The Other Woman

“What’s gotten into you?” Jennifer questions me, taking the chocolate chip cookie from her mouth. I had just gotten back inside after my chat[i/] with Jose and to be honest he had REALLY made me feel better. It was actually funny how he could’ve cheered me up so well after nearly a week of depression.

“Nothin’” I grin, “Why aren’t I allowed to be a little happy?” I add, plopping myself down on the couch cushion beside her.

She stares at me, eyebrows quirked skeptically before setting down her plate of cookies. “I didn’t say that, but about an hour ago you weren’t exactly Ms. Sunshine. What happened outside?”

“Nothing,” I sigh happily. “I just finally got to clear my head out, you know?”

“Clear your head out?” she reiterates. “Then why the hell are your legs shaking?”

I avert my head south, and sure enough my legs are cackling about, nearly vibrating off the carpeted floor. A small giggle spills from my lips.
“I don’t know. I’m just really happy right now. I guess my legs are happy too,” I announce, followed by some heavy laughter. I keel over at my brilliant joke, clenching my stomach at how funny it was.

It was that funny of a joke, right?

Apparently not, by the way Jen was eyeing me suspiciously.
“Are you sure you’re o.k? I hope you’re not planning on having some sort of nervous break down…”

“Naw,” I laugh. “I’m just over everything right now and it feels damned good.”

“Well it’s a—“
“Hey, do you want to do something tonight?!” I interrupt while grabbing her shoulders for emphasis, excitement suddenly flooding my senses.
“Like wh—“
“We could like go downtown or something. Have some beers, make fools of ourselves. Just do anything fun!”

Jennifer slowly and calmly removes my fingers and their hard grasp from around her shoulder. “Um, I have to go to work tomorrow, but maybe tomorrow night…” she replies.

“Oh, ok! I can’t wait, it’s going to be so much fun Jen,”

“Right,” she says awkwardly, picking up her plate of cookies. “Um, I’m gonna head to bed now. Are you gonna be o.k up by yourself?”

“Yeeeeeeees,” I giggle, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“Yeeeeaaaah,” she states slowly before standing up from the couch. “Goodnight then,”
“Nighty night,” I reply with a friendly wave.

The morning afterward was some sort of hell. My entire brain seemed to be in painful shambles. Even my skull felt like it might have had a fracture or even shattered over the night. And it wasn’t until after the fifth Advil that the pain started to subside.

“You’re not going into work today?” Jen asks while finishing off her bowl of porridge. She was already dressed and tidied for work this early and miserable Thursday morning.
“No. My head feels like it’s dying,” I wince, chugging on a small glass of orange juice

She nods her head and quickly stands from her seat to toss her bowl into the already accumulating sink.
“Alright I’m off, call me if you need anything,” she smiles as she rushes out the front door.
Three somewhat blissful hours later, I had finally woken up for the day, at nearly one in the afternoon. Tired and a little grumpy I forage into the refrigerator for a little breakfast, not really bothering to change from my pajamas. And just as I had removed the package of organic eggs, it dawned on me that the previous day was a blank.

I only remembered one thing and one person for the entire day, like it was a faint dream of sorts. I guess Jose forgot to mention that cocaine mixed with good ole Mary J caused a little memory loss.

It was actually my first time doing another drug other than weed, and I certainly never mixed it with anything else, well, other than a little alcohol.

You’ve never tried coke before? What city are you livin’ in?” asks Jose, smirking as he opened the pre-made joint. I smirked in response and wiped away a tear that had ran loose from eye after telling him that I had a few boyfriend troubles. I didn’t really go into detail, but he got the overall picture.

Technically not-cheating girlfriend + lover + friend +boyfriend + wife and family = Major Trouble for girlfriend
Solution: psychedelic drugs

“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” I stammer, watching as his expert fingers sprinkle, or rather powder the already mind numbing pot with coke. He then uses some sort of instrument to evenly distribute the chalky white powder throughout enormous blunt of weed.
“Baby please, this is nothing,” he smirked, eyeing me from above.

And after re-rolling the now cocaine laced blunt, he tapped it a couple for times for good luck I guess before handing it to me.
“Shouldn’t you open up a window or something?” I ask hesitantly.
“Fuck no chica,” he laughs, “I don’t want outsiders smellin’ this because then they’ll call the cops or landlord,”

Jose notices me looking positively shifty about smoking the blunt.
“I promise its not addicting or will hurt you,” he says in that exotic accent of his, even rubbing my back in persuasion.
“Not to be a bitch, but I could care less what you say. I barely know you,”

He only laughs before pulling out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, and grabbing a nearby lighter from his coffee table. I hadn’t even known he lived on the top floor of the neighboring apartment complex.

“Here,” he says, passing the lighter to me, “you’re making it too much of a grande deal, and its not. Plus,” he pauses, “it’ll make all your troubles go away, for the time being that is”

And that was the last straw of persuasion that I needed before igniting the drug.

That same night, and probably as a result of the coke and weed, my guilt over everything heightened. Something else Jose forgot to mention…
I felt an unbelievable amount of shame, anxiety, and depression. And more importantly I wanted to desperately know how Tre and Billie Joe were. It had been over a week and no sort of communication had transpired.

My eyes bore at the ink on the paper, pupils averting back and forth at the name and then the 7-digit phone number. I had Jen’s phone launched in my hand, the numbers already punched into the device. I wanted to desperately to see how he was doing, what had happened. But I was afraid as well, afraid that he’d be on the list of people that hated me. And well, I couldn’t really blame him.

Call
Don’t call
Call
Don’t Call

I really wasn’t expecting an answer this late into the night. It was nearly 4 a.m, but my mind was definitely reeled up. And when his phone continuously rang, it further approved my assumption that he wouldn’t be picking up.

“Who the hell is this?” is the greeting I hear

And I can’t respond, so frightened that he’d hang up on me or curse me out.

“Hello?” his deeply scratched voice says agitatedly. I can feel the tears springing to my eyes already. I couldn’t even begin to manage the hell he was going through back at home, if he still had one that is.

“Billie?” I whimper sadly, albeit feeling happy
“Serenity?”

“Yeah,” I smile, sniffing back the tears
“Who’s phone are you using?”

“Jennifer’s. Mine’s got broken,”

Silence.

“Um, are you home? Cus I’ll call you back or whatever s—“
“I’m not welcome in my home actually,” he says with a little humor. “I’m in Manhattan right now. Adrienne kicked me out last week,”

“Sorry to hear that,”

“Why are you calling so damn late?” he asks, ignoring my sympathy.
“I’m sorry Bill, I just haven’t heard from anyone since last week and I was worried,”

He sighs over the line. “Thanks for worrying, but you and I cant talk anymore Seny. Adrienne is pissed as it is, so—“
“That’s fine, I was just curious about what happened to you and how yo—“

“I’m fine dammit!” he suddenly barks. “Look, we cant talk or have any sort of relationship right now. For all I know Adie has this fuckin phone tapped. I gotta go though, try calling Tre or something, bye”

And before I can recover from his stinging words, the phone blinks and the timer stops, meaning that he had hung up. But I don’t cry, this was actually expected, that I’d be on his hit list. And he’s certainly out of his mind if he thinks I’m calling a raging Tre.

He smelled amazing; like sex, sugar, and that cologne he knows drives me crazy. We had just come out of a local theatre somewhere in New York city. And after a small dinner at a restaurant things had gotten a little heated in the parking lot.

“Mmmm,” I hum, loving the way his tongue danced on the skin of my neck. He enjoys the hums of approval dripping from my mouth and further pleasures me (and himself) by nipping ever so slightly at the skin of my neck.

“Tre,” I giggle, shoving a little at his shoulders. He smirks while backing away from me, one hand still amazingly wrapped around the unmoving and unforgotten steering wheel.
“What?” he asks innocently

I sigh, pushing back down my skirt, “there’s no way I’m sleeping with you in this parking lot. That’s literally asking to get caught by the police,”

He nods his rather large head in understanding, but still doesn’t budge to start the engine of the rental car. And after reapplying my plum colored lipstick, I turn my head to see that sneaky ‘I have an idea…’ expression on his face.

“Do you plan on starting the engine, or are we supposed to put our feet on the ground like the Flinstones to move?” I tease, shoving the tube of lipstick back into my purse.

“Bitch,” he snorts playfully, finally turning the keys and starting the car. I laugh, pecking him on the cheek for sympathy. With my no sense of direction and unfamiliarity with this section of New York, I had no idea where Tre was driving off too. So I’m a little more than surprised when we drive passed the city and the vehicle goes into what seems to be an abandoned town.

“Um, do you know where we are?” I ask, frowning as I turn my head to see the lackluster town.
“Mhmm,” he nods, turning up the stereo to one of his favorite songs.

I wasn’t looking for an “mhmm” reply, so I cut off the stereo. “Tre, this doesn’t even look like New York. Where are we?”
“I know where I’m going Serenity. My daughter lives here, remember?” he huffs, dragging his hand back down to turn back on the stereo.

I cover my hand over the button, irritating him even more. “Then where are we? I’ve been to New York too, and I’ve never been over here before…”

He makes a whining noise and rolls his eyes. “Look, I can’t remember the street names or whatever but I know where we are, got it?” he says through slightly gritted teeth. “We’re near this place that me and the guys played at a couple times, and if you’d stop bothering me, I think I’d reach it,”

“Fine, Oscar Grouch,” I reply turning on the stereo to ignore him. We had drove in silence for only about ten minutes when the car slowed to a halt near a rather large and clearly abandoned building, and yet it looked oddly familiar. I wasn’t as frightened as before since a few more cars and people seemed to be lurking around. And when he shut off the vehicle and began to laugh maniacally, I turned my head and thought for a moment that he might have went insane and drove here to murder and dismember my bloody body.

“What the hell is so funny?” I ask, my hand reaching for the door handle (just in case).

He gets his breathing regulated, sighing in content. “I just realized how funny your Flinstone joke was,” he says, wiping at his eyes. I can’t help but roll my eyes at his immaturity and slight idiocy.

He unbuckles his belt and slowly moves over the gear shift to kiss at my neck yet again, hands automatically wandering up my skirt.
“Wait a minute, where are we?” I ask, gently pushing his hands away from my thighs.
He purrs against my lips, causing me to involuntarily melt against him. “I drove here since you didn’t want to go at it in the parking lot. I think this spot is better,”

I giggle as he begins nipping at my earlobes before giving in. We smirk at one another before he grabs me by the waist and pulls me into his lap, positioning us both in the tiny driver’s seat.

Shaking out of my daydream of a past rendezvous with Tre, I slip from my bedroom and give Jennifer back her phone. She’s asleep, so I place it on silent mode before placing it on her nightstand and creeping out of the room.

And while I finally crawled into bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. My mind keeps replaying images of he and I together. How he used to kiss my fingertips, how he wrapped his arms about my waist.

And the feeling got worse when I shut my eyes. I could literally smell him right next to me and hear his gentle breathing and occasional snore. I could feel his hands caressing and skimming all over my body.

Sweaty and panting, Tre and I lay together in the back seat, his head right underneath my bosom. Still trying to get my breathing under control, I raise a hand and thread my fingers through his sweat drenched hair, flopping on his forehead. He lay on top of me, panting just as hard from the high we had just fallen from, while running his fingertips along my hip bones.

The radio was still paying, neither of us bothering to turn it off in the heat of the moment. I smile when I feel his head turn upward, his chin sliding to stand on my slippery chest.
“That was too good to be true,” he grins
“Mhmm,” I agree, still threading my fingers through his hair.

None of us speak for a moment and he turns his head back down against my body in silence. It seems we must have dozed off for a couple minutes because I awoke only when I felt Tre fidgeting to remove himself from on top of me.
“Did we fall asleep?” I murmur
“Yeah, but not for long, only half an hour,” he replies whilst reaching out his arm to grab for our discarded clothing in the front of the car.

I could tell today was going to be another bad day from the beginning. The electric bill was due, and I had insufficient funds to pay towards my half of the bill and my car ‘s fuel detector needle was on the last stick of the letter E which meant probably pushing the ratty vehicle to work this morning.

“Just fucking great,” I groan, turning the radio station when none other than a Green Day song, stinkin’ Holioday, begins playing, and it was a hip hop station so what the fuck?

“I’m sorry, my car shut down on me TWICE this morning Mr. Palmer,” I lie to my boss, fighting the urge to roll my eyes in front of his fat white face as I enter the design studio.
“This is becoming a habit of yours Ms. Reynolds. Perhaps you should explore a different career where tardiness is accepted,”

Perhaps I should pour gasoline all over you and then toss a flaming cigarette on one of your many chins…

“That wont be necessary,” I fake smile, walking away from the Neanderthal.

Stuck with loads among loads of work, most of it from the days I had been absent, I knew I would be coming home VERY late this afternoon. Or maybe I should just spend the night. S’not like I had anything special waiting for me at home.

By the end of the day all I really wanted, nay, needed was a hot shower and a hearty dinner for regeneration. And when I did get home, (two and a half hours later than I normally would) I received only half of my needs; a hot shower. Jennifer left a note saying that she went grocery shopping, and barely anything was inside the fridge or pantry.

I ended up making a turkey sandwich with the stale butts of the bread and some suggestive smelling mayonnaise with a bag of old chips in the cobwebbed corners of the pantry.

And after my shower, the absolute pinnacle and cherry on top of the sundae event of my bad day occurred.
While slipping on my bra and underwear, a loud round of knocks begin to pound against my front door. A bit bewildered at whom the culprit is, I finish dressing myself in a hurry before scurrying into the living and to the front door. I knew it couldn’t be Jennifer, because she usually took several hours to do shopping, and magically came home without a few solid necessities.

Gazing through the peephole, I’m surprised and suspicious when all I see is black, someone’s finger probably pressed against the opposite side. The knocking persists, but a bit softer this round.

“Who’s there?” I call out
“Adrienne,”

Oh
My
God

Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh shit! Oh my fuck!

What the hell was she doing here?! And how the hell did she find out where I lived!? Actually that was a pretty easy question; she had either gotten my address from Billie Joe or Tre...or even the phone book for that matter.

“Look. I just want to talk, ok” she calls out in what seems to be a neutral tone.
If she just wanted to talk then why did she cover up my peep hole? I couldn’t really deny her though, I knew I had this coming…

I slowly unlock the door and open it to reveal Adrienne Armstrong, Billie Joe’s wife, looking as both angry and disappointed as ever. We stare at each other for a moment, surprised that we were in this predicament. She’s wearing a pair of distressed jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and some yellow flip flops. Her doleful brown eyes seemed tired, like she had spent days and among days tired and crying…just like me.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” she asks with a hint of venom. And she doesn’t even wait for my reply before stepping passed me and into my home.

Shutting the door, I let out a nervous sigh, my stomach all of a sudden gurgling, begging to release itself through my mouth. I watch her from the door as she stands in the center of the living room, examining the area.

“You live here by yourself?” she asks.
I shake my head in response, still dreaded by her presence. “No, I uh have a roommate.”

Her head full of blonde and black curls nods, still examining the couch. All I can see is her back, but I know what she’s thinking.
“Did you two fuck in here too?” she questions me, finally turning around so I can see the mixture of hatred and tears in her eyes. And oh my, what hatred it was.

I don’t answer and instead walk passed her to go into the kitchen to grab anything with at least 70% alcohol in it. And I was just grabbing two glasses from a cupboard when I hear her footsteps enter the kitchen. She looks around from the archway, eyes teary as she looks at the small island in the center.

“I bet you two went at it in here too,” she states almost maniacally.

I don’t acknowledge neither her question nor her presence and instead somberly pour two rather large glasses of rum and vodka, because we both knew the answer. Hands shaking I walk up to her, presenting her with my peace offering of alcohol.

She eyes me evilly, “you think I want ANYTHING from you?” she suddenly screams, viciously grabbing a glass from my hand only to chuck it against a wall, shattering the glass into tiny pieces.

“I didn’t come here to fucking socialize with you, you fucking piece of shit!” she yells. “You stay THE FUCK away from my husband, you hear me?” she finishes.

“I don’t want your fucking husband!” I scream back, angrily throwing my glass against the floor. I was sick of it all; the blame, the anger, the depression, everything!

“Sure you don’t! He told me everything you little bitch,” she seethes through her tears, “I can’t believe you screwed Tre over like that! After all he did for your b—“

“He screwed your ass over too! And I didn’t screw Tre over you stupid bi—“

“You’re lucky I didn’t come over here with my pistol you fucking slut, y—“

It was a battle of who could spout the most hateful words. Of whom could hurt the other to the highest extent. Of whom could emotionally scar the other with the deepest of verbal wounds…

And by the end of the battle, we were both in horrid tears.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a cold, unloving bitch he’d like you, you worthless —“

She had backhanded my right cheek at that last terse and not to mention false statement.

“GET OUT!” I finally cry out. “Get out of my house Adrienne. How many times can I apologize, huh?” I hiccup.
“Just stay away from Billie, you got that?” she warns. “Or I swear I’ll end up committing a crime,”

And with that she swears something under her breath before walking out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out the front door, tears still rushing from her eyes. When I hear the door slam shut, my knees buckle and before I know it, I’m hurling to the floor, my stomach in mutiny before the bitter taste of vomit spills from my lips onto the linoleum kitchen floor.