Saturday, December 9, 2017

Bonus Chapter: I WILL F*CK YOU UP

"Sometimes I think Rachel forgets that we were the couple from hell. Trev, my parents, her parents… everybody hated to see us coming. While dating, we had the kind of relationship that makes you tell everyone you know, you and that other person are over. For real this time. And then, the next week, you’re in her bed fucking her like you love her. Telling her that you love her. While you’re fucking her. Because you do. You love her. You always did. And everybody knows that. The only person who doesn’t know that is her. Rachel and I went through that phase."
What If You're Over My Sh*t?


June 9
Dear Diary,

      It was an animal instinct to turn my grey shiny car around and park two cars behind them.
      Marc and Karla were sitting in his car.
      Right in front of In-n-Out Burger.
      Did you hear what I just said, Diary?
      “Let’s go,” Vivian said. And I wanted to. I really did. But I considered what people would say. Tonight, we were at a crowded burger joint, in Elysian Fields. As you know, Marc and I have been dating for two years now and everyone knows me. And of course, everyone knows Marc. Not only that, everyone knows Karla. Marc and Karla are from Elysian Fields; I am not. Vivian and I were the odd men out there tonight. I assumed that we were probably going, to be beaten up by women with nails bearing the name of their boyfriends. Someone would probably record the fight and sell the master copy to Jimmy who sells DVDs outside of Marc’s barber shop. Everything was telling me to stay in my car. But I really wanted to get out of my shiny grey car and punch Marc in the face. What to do?
      “Marc is my boyfriend,” I said more to myself then to Vivian.
      “Damn sure is. Let's get him.” Vivian was supportive of my decision to murder Marc. She's living proof that the term Best-Friend should be changed to Accessory-to-Murder. (Hi. This is Vivian, my Accessory-to-Murder.) Because this is what a best friend should be.
“What are they talking about?” I asked. I looked and saw Marc's head pointed forward. He was looking through the front window. Karla's ugly ass had her whole body turned to him, talking to him with her hands, never stopping as she raised her arms and shook her head.
      “They’re arguing,” Vivian said.
      “Oh my God!” I yelled. “First of all, what in the hell do you argue with someone else’s guy about?” The obvious. Karla was arguing about their relationship. She wanted to know why Marc and I are together. She wanted to know why I came to L.A. this summer, instead of staying in San Francisco for the summer break. She wanted to know how much longer she has to wait before he belongs to her and only her. Didn’t he hurt her enough by going off to college, dumping her, dating me, and then stashing me in Santa Monica this summer? Weren't Vivian and I supposed to be heading to Toronto this summer? Isn’t that what Sean told Tracy? Isn’t that what Tracy told her? Why can't Marc just tell me to leave, so that he and Karla can be together the entire summer and rekindle their flame? I KNOW this is what Karla was saying. “I’m on to you,” I accidentally said out loud.
      "We sure are,” Vivian said. And this is another reason why I love Vivian: she doesn’t have to know what in the hell I’m talking about. Doesn’t matter what it is, she TOTALLY agrees with me.
I looked at Vivian. “Let’s go.”
I stepped out of my car… in my Blahnik heels.
      "Oh damn, I'm wearing my Blaniks," I said to Vivian, across the roof of my car. To my surprise, she grew excited.
      "I read an article where a woman in Boston killed her husband with the heel of her shoe." And just like that, Accessory-to-Murder had become Vinny “Two Fingers” Capone.
      "I'm not gonna do that."     
      We both looked towards Marc's car.
      As usual, there was a block party feel tonight. That’s how it is in Elysian Fields. Eighties sounding rap music was blaring. (I know the music was from the eighties because it sounded both angry and corny.) Some people were bopping along to the beat; some were leaned against cars, laughing, and talking to friends or future bedmates. Some were at the outside counter of In-n-Out Burger ordering burgers and fries.
      And still, Marc was in his car with Karla.
How cozy they looked.
      Just think about it, Diary, Marc allowed the entire world to see him sitting in a car with another girl while dating me. I’m like the Faith Evans of this situation and Karla is Lil’ Kim and Marc is Biggie’s no good ass. And just the thought of that made me throw away all of my Lil’ Kim CDs tonight because she’s a homewrecker. And then I played my Faith Evan’s CDs even though her voice is annoying as hell and Lil’ Kim clearly is the one with the better talent and… whatever! Karla’s a goddamn homewrecker!
I looked at Vivian and pointed to Marc’s car.
      Let’s go.     
We marched forward.      
It was the humiliation of that moment that did me in. I’m not just a nobody in Elysian Fields anymore; I’m known on this scene. Marc brings me here all the time. I sit on the roof of Marc's Mustang with Sean and his girlfriend Tracy, and down vanilla shakes. I bop along to rap music while dipping my French fries in ketchup. For Marc to be in his car with Karla just wouldn’t do.
He had to die.
Vivian and I marched forward.
I knew that this upcoming ass-whooping would be for all the times Tracy has mistakenly called me Karla. It would be for all the times I saw a Los Angeles number pop up on Marc's cell phone and he never answered it. It would be for that one time Karla's cousin came to Berkeley for one of Marc's barbecues and stepped on my Kate Spades and laughed at my cardigan. This will be for Marc and me getting into a spat last month, and him saying in exasperation 'Goddamn, Karla..." He paused. I paused. Sean wedged himself in the middle of us, because I had a butcher knife I was holding as a prop.
But back to tonight…
I noticed Marc’s window was rolled up. Hmm… this conversation was intimate. Special. They wanted to lock the entire world out. I looked at Vivian. I pointed to Marc’s side of the car. I nodded for her to go to the other side.
      I’ll take Marc; you take Karla.
      Vivian nodded. We proceeded.
      That’s when I realized I brought nothing to break things with. But then again…
      I stopped on Marc’s side of the Mustang and took off my right Blahnik. I was standing RIGHT NEXT TO his door and he didn’t see me. That's how engaged this asshole was with whatever Karla was saying. I took one step forward and pulled my arm back, the heel of my Blahnik pointing towards his window and then…
      His natural instinct was to duck.
      I heard Karla scream. Vivian had just broken her window. Marc scrambled towards his glove box and within seconds, pulled out a...
     I give him a blow to the side of the head. Whatever he was reaching for drops. I give him another blow to the side of his head. I watch Vivian drag Karla out of the broken window, peaks of glass dig into Karla’s skin. But Two Fingers Capone didn’t care; she pulled Karla along anyway. The glass released gushes of blood. People started running over to us at this point. Marc looked at his window, saw me and…
      I gave him a blow to his head.
      He struggled to open his car door.
      “Rachel!” he screamed at me. “She just jumped in the car!” He kicked open his car door with so much force, it threw me backward and knocked me down into the broken glass on the street. I saved my ass with my elbows. I felt tiny pin pricks digging into flesh and bone. I heard the “Oh shit…” of people around us. I slid my Blahnik back on and watched Marc jump out of the car. He rushed to where I was and yanked me upward by my waist. “Shit, you’re bleeding.” But I didn’t care. Those tiny shards of glass in my elbows felt like angel kisses, compared to how it felt to see Marc and Karla in his car together.
      And, on instinct, I began to deliver blow after blow to his head.
      The world around me had shut down. All I felt was Marc’s arm around my waist. All I smelled was his cologne. His cologne always smells like Christmas in Aspen. (Why does his cologne always smell like Christmas in Aspen?) I continued to hit him out of rage. Out of humiliation. Out of anger.
      Why can’t you just fucking love me! That’s what I wanted to scream at him. But my throat felt like it had closed. I couldn’t speak. The anger in me had shut down my vision. I couldn’t see. All I noticed were bright lights, fuzzy and blurred, spinning around me. All that I could do was swing my arms and collide them with Marc’s face, chest, shoulders. Wide shoulders. God, he smelled good.
Marc pressed me against him. His arms wrapped around me.
      “Rachel… Rachel… Rachel…” he whispered it over and over again in my ear. He was trying to soothe me. But you can’t soothe the insane. Insanity dissolves on its own.
      I am crazy. Marc has driven me crazy. Marc is driving me crazy.
      I felt him pulling me along. I felt another set of arms pulling me along. I smelled cologne. It was a familiar scent. I assumed it was Sean or Trev. (It was Trev.)
And then I heard Vivian. She was in a rage for me; cursing and screaming at Karla. Vivian’s voice began to sound closer to me. I assumed that she was being pulled along with me. (Sean was pulling her, while Tracy looked on, Vivian told me later.)
(Vivian said Tracy gave her the stink eye.)
(I have no idea why Vivian hates Tracy. Yeah, Tracy’s a bit hood-ish, but she’s nice.)
(Vivian’s just being a bitch.)
(I love Vivian.)
      And then I was exhausted. I had no more energy in me to punch. I had no more energy in me to fight.
And so, I stopped.
At the feel of my surrender, Marc stopped dragging me along. I felt Trev’s hands leave me. I put my hands over my face. I was exhausted. I felt Marc wrap his arms around me tighter. He pressed me into his body harder. His body: Solid. Strong. Perfect.
      “Why the fuck do you always go overboard?” he asked me, rather violently. “Why do you kick ass first and ask questions later? That shit’s dangerous, Rachel. I could’ve…” he let the words drift off.
He inhaled deeply and exhaled even deeper.
“I came with Sean,” he whispered in my ear. “Karla jumped in the car when Sean got out.” Well, how convenient was that. I lifted my head and found my face in Marc’s neck. I hate to say it, but his cologne soothed me. Everything about Marc calms me. But…
      "I don’t care anymore,” I said to him through a sob. “I can’t keep caring! I don’t have the energy to care anymore!”
      “I swear to God, Rachel. I didn’t come here with her,” he said to me. “I didn’t know she was here. I promise you. I didn’t know.” He sounded genuine. He really did. Or did I want him to sound genuine? Was I hoping he was genuine? Or is Marc really just a genuine guy?
      I was exhausted with it all. I dropped my head into his neck. He wrapped his arms around me tighter. I inhaled him. I surrendered. I gave up.     
“Rachel,” he then whispered. "I don't get this shit. If I say I'm with you, then I'm with you. That's it. Nobody else. I don't get why you can't believe that."
      “No more, Marc,” I find the voice to say. I nudge myself away from him. I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE WITH MARC ISLES. He pulled me back harder. “Move,” I told him.     
“No," he whispered. "Listen, you never have to worry about Karla, Rachel. Never."

Why Are We Afraid To Have It ALL?