To Love What Draws Your Blood-4

During the next few hours, everyone sensed a difference in Angli’s normally sad and otherwise wounded behavior; now there was no behavior to be had. No sarcastic, angry, surprised or happy (which was rare to begin with) facial expressions. No more pizzazz or comedy in that malaise little chick.1

Even her older brother Harlon asked what was wrong or to be more precise, “What the fucking hell’s shit is wrong with you?” That was coming from a boy who didn’t talk to her more than “Hi” and “Bye” each day. The Jackson’s got more sibling communication than that! Something had changed and it was obvious—obvious she didn’t care as much, if at all. It was obvious because everyone missed her neediness, her need to please and deep down need to be okay. A chip of their ego had been slapped and broken with her face. But it would never hurt them as much as it would her.2

* * *3

Jules Myore was probably the most boy crazy chick Angli had ever come across and she’d come across a lot of them—86% of her school’s female population were infatuated and scarily obsessed with the opposite sex, which Angli couldn’t necessarily mock seeing as in a way, she fit well into that group.4

Jules normally found spiritual, mental and emotional support in Miss High School Student Therapist herself, Angli Kauferman. Usually, she’d skip the period Angli was having lunch in and sit with Angli, spilling her soul about how another vicious male had stabbed her heart with his actions ... among other things. She’d dish her feelings out like an emotionally unstable celebrity whose bladder is soaked in scotch. “He said ... I wasn’t...” and that was how a mass amount of her sentences began. “He said I wasn’t tan enough!” “He said I wasn’t ‘in’ enough!” The girl obviously needed licensed aid but Angli came through fairly well and quite often. She’d assure the girl she was fine and that she needed to find strength in herself rather than strength in the opposite sex, which, like most therapists, fed to others well but did not—could not—digest well themselves.5

The Monday following that Slap Happy Day, Jules was in distress, running to Angli to confess her new sin and her newly discovered flaw. As far as Ang could see, physically at least, the girl was grade-A Hollywood Stature. She was seventeen and more plastic than Barbie. She’d go down in flames if she stood too close to a match. Angli would sit there and nod with no face and then finally cut the girl off by simply ... walking away, leaving the recyclable teen confused as to what had just gone wrong. What had she done? Oh, the distress.6

The most surprising revelation of her new behavior was Craig’s. They’d fed off each other for security’s sake and now that one cell was malfunctioned, the other prematurely faulted as well. In other words, now that Angli didn’t care as much about herself, or others, including her oh, so caring boyfriend, Craig’s image was now damaged—not having an overly affectionate toy poodle at his side any longer.7

Following her abandonment of Jules, Angli sullenly walked off down the hall until a hard tug pulled her into an empty science lab.8

“What is it?” Craig said angrily, his white knuckled hand still clutching her shoulder like the high blood pressure machines at Wal-Mart. It hurt her like hell and he knew it but probably would have stopped if he’d known she didn’t realize he was hurting her. Don’t wanna injure someone in vain, now do we? “What! Just tell me and get it over with, Angli. You’re annoying the shit out of me.”9

She stared across the room at the vials of chemicals and the abandoned desks, hardly hearing a thing he’d said until he shook her violently, her attention at least partially his. She hadn’t been much of a spectator lately. “What?” she asked him as loose hair fell into her face from his shaking, something she knew he always hated. She didn’t dare move it from her face. The only twinge of feeling she had was that sweet under taste of him hating something, knowing it and not doing a damn thing about it.10

“Goddammit!” He flipped his hand away and took a step back. She’d so obviously messed him up. Poor boy. “What the hell is up with you? I mean—”11

“Feeling insecure, Craig?” she cut in, leaning against the pale wall, feeling its chill through the two shirts she was wearing. She knew exactly what he was thinking, exactly what he wanted—all this knowledge out of nowhere. “Is that it? Would you like me to ceaselessly ask you what’s wrong so that you can feel important ... so that you can ignore me?”12

“Where is this shit coming from, Angli! Where?” His pimply face turned redder, making his zits glow like red Christmas lights on the snow. “Just fucking tell me, will ya?”13

Angli scoffed and pushed off the wall, walking into him so that their chests were like magnets on a fridge. “This what you want?” she said, pushing him against the wall with her body. “You want me to blow you, fuck you in the middle of the street—it would be making everything you’ve told your pals true, wouldn’t it?” She wasn’t even mad at the moment. She just suddenly knew that she was now what he wanted—a zombie who could cater to his ego and give him head whenever. She was goddamn exhausted from wondering. “What might I do to please you?” She reached down and tickled the bit of hair right above the belt of his jeans, pressing closer to him by the second. The moment she licked her lips, undid his belt and heard him quiver (as seen in his wet dreams before they’d started dating), she stepped away and walked off to the doorway, ruining his soon to exist erection. “Just tell’em we had a quickie,” she said as she stepped out of the room, her hair still in her face. “No need to mention the factual blueballing.”14

After that day, that glimpse of a sex zombie Craig had lusted after nearly as Dahmer did his men, Craig decided to go for the goal. He bought some small condoms at the convenient store that he thought might be too big for his package or lack thereof. When he left he was even more in the mood to get a piece and a nice ego boost. The female store clerk had tried to hide her chuckling, which was evolving into laughter, as she got some ribbed condoms in the smallest size. She’d made sure they were ribbed and flavored, simply for the sake of womankind so that whomever he’d be plugging would have at least a twinge of pleasure.15

Craig was all set and ready for his first lay and now that Angli was ... nothing, he could have her as he pleased. He parked his dingy whitish gray car outside her house at the curb. Everyone seemed to park at the curb by her house—it was just a curby sort of place. He hopped onto the lawn with a smug grin on his face. He could have had an orgasm simply from the excitement. He pictured the zombie turning into a sex kitten—no, a sex tiger—and turning him into a man, which, even if he didn’t know it, was fairly impossible. He pictured it and his spine hardened, among other things until suddenly, his foot was swallowed up by the Mother Hole and his body fell forward and into that mud pie that was the Kauferman’s front lawn.16

Angli heard muttered swears from somewhere outside but paid no attention, she was much too devoured by the simple silence in her room. She lay still on her bed, staring hard at the ceiling as a small, black spider crawled across it. Even her diagnosed Arachnophobia didn’t menace her now. There was a bright light on the wall that obeyed the three portable light switches. One sat at the doorway, one by Judie’s bed and the other by Angli’s. It was a magnificent discovery for lethargy’s worshipers around the continent. Its only job at the time was to cast light on an eerily quiet room. The brightness didn’t even bother her, she just felt dark and dull. Not even a 100watt light bulb could erase the dark she was in. The entire house was empty, retreating off to family night she hadn’t been welcome to attend since she retained a personality. Wonder why they didn’t have her come now that she didn’t have much of one anymore.17

Besides her vain breathing, the drags of her cigarette she’d been taking every once in awhile were mostly the only movements she made. She normally hated cigs. She’d tell her smoker friends that they took seven minutes off their life with each one they smoked. She didn’t feel like it mattered much now, so drag away. She sort of enjoyed the bitter taste it left. They were really her brother Harlon’s but he had around four other packs in his underwear drawer along with his Lesbian Lovers and Lingerie special additions of Playboy. She’d brought the lingerie Playboy with her. She’d been flipping through it for a while, occasionally sucking at the cigarette and blowing the smoke out onto the pages.18

“Hi,” came a voice from her bedroom door.19

Angli didn’t look at Craig for a while. She stubbed out the cig on one of the Playmate’s pretty faces; just to see how she would look with any sort of disfiguration. She lit it again with her sister’s lighter, not ready to let go of the tart taste. Finally, after she’d taken a few more hits, she looked at Craig’s muddy face and then back at the spider on the ceiling. “You’re looking tanner than usual,” she said as the smoke flew from her lips, knowing for a fact that he hadn’t listened to her all those times she’d told him about the Mother Hole. She’d known for a long time but now it was just plain in her face—she’d been completely invisible. “Ignorance smarts, doesn’t it?”20

He wasn’t sure what she meant but he chuckled and nodded anyway. “Yeap.” She took another drag and flipped to the next Playmate, the cigarette making a sparkly crackle sound and the page making a gentle wisp as she turned it. “So ... what are you doing?” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets anxiously.21

Crackle.22

Wisp.23

He was expecting some sort of smart-ass remark like “Skydiving” or “Masturbating.” He stood there, waiting for some sort of sassy verb and turned his ear to her in case she mumbled it.24

Crackle.25

Wisp.26

He frowned frustratenly. She was being boring. Dammit. He did sort of like the hard-to-get attitude, though. He stood there and imagined her, a ravenous tiger and he, the hunter, in an erotic, misdirecting method to get into each other’s pants. Once in the right territory, the hunter would then be the prey in which the tiger could have her way with. Handcuffs, he thought. I should have bought handcuffs! Whips! Handcuffs and whips ... I’ll put them on mom’s grocery list. He ran his chunky hand through his light brown hair and slowly stepped toward her bed like the hunter that he was. 27

Crackle.28

Wisp.29

“What are you doing here?” Angli finally said, not looking at him, not even looking in his general region. She took one more long drag until there was nothing but a useless butt, which she stubbed out onto another Playmate’s face. She knew what he was there for—a big slice of her pie. What she didn’t know was whether or not she was going to give him a slice. It didn’t matter much to her at that point.30

“What do you wanna do tonight?” he asked as he finally reached her bed and sat by her hip, staring at her chest and wondering how she could read whatever she was reading with those mountains in front of her face. 31

Wisp.32

Craig stared at her boobs so long that he finally let go and tightened his hand around one, expecting some sultry outburst from the girl but instead, she acted as if she didn’t feel his hand squeeze her goods a bit too hard. She simply turned another page in silence.33

The first thing that came to her mind was, Ouch. It felt like she’d put her boob in the high blood pressure machine at Wal-Mart, which had probably been done before but never by Miss Angli. Deep down, she knew he’d have some general passion if he’d grabbed one of the Playmates’ boobs and deep down, she hurt a bit more.34

“You like chocolate, right Ang?” he said as he pulled the flavorfully ribbed condoms out of his pocket, his other hand still on her breast. He’d chuckled the box earlier, not needing her to know the size—it would probably suck away the passion of it all. Passion! Ha! Still, he figured she’d be doing a lot of sucking that night anyway, which he laughed out loud at, finding himself hilariously clever, which can be a common misconception with ignorant humans.35

He pushed the tip of the unopened condom packet between her teeth and winked. “Did you know Hershey made condoms?”36

Wisp.37

She didn’t even do anything with the condom; just let it sit there between her teeth as she stared at more perfection on the pages. Damn she hated chocolate.38

Finally, Craig took it from her mouth and hornily walked out of the room, telling her he just had to “Clean up.” Apparently by cleaning up, he meant undress and strap on that chocolate-flavored bad boy. He could have at least taken it from her mouth with his teeth, seeing as he was aiming for sexually appealing’s general direction. But no, he used his hand—he might as well have used to butt crack. At least it would have been obviously unappealing.39

Craig came back with no shirt, no pants, no shoes, no socks, no hat, no suspenders, no underwear and the only thing he was wearing was the condom. He was up and ready to role, strolling over to his girl, who he figured was masking her passion with tedium ... at least for the moment.40

Angli looked at him when he came in, calling, “Wilma, I’m hoooome!” I figure he should have replaced the ‘e’ with an ‘o’ but that’s just me. She clenched her jaw and looked back at the porn, turning the page again. Now she’d seen another erection—first her dad and now her boyfriend, neither times had she given any sort of hint she wanted to do a thing. But oh well. Just a piece of meat, right?41

He walked over to her, biting his lip, ready to get on with it. Dispassion was most definitely his forte. He leaned over and pressed his lips against hers and just let his lips (hardly if at all) move on hers, not an open mouth or tongue to be had. He pulled away and wrapped his hand around the bottom of her black shirt and pulled it up and over her head. He looked her over with anything but an adoring stare. And so went the hand-on-breast routine, accompanied then with the immobile “kissing” technique.42

All this time, Angli was simply lying there, not really needing or wanting this detached episode. She knew his loins must have been burning but hers were ... more glacial than Antarctica. Still, his mouth moved from hers to her neck and his hand moved from her boob to the light switch where he clicked it off, which hurt about as much as anything could at that point. He didn’t want to see her. He wanted to imagine those girls in the magazine, he wanted to escape her and retreat to the eroticism of his teenage boy standards of what good looks and women really were. She knew if they’d be doing it, his eyes would be closed and Jenna Jameson would most probably be put in her place.43

He’d already pulled off her pants by the time she snapped out of her mind setting and into the current goings-on. He’d given up on her bra early on; it was all too difficult to disassemble. He’d just pull it over her head once they’d actually begun. He gripped the rim of her panties, he was already between her stems when he began slipping them down and he was nearly in when she suddenly closed her legs, catching his goods between her knees so hard he screamed. She ignored him as he moaned in angst and fell from the bed. She turned away from him, pulling the blanket over her body and clutching her pillow.44

“Angli, what the fuck!” he yelled, his hands cupped between his legs. “You bitch.”45

She held her blanket and pillow closer to her as he continued to repeat her new title. “Leave, Craig,” she said slowly, listening as he scrambled to his feet.46

“You’re fucking hopeless, you know that?” he said loudly as he went back to the bathroom to change back into his clothes. “You idiot wetback, you’re a fucking waste. We’re fucking over, Angli! Over!”47

She heard him stomp out the door and then came the cussing, he’d fallen victim of the Mother Hole once more. His car door slammed and the engine struggled to awake but he forced his way out of that neighborhood, done with Angli and her idiocy. He was free and she was enclosed in herself, wanting to cry, needing to but rather swallowing the ache down into her stomach where all her other emotions lay sullenly, waiting to be released.48