Work - The Power of Taking

Walking down Beverly Dr. my senses are being crushed by expensive perfume, and fresh air. The perfume of this fresh air being fresh coffee, fresh bagels, and little cupcakes to that cost around five dollars a piece. I keep telling myself this is where I want to work, but I find myself getting all dressed up for nothing. My hair was damn near perfection today. In large locks of dark brown it crowned my shoulders, and made my eyes shoot out. I step into the building where Clarence worked. It has been a long time, but I’m sure he works there. Every day I do this. I take the bus from my small apartment that borders Beverly hills and I sit in this plaza. Sometimes I look up names on the directory and memorize the ones who where lawyers. Today I’m doing the same. I sit and sit and wait for either Clarence or one of the names to be recognized. Would Clarence even remember me? Hardly. I look so different now than I did back home. People would tell me I should be a model, they would tell me I had a graceful look, and step. Men would come up to me mid day and stare at me with their tongues tide up, just looking. I would pass them up. I don’t want to know any of these jerks. All I wanted was to not know, and that’s why I was with Ron. The bench I would sit at was right next to the elevators. No one ever bothered me really. I mean eventually security got curious and asked me why I sit there for hours. Of course I told them I was waiting for someone. A love, but I would never give out a name. They would say he was lucky then look me up and down like I was a piece of meat. I became very careful about who I touched, or let touch me. When the security guard first introduced himself he wanted a hand shake. I told him I couldn’t, I was a germaphobe, and he laughed as I nodded hello. Really I just waiting for one or two of the right people. I was waiting for someone to come in and say hey “Bethany” and bam I would walk right up and touch her, because she has been practicing law on floor 8 for years and she has a corner desk which means that she is rich. I tap my toes lightly on the floor just staring at my legs and how they fail to jiggle. When I look up I see Clarence walking towards the elevator. My heart begins to beat. I know this man I know every little detail about his life. I know where he lives and what he drives and how he feels about me, but he doesn’t recognize me. He looks back and smiles quickly then turns his head for the elevator. He knew he was out of my league. He didn’t dare approach me as Udai, he thought I was someone else, and he was right. I was Francie now. Francie Carlson. Once he entered in the elevator I decided my plan was stupid. I could just as much go and see Bethany Green, instead of waiting to just catch her on the streets. For some reason in my head I had not wanted to actually meet her and give her my information. Maybe I was scared she would report me, or maybe I was just procrastinating. My mind was spinning and I felt a heaviness take hold of me. I couldn’t do this today. I would go home research lawyers and make an appointment. It would have to be female. That way I could at least identify with that person. I would understand there way of thinking. I could become them. With females it was easier for me to gain the information as my own, where as with males it was as if I had read a book, or watched a program informing me of this person’s life. Besides that some of the best lawyers were females, they were sneaky and logical at the same time. They had cooler tempers, and were able to manipulate easier. I stood up and stretched out my legs one at a time. For some reason when I was home I could eat one meal a day with Vaskin and be fine, but here it felt as though I had to eat three. Some sort of weakness would come over me if I didn’t, that same weakness is heading me home now. When I got home I cleaned the apartment a bit. Picking up Ron's dirty underwear and throwing them in wash. I went online and order us new furniture. A couch, a love seat and chair, costing 8 thousand. It was more then I had won, but the furniture itself was beautiful, and something I couldn’t pass up. After placing my order, then talking to the bank over the phone I decided to take a short nap before Ron got off work. I laid down in our king size bed and stretched myself out a bit so I could almost take up the whole thing. I had bought the bed when Ron and I first moved in together. My goal was to get the biggest softest bed so that if I had a fight with Ron we could still sleep in the same bed. It actually worked out well. We would fight, as couples do, sleep in the same bed and by morning our silly fights were over. I closed my eyes and pictured what the new furniture would do for our home. Then while falling asleep I picture Vaskin, I pictured being his wealthy lawyer wife in downtown LA. I smiled and drifted off to sleep.

When I woke Ron was screaming like a little girl. He was calling me a prostitute. I rolled out of bed and noticed the sky outside was already black. How long had I been asleep?
“You have to be a prostitute, one of those high class ones I seen on Dateline.” Ronie bear and television do not get along. He honestly believes all the crap he see’s I don’t have to read his past to know this. I shake my head
“Why?” I ask in my sleepy voice.
“Why what??” Ron stomps his foot like a kid.
“Why on earth would I be a prostitute?”
“Because. . .” And his tone dies down as he thinks about what he is about to say. He has no clue from the looks of it. Then he holds up a paper.
“The furniture you bought was more then you won in Vegas.”
I’m silent
“Way more.” He adds, staring at the paper in his hand. He must have grabbed it from the printer, and stupid me didn’t hide the recite.
“OK Ron, you won. I got a lot more money in Vegas I just didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to want to spend it on crap.”
Poor thing is confused, he looks at the paper, then at me, then at the paper, then back at me, while I adjust my hair.
“YAY how much did you win?”
And a big smile grows on his face. I go to the bathroom but leave the door open. I can see Ron getting a hard on and this turns me off immediately.
“Enough to get the furniture and pay next month’s rent. Don’t worry about it.” He wasn’t worried about anything but fucking me. I couldn’t understand why when men, or maybe just Ron, got happy about something they immediately wanted to fuck. I finished peeing and walked up to him. I put my hand on his head and kissed his cheek.
“Not tonight” I said gracefully. I didn’t look back to see if Ron was disappointed or not. He probably didn’t even know what the hell I was talking about. I walked in to our office and began to research lawyers to call the next day. I would set up an appointment, and get myself a job.

How I made it, The Power Of Taking

I was eighteen, nineteen or seventeen. When you don’t have a birthday it is hard to count the years. I am nothing more than a bucket of other peoples personalities, strung together like a rag doll. I can say one thing about prostitution that most people won’t believe and that is, that most the men that fucked me were not bad people. For that I was greatful. Clarence was the only one that stuck out. I actually wanted to be him. To go with him, and I had told him this. He had worked somewhere doing accounting for an oil company. I remember him being slightly jealous and admirable to those who worked at the law firm in the same building. That’s what I would do. I would be who Clarence wanted me to be. Getting out wasn’t hard at all. To tell you the truth I could have done it long ago as a child, but what stopped me was the fact that this was my home. The brothels were my home and I belonged in them. As it was a slow night, lights were out early. Vaskin had some wine with me, and we talked about the future, about the customers and about the other prostitutes. He smiled and kissed me. He was too drunk to fuck me tonight but he wanted to, he had thought about taking me out but again too drunk. I sat back and threw him a wicked smile. He laughed and told me to get to bed. By now I had my own room. Some rooms would be piled up just so I could have my own. The other girls hated and at the same time respected me. If they touched me Vaskin would beat them, possibly to death. There were eight rooms. Some rooms had 15 girls in them. I had a small but comfortable room. This also did well for business, Vaskin could have the men pay then sleep with me in my own room, which for some reason turned them on even more, especially the Americans. I went to my room and sunk down to my bed. I grabbed a note book. Tonight was the night I would leave Vaskin, Clarence had been gone six months and his memories where making me eager to leave. I grab a note book and start to write down the memories so I may concentrate on the ones needed.
Construction worker- can’t feed his family
Bank teller- mad because he is broke and has to deal with money, and herpes’
Politician- Doesn’t care about the country is rolling in money, lonely as hell
Cab driver, cab driver, cab driver whose daughter committed suicide.
Why so many cab drivers?
Vaskins friend
Birthday fuck
English teacher - - - English teacher with family Score

His name is Jonathan, his family is here visiting he was here three days ago, he has a daughter my age, dark skin green eyes, fuck. Well green, blue, I don’t think it matters if I don’t bring anything but myself. He is staying somewhere not too far from here. They will only be here for two weeks. He hates his wife.
Wait.
I flip through and through his memories. Where the house was, what it looked like on the inside and where the daughter put her fucking passport. I can’t see it. I only see a purse, she carries around with her. Jonathan, he opens up her door to make sure she is sleeping before he comes to fuck me. Bam her purse is on her night stand. I get up and shred the papers. I have to do what I need to do fast. I put on my best dress and pull back my hair. I jump out the window and down the street to Jonathans third home. Window one, window two, window three, and she is sleeping like a baby. Her name is Franchesca, Franchesca Smith, what a dumb combination. I have broken into windows and houses and cars before, I know exactly how to do it thanks to Richard the theft. The dumb girls purse is on the floor not that far away. I take a hanger and quietly open the window just enough to get the purse on the floor. It makes some noise but not enough to wake Franchesca up. The purse itself is heavy, as soon as I have it I run and fast. Ditching my coat hanger. My hair falls into dreads. Fuck. I have some money but not enough for a flight to America. Its still late but I have to leave tonight. I dig through and find keys. I ditch them. I dig through and find make up, money, and lots of it. But no passport. Finally on the inside there is a zipper. Her passport with a picture of a boy. I keep the picture so when they search my bag they think I’m really her. I run to airport and next thing you know, for the first time in my life, I’m on an airplane headed straight for California.

The Power of Taking

Coming home

I’m curled up in the corner of the living room. I don’t know why but I’m crying. I didn’t mean for this to happen before but it just did. Something inside of me had burst when I walking in Las Vegas. Did I touch someone stupid or sad? Someone suicidal? Ron is at work. I am filling out all the paper work for my green card and boom it hits me. I hate Ron. I hate everything about him, and now I married to him. To be honest there was only one person I did like and that Vaskin. Yes, he had abused me, and yes he had treated me the way most people on earth should not ever have been treated, but I had loved him. I loved him so much. He was bald and handsome and rich. He loved me, he had said so many times he had loved me in so many different ways, but I had to leave. After seeing what I could be or do with Clarence’s eyes I began to impulsively think about another life. One to the point where it couldn’t be passed off as just an idea. I had too. I had wanted to bring Vaskin with me, but I could never tell him. Only now did I miss him so much. It was like he was everywhere, and everyone to me. My mother my father, my sibling my best friend and my lover. The pain in my stomach was rock solid, no matter what I did it wouldn’t go away and I was glad Ron had stupid work at the stupid music store. I held myself close and hard wanting the feeling to go away. I shouldn’t have loved him. I don’t know why I even did. He abused me, he had used me, he had given me everything that I wanted emotionally. Of course I knew how he felt about me. I would fuck him and know that he really loved me. That he wanted to take me somewhere safe and it be just me and him, but that it was only a fantasy and not a reality. I walke around naked, checking myself in the mirror sometimes just to make sure everything is beautiful as it should be. I decided to write him

Dear Vaskin

No scratch that

My love Vaskin.

NO no no I couldn’t do this. I decided to write about him instead, hoping it would relieve some sort of grief I held.
I once thought that somewhere out in the world there would be a place
of happiness to this whole equation. I thought that once I was up and
running that things would be fine, that as of now everything would be
fine. I can tell myself that over and over again, and still it
wouldn’t make things right. How can one explain resentment, hate and
love and all those things in one feeling. This feeling that creeps up
on you and pains you day and night. That hardens your chest and
bubbles up your throat. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t and I won’t. If
anything I wish I knew. Don’t we all. Wish we knew ahead of time.
This horrid feeling wouldn’t exist if I were ignorant to the beauty of
that person. It’s nothing. I keep telling myself, that it means
nothing. Not to me but to the world. As people walk around as this
person walks about happy and normal, I’m here in the this room at my
dead end wondering why. How can it? How stupid am I for feeling as I
do? When in the beginning it was made clear that this wouldn’t go so
far. That things wouldn’t go out of hand. And why with such a small
embrace did I wind up like this. Some poor soul stuck in the mix of
my own delusional fantasy of the future. No matter what I do I can’t
stake claim to this being right. I can’t stand up for it, because then
I lose myself. I am no puppet, yet I have strings. I could walk
around like it didn’t hurt. I have to, and I do it a lot, but these
times I think and think and try to figure out why it happened and what
had happened. Then I lose myself. I lose myself to pure physical
pain. I see this person standing there in the mirror oblivious to
where they are in my life. As it sprawls itself out everywhere I
can’t continue to feel like this. Is there such a cure? A song comes
on. I listen to it let myself cry, hopefully that helps, but it
doesn’t I only become numb to the matter at hand. And the tears that
roll down my cheek I start to hate. I think of them as pathetic
unnecessary parts of my body. I want them gone. I would give anything
to have it all gone.
Beat myself down an alley of regret. What I regret is giving in. What
I regret is letting myself do this, take this, and feel this. I should
have had some sort of block. Some sort wall. I have had it in the
past. I let it down. And now I only feel like part of some whiny
society of losers who can’t move on. True things are looking up. You
walk into my house as it has morphed into something beautiful. The
outside clean and only getting better. My life, only getting better.
But as you go to room to room, you may find yourself a closet which is
decayed. Dirty. Mite filled. Decrypted. Dark. With no hopes of a
little clean up. This place is where your fictional persona lies. This
place is where I hide at night and wake in the morning. This place is
where you end me . . . . you fucking asshole.

I couldn’t write anymore and I couldn’t send it to him even if I wanted too. This was just the way things were. I had no choice but to tear it up and throw it away, before Ron got home. I wrote in red ink, started the shower and took the letter in there with me. I held the letter and red it over and over until water washed away it’s meaning. Then I got out and dressed ready to start the day of job searching.

The power of Taking

Back to our hotel room. 11:15 pm. This is our wedding night, and I am cutting Ron's hair. I do this because that was the compromise we made before hand. I would fuck him until he could no longer breathe, and he would let me cut his disturbing hair. I hadn’t the slightest clue why he was so attached to the curly locks of the afro. His hair was almost a bright orange, something an idiot girl would accidently do while trying to go blonde. He stood back from me for a second touch and caressing his hair. He loved it so much, and honestly he did keep it soft and styled. Yet the style was repulsive. I had on several occasions mentioned that his hair would come off one day, but he would just laugh it off. Now it was serious. Now we were talking about sex. Ron’s pale skin is prickly with goose bumps and I tell him to sit while I go get the shears. He hesitates and I close my eyes. Flipping through each memory, I am at the airport in Los Angeles, I catch a bus straight to Melrose Ave, being cautious of whom I touch or encounter. My hair is almost in dreads it’s so disgusting. My clothes are plain and simple, and the shoes I wear are near worn out sandals. No one approaches me on Melrose. They think I’m homeless. The world outside is new and full of hope. I had seen it though someone else’s memories before but to be here was different. The air was different, and the people seemed to walk about happily, not noticing me or my present state. I walk and walk until I see a woman. She looks smart and talented. I needed a stratagy of some sort, something to get me on my feet. She is tall and has dark red hair and light skin. She was thin in a business suit with casual attire underneath her blazer. She was what I thought would save me. The closer she comes, the more nervous I become. Maybe this woman is nothing more than a sales clerk dressed only to impress the community. As she walks past I open my mouth. “Hey you dropped something.” Of course there was nothing. She turns to me and looks at her handbag then the ground. From my pocket I had already taken out a coin. Good enough I thought. I show it to her, and she shakes her head. Fuck. I needed to touch her. She starts to turn and I put it in her hand anyway. A flood of memories shoot through my mind. She was a lesbian. Hair dresser. Right now mad at her partner. She hates her mom. She loves her dogs. She thinking I’m repulsive and doesn’t know why I’m giving her this. She went to an upscale school but quit for and upscale beauty salon. Fuck I know how to cut hair. It wasn’t what I wanted at the time but here I am now using it to my advantage. Back to Ron, he is shaking a bit. I’m not sure why and I smile. If I knew why I wouldn’t marry him. I tell him everything is ok, like he is a dog or child. He nods and I begin to clip away his curls.

1:25 AM

Ron’s lying in bed naked. I’m up and digging in my purse for pills. Ron needs Viagra, per my request. He couldn’t get me off without it. Tonight he thought he could but it just wasn’t happening. Once in the middle of sex Ron seems to forget all about my needs and just pumps away without looking then bam I’m in a mess full of unintelligent sperm. Most of the time I let him do his thing. Let him get lost in his world. I close my eyes and think happy thoughts. Hotter men, hotter women, better sex. Then I give a pill, and it’s my turn. He is breathless and looking up at the ceiling.

“You get off?” He says without moving.

I don’t bother to answer, he knows I didn’t. Just because we got married doesn’t mean what he likes, I like. My sexual history is horrid. In fact it is damn right fucking disturbing, but I rather not think about that now. All I can think about is how to get myself off in the best way. I know how to manipulate Ron into making me come, by putting him into the proper position. That thought makes me smile. Of course these positions still take more than a couple mins. so I have to keep him stocked full of male enhancement drugs. Ron’s dick is not too big or small. It’s almost perfectly sized, which was only a bonus to this marriage. I made him shave everything, but I never wanted to actually see it. Dicks in my option have no other use then to get me off, nothing aesthetically intoxicating, or useful about them. I tell him to take the pill, but he doesn’t want to. He says to me it’s our wedding night and he can do it. I put the pill in his hand and give him a glass of water. He is uncovered. I cover him up. He takes the pill with reluctance and I wait for it to kick in. I didn’t like fore play so much either. He was trying to kiss and massage me while I waited but I shoved him away while I read an article on brain surgery. As soon as it kicks in I can tell. He is holding me from behind and his dick pokes my back like an arrow. I sigh and close the magazine, then throw it to the ground. The way I fuck him, I have to position myself my left leg wrapped around his right, and my right leg straight beside him towards his face sitting up. The only thing about Ron’s dick is it curves the left, which is the exact opposite of where I need it to curve. Ron knows this position, but he doesn’t like it. I’m on top grinding away, and his face is rock solid and funny looking. I won’t come if I look at him. He says to me he can’t do anything when I’m on top. He says to me he wants to be able to give. I tell him to shut the fuck up. This is how I like it, and he is delaying my orgasm. I grind and grind, close my eyes and think of nothing but my orgasm. When I come, I come hard, and fall to his side. His dick is still pointing towards the ceiling and he asks for more. I tell him I can’t. And really I can’t. I’m spent I’m done with him. As far I’m concerned he didn’t need to be here anymore. I tell him to go fuck someone, and he begins to cry. I meant it, but I didn’t mean it to hurt him. Frankly I didn’t care who he fucked but I slipped and said it out loud. Little tears pool at the bottom of his chin, the covers are on the ground so he is exposed completely. How is it that his penis is still up in the cold air, and he is crying like a baby? I tell him it was a bad joke. I don’t kiss or touch him, but I tell him I’m sorry. Still he asks me what is he suppose to do. I grab the covers from the floor, and put them over us. Laying side by side I kiss him lightly. “Goodnight Ron.” He whispers I love you, turns to me poking me with his dick, then gets up to use the bathroom and finish what the pill started.

The Power Of Taking PT.2

It was not a figment of his imagination, Ron’s that is. He had swore he could see a shock of electricity jolt from me to another person as I touched them. Any person, but of course he exaggerates. He would say it was like lighting, and then start singing. I knew it was far more subtle then that and no one else in the whole world would actually notice the event. What plagued my mind was why Ron did. Ron was such an idiot. He would hardly know it if I cut five inches off my hair, why the fuck would he notice this? It wasn’t that big of a deal. We would stay up all night and talk. The more we talked about it, the more I convinced him he was crazy. He was easy to convince, in fact every little thing about him was so easy, that it made me feel at home. If you want to know the truth, the real truth, I did it because I had no other choice. Ron was the only guy I could touch and not feel a damn bit of his brain. I had guessed it was because of his lack of knowledge but I was slowly starting to think it was something else. Maybe he was so dumb he had put up a mental brick wall on himself. Good for me, bad for him. I could never sleep with, date, or marry (which I needed the most right now) anyone that I knew everything about. Or more properly speaking knowing all that they know. The thing is I can do this. I can suck the knowledge of one right out of them with the simplest touch. In this way I had learned to survive, adapted, and end up in Vegas where I met my beloved Ron. I remember sitting next to him by a slot machine. We were both gambling, but really I was tired of winning tables and decided to lose some money to look safe. Slot machines you can never cheat on. He was saying stupid, slightly offensive things to me, and I reached to grab my cigarette as he grabbed his drink. We touch, and the OH FUCK red flag rose in my head immediately, but it didn’t happen. Nothing happened. I smiled for the first time in a long time. Besides being raped I could never be with a man. I looked over and decided I would just deal with it. Ron wasn’t that attractive per say, but he was someone I could fuck. The thing with Ron is you didn’t need my power to know what he was thinking or doing or what his life was about. He told it to you like a woman on her period of the second day. I think in that two hour conversation we first had he had cried a bit about a story pertaining to a dog that had died. I listened wide eyed and interested. Yes they were boring, but I was getting to know him the old fashion way, and that for me, was the biggest turn on. It was not that hard getting him. He was a puppy someone who needed love at all times. He wanted someone to sweep him off his dirty eighties feet, and I was just the girl to do so. I looked around, knowing my intentions, knowing he would never know them himself, and I kissed him. Right there in the middle of loud winners and cussing losers. Lights and all, I pulled him away from the God awful place and fucked him. He fell in love, or so he told me that night. It didn’t surprise me so I said it back to keep him entertained to the idea.

And oh the memories.
I have never once in my life forgotten an event. I can remember being born. If you don’t believe me that’s fine. The fact is hardly believable, but bare with me. I remember the disgusting smell of birth. The dramatic lights that plagued my eyes. The dirty floor which I fell to. It was hard and stunk. Now I cannot recall thinking much because I hardly did so as an infant, all I can recall are senses and my surrounding. Men standing around, and then picking me up to cut the umbilical cord off. That part hurt, I cried but no one bothered to react. These men looked at me like I was a piece of meat. They spun me around, being first born, this made me dizzy. They had spoke to my mother and wrapped me in a shirt and took me away from her. I guess now that I’m older I have no quarrels with my mother. She sold me. Most people sold their babies in the country I was born. I am not at liberty to say where exactly I was born or who I was with, this is just the ways of life, but I can tell you this, I was born into prostitution. My blue eyes had cut the deal. Blue eyes are a genetic defect, yet with my light brown skin and silky hair they were the combination of winning prostitute.

Lights flash, Ron and I are taking wedding pictures. Who would have thought my life would come to this. But here I am. Marrying him, not shamefully but it does all seem a bit out of place. Only as a very small child did I dream of a marriage, but that thought sunk away in my mind the more I got to know about people. Of course, moving to America I would have to marry someone eventually, I just didn’t know who. I had almost lost hope until I found Ron. I was considering marring someone with a severe mental handicap. How horrid that would have been. People would look and guess I did it for the money, but truth be told I had my own money and lots of it. Ron didn’t know this. I don’t know how he missed it, but he did. He just didn’t pay much attention to anything. Even now as I look over, he is fighting with his shirt looking down and not at the camera. Where the fuck would the wedding photos go anyway? To his parents? Doubtful. He had told me he never had a relationship with them, which was only a bonus for me. I didn’t feel like hugging his mom and getting all the stupid fucked up memories of Ron’s childhood, or how to crochet’. I shook my head in a way to release the thought, and try to concentrate on getting out of there, so Ron and I could fuck. The highlight of the marriage. I was using him, and he didn’t know it, and I frankly didn’t care. Most of my life I had been used and DID know it. Now I was just giving back, and he enjoyed it the sex part so what did it matter if I had no real feelings?

Francie

Francie
Across the shallow hall and in the bedroom of some stranger there is some heavy metal music blaring. Ron’s not a genius. Ron doesn’t even appear to have the slightest clue about what’s going on around him. He is tall and lanky. His hair is that of some bad, excuse me, very very awful 80’s rock band fro. He is wearing a hat to cover it up, after I had given him shit about it the whole way to Vegas. There was nothing in particular I liked about Ron, except maybe his undying loyalty, and his sheer stupidity. I could learn nothing from him and that was such a relief. I could touch him, I could fuck him, and my mind would go nowhere, suck up nothing. I could concentrate on myself when I was around him, and that’s why we were getting married. Me? Well I’m just an early twenties lady with good taste and some god awful ability to suck the knowledge of anyone I meet. But my taste in clothes and dinning, proper speaking and pure etiquette were amazing. This is something I had stolen from people I had met. People I had met on my way to America. Then to California. I look at Ron and he stares at my blue shinny eyes, and brown crème skin. I’m wearing a black dress, and I know that is his favorite on me. Frankly I didn’t care, but we were in Vegas, and I could potentially make us millions. Ron had horrible style. His taste in clothes was almost as bad as his hair. Before he had been one of those Goth kids roaming around, not fitting in with even his own kind, just because of his bad style. I picked him out after touching his arm, nothing came to mind, and I breathed a sigh of relief, of course Ron loved me like a puppy dog, I had to actually convince him that I liked him. I would sit with him at some weird book shop and tell him over and over I wasn’t playing a joke on him. That this was for real, and eventually he let me pick out clothes for him, but the hair he said he had to keep because of his family tradition. I thought the whole thing was bullshit, but I knew I would have to make compromises in my life if I ever wanted to have a relationship. I uncrossed my legs, but kept them closed, sexual, but not too sexual.
“Ron, I’m changing my name when we get married.”
He is nodding his head, but not to me, to the music. He didn’t hear a word I said.
“Ron” I screamed then cleared my throat a little “I’m changing my name when we get married.”
“To what?”
“Francie.”
His head stopped the slow banging to the music, his mouth shut, and his green eyes got serious. He walked to the bed and sat next to me, as if I were the one in need of comfort.
“Francie Carlson doesn’t sound that great Udai.” Yep that was my name. And many times before, I’d say fifty times before I had told him to never call me that. Now that we were getting married and I could change my name, I decided he wasn’t allowed.
“Udai Vaskin isn’t nice either. Just fucking call me Francie or we are not having sex.”
He looked down and smiled when I said sex.
“Ok Miss Francie Carlson.”
I sighed a bit and looked at my watch. We didn’t even have time to have sex. We had a very tight schedule that I’m sure he forgot all about. He always forgot things, another reason why I loved him.
“We have ten minutes before we are scheduled to get married. Get dressed.”
He was wearing jeans.
“I am dressed.” He said in a very matter-of-fact tone.
“Ok fine, it doesn’t matter; if I don’t marry you then I’m fucked. Let’s just go.”
He put his arm around me but I got up to shrug it off. I had made it this far and still I couldn’t wait ten minutes to be an American citizen. I pulled his black leather jacket upward with both hands, forcing him to stand.
“OK OK OK.” He screeched and down the hall next the casino, we were married. Misses and Mr. Carlson.

You're a Pleasure You're a Daydream

Her attire consisted of a long days labor at the office. She swings her hair to the side, as she gently takes each step down to the corridor of her apartment. Her most exiting part of the day yet she feels nothing but sheer grief. Allie will meet her there. He is her only friend.

“Though hardly a friend at all.” Allie looks at her with his green narrow eyes blinking once or twice, as she tries to count, or remember how many times. Allie is a cat. A big stripped brown cat with the tail cut off of. She shakes her head a bit.

“What do you mean, you ARE my only friend, you know that.”

“Given the circumstances I believe that you only believe I’m your only friend. For I am a figment of your imagination, which doesn’t make me something solid as a friend would be.”

She taps her nails on her dress as sits quietly on the bench, and watches Allie ignore her and lick his back.

“But you are always there for me like a friend would be. You sit with me now after a hard day like a friend would do. I’ve had a very bad day Allie.”

And Allie turns his head slowly toward her, letting out a slight yawn.

“Yes yes you always have bad days, and I am always here.”

There was an awkward silence in the air. One that she felt lasted for days. She kept thinking of the words he was saying to her over and over. What was this day to her exactly?

“Do you know anyone else who talks to cats?”

“No Allie.”

“Do you think that everyone is lying to you about what we have? Did you think they were all lying?”

“I know Allie please, just be here for me.”

“But I can’t, exactly where am I? If I’m just in your head this whole thing makes no sense. Why did you make up my existence in the first place? The doctors, and your real friends told you I didn’t exist, and here you are. I love you Shayla but that is not the point, I can not be around forever.”

“I just want you to be there.”

She had tears in her eyes. Shayla didn’t wear make up so it was ok that she cried, but she didn’t want Allie to disappear just because he wanted to. He was her’s or so she thought. He had always said he would be there, always hers, at all times. She whips he face on her cardigan, but Allie doesn’t flinch doesn’t move to comfort her as he use to. She digs in her pockets and takes out three large pills. Red White Blue. She thinks of government, and reality, and decides that she doesn’t want to get involved.

“But I don’t want to be involved with you. Besides those things aren’t good for you.” Shayla looks at the pills in her hand and takes them any way, without water.

“Why does it matter? If you’re leaving what’s good and what’s not?”

“I care about you, don’t take them so much.”

“You’re leaving. If you are so bold as to say such a thing, these pills will make you go away faster.”

“Na ah na ah.” Allie turned completely away from her and jumped off the bench seemingly chasing an ant or something small on the ground. Shelia had an immense amount of rage inter her throat. She coughed then went down to pet Allie, only really wanting to hit him a bit.

“Why did you come here, just to lie, then leave me. You know where I’m going after this don’t you? You’re a fucking asshole.”

Allie sat and looked up at her.

“I didn’t create this. Look around you. You created it. Eventually something you make up will always disappear. Everyone told you! EVERYONE! They said I wouldn’t be here forever. They were right. You honestly think you are something special? Do you? Is it because of the pills? Do they give you power? Not with me they don’t!”

Allie began loosing his fur, his insides showing lightly as he began to disappear. Shelia couldn’t watch. She wouldn’t let herself watch this. Yes she did believe she was someone special, she did believe she had something special, but as she runs up the stairs and to her room, she only finds herself staring in the mirror at someone she has never known.