When I woke up I decided to gather all my shitty clothes and bloody sheets and take them to the wash. The place was full of mexicans so I had to stay the whole three hours while the machines ran, and I was glad I did after watching a woman with three kids go through half the discarded baskets and take her pick. On another day I might have kicked the shit out of her, but I was too damn tired to care. So I just watched while the dryer ran.
When I got home I called the phone number and left Vanessa a message and awkwardly told her that drinking alone made me feel like a goddamn drunk, which was a total lie. She clearly was attracted to me because I was so fucking broken, and feeding the fire would draw her in. When she finally knocked on the door I was sort of embarrassed because I was cooking a can of spaghetti that was shaped like characters from an animated tv show, but let her in anyway. She kissed and hugged me, and had the good sense to bring more liquor.
We talked for a few hours and ended up arguing about politics, but it was great because I didn't feel the need to lie to her and I knew she wouldn't leave. She told me that she had money and wanted to stay here for a while, which was perfect because she would keep the booze flowing and the rent paid. We fucked and then she asked me to get a bag out of her car downstairs. I brought the pistol but didn't need it.
It was only after I returned that I realized how goddamn hot and humid it was, and how much worse we made it with our sweaty fucking. It was as if the doorway was some kind of portal to a jungle hellhole complete with bands of malaria-infected nymphomaniac gorillas. I wanted a shower but was about four minutes too late, as Vanessa was already at it. I thought about joining her, but my wide shoulders made it a tight fit as it was. "Fuck it" I decided, I couldn't stand it another minute longer. I propped her bag against the chair, borrowed ten bucks from her purse, then headed out to the bar.
I walked down the block to Schmidt's, a familiar joint filled with old timers and depressing drifters, and ordered a several drinks in quick succession. The air conditioning was the only thing welcoming about the place. Even the waitress was bitchy, probably because she looked to be pregnant enough to not fit into her clothes anymore and apparently too poor to buy new ones. I didn't ever smoke but I made a point to buy a pack and blow them into her face when she passed, and jokingly offered to buy her a drink. She didn't have much of a sense of humor, but fuck her anyways. If she wasn't such a whore she wouldn't be knocked up, and if she wasn't such a bitch she would make better tips. I walked home shortly after she started crying.
When I walked through the door I was greeted by the sight of a wrecked kitchen. All my dishes were smashed on the floor along with the half-drunk bottle of whiskey Vanessa brought over. There was even a few holes in the wall. There was a small trail of blood on the floor amid the ceramic fragments, and for a few minutes I thought there might have been a break in. I walked into the bedroom half expecting to find Vanessa there, beaten bloody and raped. But when I saw the word "asshole" scrawled across a broken mirror in lipstick I figured it out. Vanessa was a crazy bitch. I didn't even bother cleaning up, just went to sleep on sheets that were wet from some unknown source, probably her piss. "God damn it" I thought. "I just washed these sheets."