Lindley Booth. (Draft)
“Not that you care. But I went out with Lisa tonight. We bar hopped, got hit on by tons of guys, and danced on bar counters. I had a blast!”
I didn’t understand why my girlfriend felt the need to send that message to me. So out of spite, I replied with, “Glad you had fun.”
At this point, I don’t know where we stood. I had just moved out a week ago after she said it wasn’t a good idea for us to live together anymore.
The day after I moved into a new apartment, she said that one of her friends was just kicked out of her boyfriend’s place would stay with her for a bit while she’s figuring it out. Stay with her for a fucking while? In my apartment? Using my key? Parking in my spot? Sleeping on my couch? What in the fuck?
Before all of this, our lives were delightful. We both had decent jobs; we ate at $60 a person restaurants twice a week, drive up to a posh little condo in Breckenridge every other weekend, do whatever we wanted without a care in the world. So yeah, delightful, to say the least. After a couple of years together, we were expecting a child. It finally happened after all the times she’d ask me to cum inside of her with the assurance that it was the safe time of the month. I never understood her fascination with that. She’d be red with content, smiling uncontrollably after. She said she was cock-drunk, and it was a perfect way to end the session. I, on the other hand, was fearful of the idea. I was definitely not ready for a child. So many of my older friends had advised me not to have kids early, and I agreed with their reasoning. I wasn’t ready to give up my life of leisure. I was content with everything I had. I was living the life I wanted at 23. So, I never truly enjoyed it. The stress of that act made the orgasm seems almost painful. We’d laid there, wrapped in our expensive sheets, talking about nonsense for a while, as usual. While I wonder when the hell this girl will go to the bathroom to squeeze the semen out or whatever women do after to guarantee no pregnancy. Eventually, she would head towards the bathroom, and I’d get hit by this sense of relief and can breathe again.
Then it happened.
1515 Restaurant in Downtown Denver was this high-end, sophisticated, modern restaurant where some things on its menu didn’t even list a price. She suggested that place for this night because she wanted to talk about something important. All day she was jittery, which made me think something big was coming. Maybe she finally wanted to go to the Bahamas like I’ve been begging. Maybe she agreed to go to Machu Picchu as well. Maybe, just maybe, she will complain about all the jewelry I bought for her and still no ring on her finger. She had always talked about some grand wedding, and I’ve always avoided the conversation. But maybe marriage won’t be too bad. At this point, I was excited to hear whatever the fuck it was.
The entrees came, and the second I took the first yummy bite…
“I’m pregnant.”
I should’ve fucking known. I had a couple of long islands at the bar downstairs while we were waiting for our table, and she didn’t have her girly drinks like she usually would. I’m noticing there is no alcohol on the table; where’s the fucking bottle of French wine she always orders? She was wearing a tight dress, but her boobs weren’t falling out of her top like they always were. Oh, fuck! This is real! Oh, fuck! OH FUCK!!! The screaming in my head was louder than I thought was possible. I looked around to see if anyone was looking back at me; maybe I was screaming “OH FUCK!” out loud.
I reached out and held her hands. I smiled, and the only words I could muster was…
“What’s the plan?”
She was the Planner in this relationship. I was the Spontaneity.
All I was thinking about was I’m not ready, and there is no way this girl would abort. As much as she believes she is this liberal hipster, she’s still a Southern Belle from Mississippi. Her family is so religious! No fucking way. I have to leave this second. Not just this restaurant, but her. Then my mind frantically wandered to what’s child support would be like? What does it take to change my identity? Can I get my affairs in order within 30 minutes? Are the airlines still open at this hour? What fucking country can I escape to?
Those thoughts were eradicated when the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard said…
“I think we should keep it.”
We talked about all the possibilities over the next two weeks. I was so damn sure we spoke about everything. From abortion to adoption, to getting a house, to moving to Mississippi so that her mom can help us raise a human life. After all of that, we settled on ‘Come what may. Perfect, my kind of decision. Over time, I have accepted the fact that this child is coming, and I was ecstatic. We started buying baby clothes while arguing about gender. We debated about how to share baby duties. Should we co-sleep? Cloths or disposable diapers, breast-feed, discipline…?
And then, boom! I find myself in the hospital, sitting next to her, listening to the doctor talk about how 10–25% of first-time pregnancies will result in a miscarriage. How emotionally taxing this ordeal will be. What the following steps should be… Blah, blah, blah…
The next thing I know, I was packing my belongings and moving two blocks away.
As I sat there trying to decipher every word of this text. I was baffled by the nonchalant way in which she sent it.
“Not that you care. But I went out with Lisa tonight. We bar hopped, got hit on by tons of guys, and danced on bar counters. I had a blast!”
What kind of fucking reaction would you like me to have? What response did you want from me? Lost in my thoughts, I also lost track of time. I was now horrendously late to a party I promised my friends I would attend, so I rushed there by midnight.
Like clockwork, Lindley started calling as soon as I finished my third drink. I immediately muted the call, but she called again and again. Multiple missed calls later; I was now pissed! ‘So, you fucking partied with your friends, and I can’t? Leave me the fuck alone!’ I decided to unlock my phone to see how many missed calls I received in the span of 3 minutes to see where on the pissed the fuck off meter I should be. Then a little text message popped up.
“There are two guys in our apartment! I thought Lisa brought them for herself, but one of them is really aggressive. I’m drunk and locked in the bathroom. I think he’ll rape me if I come out! Rescue me!”
What a sick fucking joke! I dialed her phone with the amount of rage I’ve never felt before to yell at her for playing games with me like that. But to my dismay, she picked up hysterically crying. I was lost for words.
“Where are you? Come now! I need you!” She whispered, and I can hear the sound of water running in the sink. Probably to hide the fact that she’s on the phone.
“I don’t fucking believe you! FaceTime me now! Prove that you’re not lying!”
Then I saw her face for the first time in a week. Messy, mascara running down her cheeks. Once again, I was lost for words. She flipped the camera around and slowly inched it up to the glass panels right above the bathroom door, giving me a perfect view of that bitch Lisa and two other guys. Sitting in the bed that I fucking bought! I just about threw up.
“I’m heading to you. Try to barricade the door somehow. I love you.” I calmly whispered to her. Maybe I can give her some kind of reassurance.
I hung up the phone and ran to my car. I need a weapon. I didn’t understand why I needed one, but for comfort, I have to have it. The only weapon I know I can get to at this time of night was a KA-BAR in my coworker’s drawer at the office. It was one of those combat knives that the Marines used during the war. I only know that because said coworker liked to spend his days educating me about random historical facts. The office was only 5 minutes from my apartment, so I decided that was the best option. I quickly found the knife and started towards 13th and Washington.
On my way over, I came up with a backup plan. I called my friend Leo. He was a drug dealer, and I vaguely remember him telling me he drove hookers around and was always ready with a bat to beat men who might have crossed the line. How we became friends was a long story. The point is, he was the only one who can advise me. I gave him all the information I had but knowing he lived in Littleton, there’s no way he’d make it 20 miles up to me on time, so I simply told him.
“Leo! Look me up on Find my Friends. If I haven’t left this address within 15 minutes, drive up here and kill the motherfuckers that just killed me!”
He simply said that he was driving towards me, for me to be brave and if it comes to it, “Fuck ’em up.”
I parked right outside the apartment in the loading zone, stepped out of the car with the knife in hand. Then reality kicked in. How do I hold the knife? Blade out or what? Am I looking to stab or slash? Fuck! I don’t have time to look up a YouTube video on knife combat. Fuck!!!!
I started moving towards the front entrance, crouching a little, sort of like what I saw in the video game, Hitman. I got through the front door quickly, then up a few flights of stairs to the 3rd floor. In shock, I saw her. My girlfriend was just sitting at the top of the stairs, head resting against the railing, eyes closed. Oh my god. She’s fucking dead. That was the first thought that came to my mind.
“Lindley!”
I called out her name and ran to her. To my relief, she opened her eyes and smiled at me as she stumbled down the stair. I threw the knife behind me so I can catch her without impaling her at the same time. (Sometimes, I’d wonder how many days it took for someone to pick up that fucking knife from the floor where I left it.)
“Where are they? Didn’t I tell you to stay in the bathroom?” I tried so hard to sound brave like those guys in the movies.
“All three of them went out for a smoke, so I snuck down here. I’m just so drunk; I can’t really walk.”
I pushed her up against the wall so she’d have something to lean against. Then I ran up the stairs, look out the window, and saw them all outside, smoking and laughing. I also noticed the backdoor wasn’t closed all the way. The fucking thing never closes unless you slam it shut. It was always nice for me to use that when I forgot my keys. But tonight, it was a hazard. I ran as fast as I could down to the first floor and pulled the door shut as gently as possible. I looked through the peephole and noticed those three idiots were none the wiser.
With all the strength and adrenaline I have left, I carried her down to my car and drove as fast as I could two blocks away to my other apartment.
I spent the next hour tending to her as she vomits into the toilet, the trash can, and the eco shopping bag by my bed. All while Lisa was calling and texting her to be let into the apartment. Complaining how cold it was outside and they don’t have money on them.
“Well fuck you! Freeze to death! PLEASE!” I chuckled to myself.
When she was coherent, she thanked me for “rescuing” her. Then it was almost like things were back to normal. She asked, “Have you fucked anyone else?” She’d always get so horny when she’s drunk.
“Well, of course not.” I was offended she even asked.
“Good! That cum belongs to me!” She bit her lip and smiled at me with that smile that always got me.
She expertly removed my jeans like she’d done a hundred times before and started to suck me until she gagged, and I joked, “Don’t you dare puke on my cock!”
“Sorry. Fuck me then!”
I really shouldn’t be in the mood for this, but strangely I was. Felt like a movie. I saved a damsel in distress, and now I close the deal. Right? Right. So, I fucked her. After a while, she started to groan like it was painful somehow. Oh right. Miscarriage. Of course, I didn’t pay attention to what the doctor said about how the vagina would be after this nightmare. I don’t know what they did to her in the hospital. Maybe sex wouldn’t be a good idea right now.
“Does it hurt? I should stop.”
“It hurts. But I still need to cum. Fuck my ass then.” She was so adamant.
Why the fuck? Ok fine. I also need to finish. I have always found it odd that she can cum from anal. I thought it was a porn myth that women can orgasm from anal intercourse, but I never verbally questioned it.
I didn’t have lube readily available in this apartment, so we spent a couple of minutes prepping with just our saliva. I didn’t think it was going to happen but at last! It was a bit uncomfortable at first; then I had a bright idea of rolling her to her side so she could close her legs and relax a bit. It was so much easier then, much smoother. The sex was great! I was so glad things were back to normal, and just when I felt that I was ready to cum I realized she had passed out. Well, fuck. Do I keep going? This started to feel a little ‘rapy.’ I know she has definitely fucked me in my sleep before. She has shown me videos to prove it. She said many times that it turned her on a lot to imagine what or even who I might have been dreaming about that got me hard in my sleep. So, I probably shouldn’t feel bad. Not like I can help it now; I was going to cum any second. I kept going, feeling a bit nervous, a bit shameful. It was probably the shittiest orgasm I’ve ever had. With weeks’ worth of sperm build-up and somehow, so little came out.
I went to clean up, and all I could think about was that how unattractive this all was. This whole night. This relationship. It felt so dirty. Tainted. This is over. It’s best for both of us to start anew. Well, it was best for me.
It must have been 7 am when I called Leo. He picked up after the first ring, which surprised me.
“I’m glad you’re up. Let’s get breakfast.” I stated without regard to what he was doing. He happily agreed.
As I stand looking at Lindley’s naked body on my bed, torrents of emotions went through my mind. Feelings that I have decided to repress for the rest of my life. I must have stood there for 30 minutes, unable to move. And still, today, I can’t remember a single thing I thought about. All of which, I bet, was shitty.
I wrote her a note; she loved it when I would leave little notes to read in the morning.
“You can stay for as long as you need. Keys to the door and garage are in the safe, along with a few hundred dollars. You know the combination, it’s the date we met. I need to take a few days to myself to process the events from last night!”
I paused midway through writing the letter ‘I’ after the ‘period.’ Do I really want to tell her I love her? No. I don’t. So, I merged them and gave her a crude ‘exclamation mark’ instead. What a dick. I know she would see and realize it. But my negligence made me rush out the door.
Leo and I had a nice breakfast at his favorite restaurant in Morrison. I told him about all that happened. We laugh about how this event might be a nice pitch for a Netflix short. We drank, we smoked, and we had ice cream around the little town.
I received a long message from her later that afternoon thanking me and saying that she loved me more than ever. That she understood why I don’t want to see her right now and for me to contact her when I was ready. She will be waiting to hear from me.
Wow. She got that from my note? I’ve always told her that she was a mind reader, but this is next-level understanding. She understood what I couldn’t communicate to her. Amazing!
I stayed at Leo’s for the next two weeks. I took time off from work, lying to them that my grandmother had passed though she died years ago. I stayed high the entire time I was with him. It was nice to forget about Lindley and maybe even life as I know it. This was the best way to let go.
I haven’t heard from her this whole time, so I built up the courage to go home. She wasn’t there. Fortunately. Sadly.
Luckily, my friend owned the apartment building, there was no lease agreement, so I moved again. This time it wasn’t two fucking blocks away.
Back then, I thought about her every morning as soon as I wake. I thought about calling her, telling her I was ready to see her. I wanted so bad to tell her to put on a nice dress, I’ll pick her up and drive to Breckenridge, have breakfast at the Blue Moose, ride our favorite gondola, then lunch at Beau Jo’s pizza, shop around town, go home and watch a stupid show then go to bed. But no, I couldn’t. For reasons truly unbeknownst to me, I simply dropped my phone on the floor and walked out the door. Buried myself in my work and miscellaneous drugs, I was able to deny my feelings for days, then weeks, and then months. In a way, this event turned me into one of the best brokers in the firm. With the sheer volume of time I spent at work and my blatant disregard for people’s feelings, I blossomed into what’s known in the business and a Killer. Ones who close deals.
A year later, I heard from a mutual friend that she had moved back to Oxford. Years after that, while sitting on the beach with my current love, Rose, I saw a couple of missed calls from a Mississippi number. At first, I thought, who the hell do I know down south? But that night, I suddenly remembered. It all came back to me like a flood from God. I started feeling physically sick. I threw up everything I ate for the next couple of days and decided to end my vacation abruptly.
Rose forced me to tell her about that part of my life. At first, I gave her snippets, then more details, then everything. She listened intensely, calculating, judging me. I guess this relationship is fucking over too. But in the end, to my surprise, she told me she understood. She told me that I was wrong in a lot of ways, but so was Lindley. How could two 23-year olds have handled that better? Well, they couldn’t have.
Some time passed, and one night, during dinner, Rose randomly laughed and said.
“So that’s why you never wanted to have drunk sex!”
I chuckled. “Now you know.”
These are the last 6 pictures I took of Lindley. I couldn’t bear to delete them. They are the last remnants of our happiness before life as we knew it ended.
