Discrete Entries: Don’t Fall Asleep, Part 2 (A short story in 2 parts)

(Read part 1)

He smacked the steering wheel for emphasis, nearly losing control as they rounded another sharp turn.

“Did you really just say ‘kapow?’ I mean really.” She sighed. She hated this road. “How much further is it?”

“I told you only like ten minutes ago.”

“I know.” She wanted to smack him.

“Well?”

“I didn’t hear you. I wasn’t listening.”

“Which is it?”

She didn’t reply but just stared at him.

“About three more hours.” Hours came out sounding like whores. His mouth was still sticky from drinking his decaf soy mocha with no whip cream and a dash of nutmeg. She called it his “pussy drink” loving the innuendo, especially in public.

“Did you say ‘three more whores?’” She was cheating on him and wondered for the first time if he might know. She had thought a trip like this—just the two of them for a weekend at a bed and breakfast—would help her to be faithful and rekindle her love.

She had begun cheating on him after only two weeks together. They were usually short-lived trysts, often with other women. But last night while making love to Jack, she could only imagine seducing her assistant in the backroom of the store on Monday before opening for business.

An illustration by Aubrey Beardsley from page 7 of  "Salome: A Tragedy in One Act" by Oscar Wilde, 1904

An illustration by Aubrey Beardsley from page 7 of “Salome: A Tragedy in One Act” by Oscar Wilde, 1904

“What? Why would I say that? I don’t even think I’ve seen, you know, a real prostitute.”

“We lived on Long Island and used to go into The City all the time.” She always said The City the way Catholics said God, with equal reverence and resentment.

“Okay. So I haven’t seen one of them either.” His voice cracked like he was thirteen again and had his life still in front of him. It did that whenever he lied. She knew this about him. It was one of the things she loved.

“Oh, trust me, you’ve been with a whore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, knowing exactly what she meant. She was talking about Amber, his first love.

“I won’t say her name.”

“How did we get on this topic anyway?” Jack changed the subject, clearing his throat.

“Don’t fall asleep. Remember?”

“And what does she have to do with falling asleep at the wheel?”

Rebecca turned to face him. “The guy that fell asleep driving killed three cyclists. Amber was one of them.”

(Read part 1)

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