors don’t like you.”

            “Not my fault.” Paul muttered, heading for the door. Breaking into their house thinking it was Violet’s on a night he was especially drunk was an honest mistake. It wasn’t like he took anything. He just slept on their couch.

            When Violet opened the door, he trotted into the barely furnished living room; holding only a small couch, a lamp, and an old tube TV. He sat on the couch, sighing at the comfort.

            “You want anything to eat?” She asked, “It’s now or not until at least noon.” He shook his head. He couldn’t really decide if he was hungry or not, he just suddenly realized he was damn tired.

            “I just want to sleep.” He muttered, “Can I crash in your room?” She smiled.

            “No you can’t. You know you’re not allowed to sleep in my bed when you’re drunk. Especially after last time.”

            “I’m not that drunk.” Paul protested, “I only had, like, five beers. I promise I won’t try to take your panties off tonight.” He gave her his best ice blue eyed puppy dog stare, but it didn’t work on her. Not even when they first met. She had said puppy dog eyes did not go well with his whole bad-boy-rebel look, but so far she was the only one who felt that way. He could make girls swoon with that look, just not Violet.

            “Nice try. You’re on the couch tonight. I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.”

            “Shit, you got any aspirin?”

            “Thought you weren’t drunk?” She joked, but she would get him some pills anyway.

            “You’re my favorite Vi.” He called to her as she went to her bedroom to grab his night’s equipment. He knew she would grab the old Winney the Pooh pillow from her childhood, and the blanket her mom made for her when she was twelve that looked like a starry night. They were her only extra bedding sets, and damn were they comfy.

            He lost count of the number of times he’d ended up at Violet’s house at some odd hour in the morning. Whether he was kicked out of a girl’s home, or a bar, he always ended up at Violet’s. He’d take the comfort of her couch over his mom’s house any day, not that he and he’s mom ever spoke these days. Violet rarely turned him away, one time being when he broke into her neighbor’s house by mistake, and she barely let him sleep in her bed, no matter how often he promised he’d behave himself. Only when he was sober was he allowed to lie close to her, and that wasn’t often. At least he got the couch, and sometimes a meal when they both woke up. He knew Violet was being tolerant with him whenever he showed up at her house. He didn’t know anyone else who would let him into their home at four in the morning when he was drunk, and sometimes he could be an ass when he was drunk. Violet usually called him out on the fact that he was being an ass, sometimes they even fought, but she would still let him sleep on her couch. Nobody was as awesome as Violet. Or as tolerant.

            “Here,” She threw him the predicted beddings which he caught, “I’ll grab that aspirin and some water.” While Paul got settled on the couch, Violet bustled around the kitchen looking for her bottles of pills she called her ‘Paul Stash’ and getting him a bottle of water from the fridge.

            “You sure you don’t want to eat something?” She asked, “When was the last time you ate?”

            “About eight last night, I think.”

            “Paul, that was hours ago. You’re gonna get sick.” Paul shrugged, even though she couldn’t see him from in the kitchen. He was used to going long hours without eating. It wasn’t like his fridge was always loaded with food anyway.

            “I’ll eat when I get up.”

            “Fine, but if you throw up on my couch I’m going to kick your ass.” He’d never thrown up on her couch before, and he didn’t plan on doing it tonight, no matter how upset his stomach may or not turn out.

            “Drink all the water.” Violet ordered, handing over the pills and the water. Paul grinned at her, standing before him.

            “Did I ever tell you, you look cute in a T-shirt?” She was wearing her typical pajamas, a T-shirt three times the size of her small body. He liked the way it made her legs look; all long and sexy. He liked looking at her legs. They were perfect.

            “You’re still on the couch tonight.” Violet said, laughing just a little at his attempt at boyish charm, “Go to sleep. Get that beer out of your system.”

            “Yes ma’am!” He saluted, flopping backward onto the couch. “Can I get a goodnight kiss?” He knew he was pushing on desperate, but he couldn’t help it. She had soft lips, and he swore they always tasted like cherries.

            “You’re such a child.” She bent over to meet his lips, and at the last moment kissed his forehead instead. She smiled at him, but it wasn’t returned.

            “Don’t you love me?” He asked, not bothering to hide the disappointment.

            “Hun, you know I do. But you also know I’m not going to get into that with you.” She said this with only a small touch of regret, but it never changed things between them. Since the night they met she’d been point blank with him about that one topic.

            “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Paul grumbled, “Better get to bed then, right?” His mood always changed after that particular subject was brought up. He would always get that momentary understanding of what every girl he slept with felt, but that feeling never lasted. He became bitter, sometimes angry, towards her.

            “Don’t you go cold on me now Paul.” Violet scolded, “You’ve known this for a while, and you know it can’t change. Now take your pills and go to bed. I’ll see you when you wake up.” He didn’t look at her. Not when she kissed his cheek, softly patted his shoulder, not when she walked away down the small hall to her bedroom. He only took the pills because he knew he would have a bitch of a hangover if he didn’t. He didn’t drink all the water, as she had instructed him to do. He didn’t have to drink all of it. He’d be just fine without it.

            “Love you Vi.” He muttered, before falling asleep.

            When Paul wakes up, his bitterness towards her will have been forgotten. He’ll sit at her sma