Bad Habits Die Hard (2)
Both the men laughed so hard that their bodies quivered; so loud that their voices bounced around the parking lot after they had left. "I should have kneed him in the nuts, you know" Christine said. She had her head resting on Steve’s chest, and playfully stroked his stomach while the two of them lay on the bed. Steve nuzzled his chin against the top of her head and said, "Why didn’t you? Just the other day you told me how that self defense book said you should always react the opposite way your attacker expected you to act". She raised her head and said, "I would have. But when he said those three words, I just lost it. It all came back to me," she shook her head, "I just couldn’t handle it. That’s all" "Well," Steve said as she put her head back on his chest, "I’ll have a chat to Kurt- I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. That’s just how he is. You have to get to know him, just give him a chance" "No. No chances. I want him out, Steve. Full stop" "But honey, you know he saved my life and-" "Yes. I do," she cut him off, and raised her head again, "But goddammit, Steve, that doesn’t mean he has to live with you for the rest of his life!" "Honey," he laughed and put his hand around her neck, "It’s not for the rest of his life. Only until he’s back on his feet" "Back on his feet? Back on his feet? Jesus, Stevie, baby, I love you and all- but sometimes you can be so gullible," she said, this time getting up off his chest and sitting up straight, "Baby, when will you understand- he’s still doing drugs!" "Have you ever caught him with the stuff?" Steve asked, shrugging his shoulders and opening his hands at the same time. "Babe- I was practically raised on the stuff. It’s taken me five years to break free of it. Trust me- he’s still doing it- and will still be doing it as long as you pay his way for him". "So what? You want me to chuck him out, just like that?" Steve asked, using his hands in an animated fashion, waving them from left to right and up and down. "Yes. And you’re using sign language again, Steve," Christine said, smiling at him. Steve ignored her last comment, sighed and looked at the wall for a second, then said, "Okay. Let’s make a deal. I’ll have a chat to him, and if he does anything again- then he’s out of here. Deal?" "Anything?" "Anything" "Deal," She said and kissed him on the cheek. "I’ll go make us some coffee". The door creaked as Christine opened it. "Damn it. Babe, this door is creaking again," she said, opening and closing it a few more times. It never creaked again. He laughed and said, "See? It only does it every now and then, honey. Besides, I want to fix it myself. It’ll be fun". "Oh here we go again. Last week it was surfing, this week it’s repairman," she said and raised her eyebrows at him. "Cheeky monkey!" he said and chucked a sock at her. She hid behind the door and the sock flew past her. Then she stuck her hand back into the room, clenched in a fist, and raised her middle finger. "That’s more like it!" he laughed. Steve was the first one up the next morning and prepared his special breakfast for Christine. Just the way she liked it. Three rashers of bacon, two eggs, one slice of toast with syrup, and topped off with a cup of coffee- black with two sugars. Plain and simple, as Christine called it. While the rashers and eggs fried, Steve popped into Kurt’s room to see if he wanted breakfast. Steve hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night. The whole time he tossed and turned, thinking about chucking Kurt out. Then, when he finally did get to sleep, he dreamt that he was drowning- as it really had happened; except this time there was no Kurt to save him and he died. "Kurt?" Steve whispered as he opened the door. Although the room was dark, Steve could see the rubbish scattered about. He laughed and said, "Kurt, buddy, you in there? Or have you contracted some infection from all this mess and died?" Kurt’s bed was empty, so Steve closed the door and went back to the breakfast. "Honey!" Steve shouted, "Breakfast is ready!" Christine came out of the bathroom, dressed in a pink bathrobe and with her toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. Brushing her teeth was something she did before anything else- even kissing Steve. She walked into the cozy lounge, past the two double sofas and one single sofa, and into the kitchen. The lounge and kitchen was one big room, separated only by a long kitchen table. Christine walked to the kitchen sink, spat a mouth full of toothpaste into it, and rinsed her mouth out with water. "Oooh," Steve joked, "Have I told you how sexy that is?". He said poked her in the ribs. "I’m sorry babe. It’s an bad habit- and they die hard" "Uh-huh. Now sit down and eat. By the way, before you ask me- Kurt’s not here. I’ve checked already" "Okay. But I wasn’t gonna ask you, anyway," she said and smiled at him. "Yeah right, and my Rusty shorts are blue!" "Ha ha," she laughed sarcastically as she ate a piece of bacon. The colour of Steve’s baggy shorts had been their first big argument. She had said they were green, but she had only seen them once, and- as stubborn as she is, she wouldn’t budge. Of course, Steve was right, and since then- whenever they argued, Steve would say, "Honey, my shorts are blue," and she would start laughing. "Where’s the paper?" Christine asked. "Damn," Steve said, "I knew I forgot something" She walked to the door and said, "Don’t worry. I’ll get it" Christine opened the door with her left hand, holding her cup of coffee in her right hand. For a few seconds she said nothing, only stared down at the floor. Steve stopped eating and looked up. "What’s wrong honey?" Christine had her eyes glued to the floor, and without looking at him, said, "Is this reason enough to chuck him out?" Steve walked to the door. An A4 paper lay on top of their newspaper. Five words had been scribbled in black and covered the whole sheet. It read: He put his arm around her and hugged her. She kept her gaze on the note, and her facial expression didn’t change. "I won’t let him win, Steve. I won’t," she said, grinding on her teeth. "I know, honey. I know," He bent down and picked up the note, then put his arm around her again. Christine turned and walked back inside. Steve closed the door and walked back to the kitchen table with the newspaper under his right shoulder, and said, "Honey, I thin-". The phone started ringing. Both their heads swung in the direction of the lounge. The phone was next to the single sofa, on a small, round coffee table. It carried on ringing. "Oh, that’s so cliché," She said and walked over to the phone. "HELLO?" she answered, looking at Steve the whole time. "Well well," she said and pointed the phone at him, "Would you know- the caller hung up! Now do you believe me, huh?" "Okay Honey," Steve said, walking through to the lounge, "I believe you. The next time I see him, I’ll tell him to fetch his stuff" "NO," she said and walked to his room, "I’ll tell him. And I’ll start by leaving a message for him in his room!" Christine walked to Kurt’s room and flung open the door. Steve sighed, sat down at the table, and started to read the paper. Inside Kurt’s room he heard Christine talking to herself. Her voice was muffled and low, and it was difficult to hear what she was saying in-between all the thudding noises. "Honey," he called to her as he read the sports page, "Don’t break any of my stuff!" The crashing increased after that. Steve sighed and took a bite out of his toast. He had already decided how to solve this problem: he would simply pay for a flat for Kurt. Only until he was back on his feet, of course. But there was no way he could just chuck the guy out into the streets without warning. Also, he thought to himself as another object thudded to the floor, he would have to pay for all the damage Christine caused- and from the sounds of it, it would be a lot. More items crashed and thudded and slammed, then the room fell silent. Steve was busy reading the latest business news when it died down. He looked up from his paper and kept his eyes on Kurt’s door. A few seconds later Christine emerged. Her chest heaved up and down inside her pink robe and her clammy hair stuck to her brow in clumps. "Well," she said, wiping her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand, "Tit for tat!" She walked through to her room and emerged a minute later with a pen and paper. Then she scribbled on the note and stuck it on Kurt’s door. It read: "Right," she said and walked over to the table, "I’m starved!" Steve smiled and shook his head as she sat down. Her face was covered in tiny droplets of sweat, and her skin was pale white around the edges- the only colour coming from her red cheeks. Still her chest heaved up and down. The two ate in silence for the rest of the breakfast. Steve finished his food first, then slid his hand over hers and said, "Are you sure you gonna be alright?" "I’m fine. I told you, the only reason he got to me was because of those three words he said. If he hadn’t said, ‘I’m begging you,’ I would have kneed him so hard he could have sucked on his balls for the rest of the day". Steve left for work an hour later, then phoned half an hour later and said he would have to work late that evening. Not a problem, Christine told him, she wanted to take care of Kurt herself. After that she went and took her usual pre-painting nap. She had read somewhere that sleeping before artwork increases creativity and since then she always napped for an hour before painting. After the nap she took the clothes out that she planned to wear, deciding on a navy blue top with grey shorts. Not the best attire, but comfy, nonetheless, and that was all that mattered when she painted. She left the clothes on the bed, switched the radio onto 5FM, and walked through to the shower. There were two rooms in the flat and each room had its own bathroom. Christine sang along to "Beautiful Day" by U2 while she showered. The shower was doing her the world of good, washing away all her tension and relaxing her for the painting. But then the music stopped. She was in the middle of singing the last chorus to the song when all she heard was the sound of the water falling on the floor. She stopped singing. The steady, constant buzz of the water carried on, but otherwise the room was silent. She turned the water off and drip-dried for a while. The room remained silent. Bad reception, she told herself. But she realized that she had gooseflesh all over. Stop it, damn it. Stop it. She repeated her routine. "Stevie?" she asked, opening the shower. There was no reply. Great, she told herself, Kurt’s come back and now he’s pissed off with me- and I’m buck-naked. Just my luck! She instinctively looked around the toilet for a weapon- just in case. The choice was limited, though, between shaving cream, deodorant or aftershave. Then her mind clicked on the weapon. She and Steve liked to try different places to make love and the bathroom had become a firm favourite with them; as such, they kept a few candles around, just to make it more romantic. She wasn’t after the candles, though, rather the lighter they used to light them. After grabbing the lighter, she picked up Steve’s can of Brut deodorant, breathed in two deep breaths and took a step towards the closed bathroom door. Something she heard made her stop, though. She heard the radio come back on. Jesus, Chrissy, he’s in the room, she thought. The deodorant slipped around in her hand and her heart thudded in her chest. Stop it, damn it. Stop it. She steadied herself and raised the can and lighter, aiming them towards the door. Now the radio was turned up full volume, but instead of music, she heard a loud crackling, like when the radio needs to be tuned. The distorted sound filled the room, forcing Christine to cover her ears. Then everything went dead again. No music. No fuzzy sound. Nothing. Only silence. Her mind urged her to rush at Kurt- for he had to still be in the room, and he would be expecting her to whimper in the corner again, just as she had the day before. Yes, she thought, I should rush out and burn the fucker. But her legs wouldn’t move. Somewhere between her brain and her muscles, the signal got lost. And now her stomach churned inside her, twisting and turning, making her feel nauseas. Making her feel dizzy. She looked down at her legs, trying to urge them on, trying to get them to move. Nothing happened. She stayed that way for the next five minutes; deodorant clutched in the left hand, lighter in the right hand; holding on to them so hard her hands lost their colour. Still she kept her eyes fixed on the door and her ears listening for any sounds. Christine didn’t move for ten minutes. That’s how long it took her to calm down and get her legs moving. When they finally did move, they were small infant steps, as though she had just learnt to walk. She edged over to the door, weapons firmly gripped in her hands. Using her right hand- and still holding onto the lighter- she squeezed on the doorknob and turned it. Rows of goosebumps shot up on her naked back. Dressed in a white towel- her bathrobe hung on the door, forgotten in all the panic- she eased into the room, holding the deodorant in front of her and the lighter just below it, ready to send a ball of fire at Kurt. There was no Kurt in her room, though. The room was blanketed in silence. From the wall she heard the steady tick-tock of the mechanical clock Steve had bought. Must throw that damn thing out, she told herself. Her eyes darted to her right, to the open bedroom door. From the bathroom she could see parts of the lounge and the front door; no sign of Kurt there, either. She shifted her nervous gaze to the left this time, to the double bed, and a chill shot down her spine. Her clothes had been changed. Gone was the navy blue top and grey shorts. Replaced now by a low-cut, revealing red dress that Steve had bought for her, one she’d never planned to wear out in public. The old Christine would have, but not the new Chrissy. She squeezed the weapons once as a form of reassurance, then made her way to the dress, her eyes going straight for the note that lay on top. The A4 paper read: Try this one on- it matches your cunt after I’m finished with you!! It took her half an hour to search through the flat for Kurt. By then her hands ached from gripping onto the can and lighter too hard. After making herself a large cup of coffee, she sat down next to the phone and instinctively dialed Steve’s number. It rang twice before his secretary answered. Christine put the phone down, though, when she heard the women’s voice. She was tired of phoning Steve. Tired of running to him. She had to stop running. She had to face Kurt on her own. First things first, though. She needed to relax. But the coffee she had in her hands wouldn’t do the trick, that was for sure. No, she needed something else. Something that she knew would calm her nerves. Something that she knew Kurt had. Something that she had promised herself she would never touch again. Her hands started to shake and coffee spilt on her lap. "Ouch!" she cried as it stung her. She put the cup down and tried to reason with herself. I’ll just put some on plate and burn it. Yes yes yes. That way, I’ll be ridding our flat of it, while at the same time I can inhale it. Just a little, though. Yes yes yes. She took two paces towards Kurt’s room and stopped, chewing on her fingernails and spitting the bits on the carpet to her left; this was another of the old Chrissy’s bad habits. For a while she paced back and forth, stopping only to spit out scraps of nail. Maybe, maybe if I want, I could roll a small joint. Just a small one, though. Yes yes yes. No. Stop it, damn it. Stop it. Chrissy, you promised never again- and you can’t do the tenth one if you don’t do the first! She stopped pacing and walked to Kurt’s door. Well, she argued with herself, if the tenth one is the dangerous one, I’ll do numbers one through nine, then skip the tenth and continue with number eleven! Yes yes yes. The stash was still where she had last seen it. Tucked away neatly under a pair of boxer shorts and an old sport shirt. She had stumbled onto it by accident a few days after they’d moved in, and ever since then she knew she had to get Kurt out of the flat. Now she was pleased that he hadn’t gone. How else would she have relaxed? Nothing worked better than a spliff, this much she knew. Her trembling hand lifted the weed out of the packet. She never noticed that she was licking her lips; another bad habit, and one she always did before smoking. She walked through to the kitchen, opened the window, and took out the smoke detector’s batteries. Then she sat down and tore up strips of newspaper. Now she was ready. She kept the lighter and can next to her, though, just in case Kurt came back and wanted to take her weed away. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. "Damn it!" she said as she heard the knock on the door. She took the front page of the newspaper and spread it over her weed, then got up and walked to the door. Two janitors greeted her when she opened the door, both the men dressed in a grey uniform. "Hi there maam!" the older of the two said. "Yes?" she asked, not being her usual friendly self. The younger of the two looked down, and at first she thought he was looking at her feet. But then she spotted what he had found; their greeting mat was covered in rubbish. Someone had dumped a load of tins, empty eggshells, and milk cartons around their doorstep. "Shit," she started to apologize, "Guys, I’m so sorry. This couldn’t have been us. Steve would never be this clumsy". "No," the older janitor said, "I don’t think it was you. There’s no trail leading to the elevator," he said, pointing along the clean corridor. She raised her eyebrows, then frowned and said, "You’re right. That’s strange". The younger one asked, "Maam, do you have any idea who it might have been?" "Not a clue, boys. Sorry" "Not a problem. We’ll clean it up then," the older one said.
Copyright © 2001 David Rama |